At the beginning of the play a Tramp, dejected and not a little drunk, runs from the city into the local countryside, and in a poetic monologue to a flower laments the state of his civilization after the recent war. Angry at both God and Humanity, he wants only to become a part of Nature. He meets a Pedant, who has exactly the kind of attitude toward Nature the Tramp despises–he seeks to capture, kill and mount insect and, in killing them, find meaning in categorizing them. The Pedant chases a butterfly, the Tramp rebels against him, and the Tramps ‘dream’–or nightmare–begins.
Much of the tone of any production of this story depends on the Tramp, and playing him has proven to be a difficult task. The early English and American adaptations of the play gutted the poetry of the original, imposed accents that emphasized class warfare over any more subtle ideas, and in the Broadway version eliminated the monologue altogether. Much was made by contemporary critics of the depressing tone of the early productions, despite a seeming lightness of touch in the use of insects, and some accused the Capeks of nihilism. The Capeks took exception to the this, writing instructions on how to play the Tramp, and even re-writing the ending in an effort to ‘help’ uncomprehending directors. For more on the difficulty of interpreting tone in the Tramp, and what is lost in translation, see the published article. This extends even to the word ‘tramp,’ since the original word carries with it much more of the sense of a wanderer–a more poetic baggage. The Prague and Broadway productions show a non-descript, realistically dressed Tramp; but another production in Brno (not illustrated) shows a deeply Expressionist design for this character, with harsh anti-realist makeup–wearing his anger and emotional turmoil like a painting on his face. We followed this in the 1992 production by altering the actor’s makeup between acts, moving from ordinary to expressionist in the final act, when he bore some resemblance (in our intentions) to Doctor Caligari. Note for the 1992 production, too, that the costume designers painted on his clothing, just as we did his face, to experiment with just those design problems posed at the time of the original productions by German Expressionism and by Futurism, both influential on the work of Josef Capek. Note also the presence of a puppeteer holding a butterfly on a pole, and the Pedant with his painted-on glasses. In the background stands Felix the Poet, the human twin of the puppet butterfly, who will turn in a moment to begin Act One. The Tramp was played in 1992 by Carl Gambacourt, and in 1998 by Richard Trevor-Williams. In both cases, they took the documented problems of the original productions to heart, and looked at every opportunity for ways to elicit sympathy from the audience, with quiet moments shared with the audience, with expressions of love and a courageous protection, in particular for the Chrysalis (who only wants ‘to be born,’ ‘to be’), and in their expression of horror at the ensuing catastrophes. Certainly in both cases, as the Capeks argued, the success of the piece depended on the Tramp acting as an appropriate guide for the audience. Opening Monologue (1992 adaptation) TRAMP Funny, isn't it? Oh, forget it. It's all right. You don't need to laugh. After all, I didn't hurt myself, did I? (Leans on elbows. To flowers) You--you--you think I'm drunk, don't you? Oh, no. I'm in complete control. Didn't you see how straight I fell? Like a tree. Like a hero. I was performing--the fall of man. (Gets up, becomes dizzy) Oh no. My head is not spinning. No! The world is spinning, everything else is turning round and round and round and round oh, boy, do I feel sick.... Stop! (Looks around) So--everything turns around me. The whole earth--the whole universe. Well--too rich for my blood. Excuse me, I'm not dressed for `centre of universe.' I don't do `harmony of the spheres.' (Throws his hat on the ground. Addressing the universe) Look. There is the centre. Turn round my cap--it won't get dizzy. (Pause) That's better. (To flowers again) Now, where was I? Tree, hero, fall of man--ah yes, I know. I fell--I fell under the weight of my cross. (Removes crucifix, and places beside flower.) See? And you thought I was drunk. Pretty little flowers--looking so dainty. Don't be so self-righteous. I know who you are. I have seen Your delicate, healing leaves Placed over open, festering wounds. O, let me lay you over mine! (Drops to knees. Picks flower from front of stage, and places in lapel of jacket.) Maybe I am a little drunk. If I had roots like yours, I would not have wandered around the world. I would not have learned so many things. Why, I was in the late, great war. (Takes a medal from his pocket, and places it beside flower.) I have been to university. (Takes a small book from pocket, and places it beside flower. He rises.) Now I know everything. How to shovel shit, sweep streets, guard other people's property, slog beer. Everything nobody else wants to do. So you see who I am. Now, where was I again? Oh, yes. That's me--everybody knows me. My name is `man.' Nobody calls me anything else. They say `Hey, man. Get lost, man. I'm gonna call the cops, man.' Or they say, `My good man, do clean that up. My good man, pour me that drink.' And that's all right. The name doesn't bother me. It surely does bother other people, though. If I said to somebody, `Hey, man. Give me ten bucks, man,' he wouldn't like that. And that's all right, too. If he doesn't like being called `man', well, I'll call him something else. I don't care--maybe butterfly, or beetle, or ant--whatever he wants. It's all the same to me. I don't want to impose, you know. Not any more. (He sits, downstage center.) I just want to sit back and watch the world go by. I watch. If I had roots, I would watch the sky Watch the heavens. Till death I would watch the heavens! |
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The Tramp watches as five butterflies argue about love, and by turns protest their love for one another, cheat on each other, and spread malicious, mean-spirited gossip. They are the idle rich of the insect world, with nothing to do but talk and flirt. One, Clythie, even flirts briefly with the Tramp. At the end one of them dies, and it causes no remorse at all–though there is a desperate flurry of courtship as the act ends.
Three design features in the costumes for the Butterflies for the 1922 productions proved valuable for the 1992 design. The first is that the characters are quite human, relative to other costumes in the play (see the Dung Beetles for the alternative); the qualities of the insect manifest themselves in painted colour-schemes and patterns (as if wings), and small antennae. The second is that the costumes were contemporary–that is, for 1922. And the third is that there is a relative degree of humanity for each character; note, in the photographs, how Felix has less of the ‘butterfly’ about him than Victor, and Ottokar, who is the buffoon of the group, has the most two-dimensional colouring, the longest vest, the highest eyebrows, the longest antennae. See Visual Style and Interpretive Design in the published article.. The 1992 design, by Penelope Hammond, very much explored these features. All concerned in the adaptation considered re-setting the Act in a more contemporary environment, one even suggesting a university residence. But the translation itself proved difficult to adapt to another time and place; indeed, most was lost of the original in the translation of this act, which is filled with wordplay and witty insults, and references to local poets and writers. What is left is a sense of topical reference to flapper high style in design, and a melodramatic artificiality in the acting. We decided, in terms of character and design, to be guided by the original, and see what happened. The 1992 designs, then, suggest the lines and hairstyles of the 1920s, except that instead of painted clothing and antennae, a small cummerbund shaped like a ‘thorax’ is tied around each male character. Ottokar, who is in many respects the most sympathetic of the group, is likewise the most insectlike–his coat has been eliminated, and his vest and tail are more prominent. The actors all over-acted and posed as they back-stabbed one another. The 1998 production, by Lauren Renzetti, was consistent with her overall design of this production in two ways. First of all, the entire experience was stripped down to 70 minutes, one act, and six characters, and the generic costuming of each actor, each of whom played various roles, was crucial. Costume is created with as little as possible, in this case crown which, as with the set design, appear to be made out of discarded metal drill shavings (and were)–sharp, and unnatural, like the language the relationships they temporarily forged and then destroyed. We de-emphasized the group scenes, and explored the range of frequently-shifting power relationships depicted in the original. The actors, guided by co-director Jennifer Johnson, explored these power relationships through abstract movement and contact improvisation. |
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In Act Two the Tramp encounters the world of the Beetles–a world of the 1922 sense of the middle-class. These are the small-time capitalists of the insect world, and the first the Tramp encounters are Mr and Mrs Dung Beetle, and their precious Dung Ball, their pride, joy and life’s savings. Their love for each other is bound up with their love for this possession, and when both spouse and ball are lost–the ball stolen by another, jealous Dung Beetle, Mr Dung Beetle is inconsolable. For the ball.
The original designs for these characters best illustrate the changes made in translation in every respect. The original Czech design by Capek, while it appears innocently comic in its original form, in execution becomes a grotesque, quite frightening caricature of a man, with prosthetic mask-like chin, stumps for arms and claws for hands, along with his sagging, very insect-like stomach (save for a large watch and fob). The Broadway design, by contrast, looks far more like a stock clown in make-up, and with his oversized striped costume, a cross between a burlesque comic (another Dung Beetle looks very much like Lou Costello) and a bumble-bee. Much may be done in the acting–and certainly Mrs Dung Beetle is a sad-looking creature– but the costume appears to be far more comic, and much less frightening than its sister production from earlier in the year. It is the difference between the unsettling possibilities of political satire, and a safer kind of comedy. Our 1992 production took off from the Broadway production far more than the Prague–or, more correctly, went back to Capek’s original drawing, which showed a burgher shaped much like his dung ball. All three Dung beetles, and their respective balls, are cut from the same cloth (literally–the dung ball was made of strips of cloth). They are characterless, interchangeable with their possessions and with each other. The acting was taken from an extreme burlesque style, except in rare moments of calm reflection or realization–the realization of loss, the brief philosophizing concerning possessions (‘It’s wonderful to own things!’). For more on design and character see Visual Style and Interpretive Design, and Entymology and Acting. Our 1998 production took a different approach, overburdening the Dung Beetles with boxes. Characters were created without benefit of make-up or costume–the effect was purely comic in intent, the enjoyment more in two people who share only their love for their ‘stuff’ trying to ‘roll’ a crate. |
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The Tramp watches as Mr and Mrs Cricket enter and talk. They are a genuinely loving couple, keen on raising a family–Mrs Cricket is very pregnant–and about to move into a new house. That new house, it emerges in conversation, has just been vacated because the previous occupant has been caught by a bird and thrust onto a thorn, where Mr Cricket watched it struggle. Neither of them seem particularly concerned by this, and continue to plan for their home. Mr Cricket goes off and, in a horrific scene, Mr Fly attacks Mrs. Cricket and feeds her to his young daughter, Little Miss Larva (see next section).
The design for this couple seems distinctly human in the Broadway production, if somewhat old-fashioned (the wide collar and large bow tie seem boyish, Edwardian). The clothing, like other characters, is painted. The script in all its incarnations makes these two out to be naive, and thoughtless, but truly loving and hardly dislikable–the disregard for their fellow cricket seems a shock when it comes. They care about more than the Dung Beetles–each other–but caring does not go beyond their immediate family. Both this revelation and Mrs Cricket’s death are sudden, and certainly meant to shock. The 1992 production dressed them, and played them, as old-fashioned, loud vaudevillians. They are, after all, in the music business. They are perhaps overly dependent on each other, too keen on showing how much they care–and too interested in whether there are curtains in the new home. The 1998 production, in its stripped down version, distills this scene to a monologue by Mrs Cricket, getting at the salient points about home, family, and the suffering neighbour, and focuses on her death. Her costume, as with all others, is an applied combination of discards, in this case an old birdcage filled with ping pong balls to create a very pregnant woman who is clearly going to have a large family to care for. |
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The Tramp is confronted by Murderous Mr. Ichneumon Fly–a wasp-like insect with a lethal stinger. He speaks at length about his love for his daughter, Little Miss Larva, and the long hours and hard work he puts into providing for her. He comes across as a caring, if somewhat absentee father, until the Tramp realizes that the ‘work’ the Fly speaks about is to stalk and kill smaller insects for Little Miss Larva to eat. His matter-of-fact action after all the verbal sentiment make him, perhaps, the most frightening of characters.
As it did with the Dung Beetles, The original Broadway production seems not to have emphasized the frightening nature of the Fly in it design–he looks like a character from pantomime, comically insect-like, and not particularly dangerous. In the playing, however, something of the danger must have emerged. Illustrations show him at ease with his daughter, crouched in a very non-human manner, apparently deferring to her demands–but there are also illustrations of him with knife drawn, ready to strike. The suddenness of such murders in the script implies a shock, so perhaps the innocence and banality of his persona works to advantage. The designer of the puppets and masks for the 1992 production, Christina Rozendaal, chose to emphasize the dual nature of the Fly literally with a dual character. The actor–with costume designed by Penelope Hammond–was sympathetic, entirely human in the portrayal, with no trace of the insect character in his manner. That was reserved for the puppet he carried on his back and as extensions to his arms–in this case, unlike other characters, literally separating the ‘playing’ of the insect and of the analogous human type. Based on expressionist work of the period of the play, the puppet was designed to be grotesque and gigantic, and was reacted to accordingly by other characters. He entered from the audience, tried to be friendly with the Tramp, but was incapable both because he was too big, and because he kept sniffing for appropriate food (the Tramp was ‘too ripe,’ and so safe). In effect, the Tramp doesn’t know whether to relate to the sympathetic, banal human character at eye level, or the grotesque above him. For the series of murders the fly commits–almost off-handed, without warning–the lighting changed, and music swelled, obliterating the human puppeteer and emphasizing the size of the puppet. See Visual Style and Interpretive Design in the published article. Consistent with other costume designs, for 1998 production Lauren Renzetti used found metallic/electronic detritus easily applied to the neutral uniform to denote the character. In this case, a few metal strips and some netting made a tail and, most important, an old car aerial was his stinger. Like the 1992 version, the character was fauning around his daughter, too much in love with his job when speaking to the Tramp–and merciless in his killing. |
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The Tramp meets Little Miss Larva, a hungry child crying out for food. In conversation, she reveals herself to be Mr Fly’s spoiled daughter, for whom he kills Mrs. Cricket, and others.
Her costume in the original Broadway production follows contemporary fashion, with a large bow and puff sleeves, but gives her a long nose, and pads her costume to give the effect of ribs of a larva or caterpillar. The designers of the 1992 production followed the same ideas as for her father, Mr Ichneumon Fly, to create a more human look for the puppeteer–drawing on the original design for the ribbon and dress–and a puppet grotesque that, in this case, acted as her inseparable doll. The puppet-hand used by the human character tied the two parts of her character together. In the performance, the whining, extremely needy little girl, who can only dream of food, was perhaps more unappealing than the puppet’s face. See Visual Style and Interpretive Design. Little Miss Larva in 1998 was more deliberately grotesque, unable to stand but only crawl and raise her torso. The costume used the same materials as for the Fly–metal and netting–creating a flexible tube the length of the body. Her devouring of insects, and dragging them off, is handled though movement based on contact improvisation, the eater and the eaten in effect creating a new character out of both actors. This strategy has its culmination at the end of the Act, when the Larva is herself devoured. See next section on the Parasite. |
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All through Act Two, a figure has been watching the Tramp interact with all these characters. At last the figure reveals itself, calls the Tramp ‘Comrade,’ and discusses the need to resolve the inequities of the world, sharing everything. It always agreeing with the Tramp but twists his words, and acts the sycophant to him, and to any dangerous creature it meets. It proves to be even hungrier than Little Miss Larva, and finally, after many false starts, it eats the Larva. The last line of the act belongs to it: ‘Nature’s table is set for all.’
The Parasite in the original Prague production is perhaps the least human character on the stage, with claws for arms and, a formless body, and a half-hidden face. In the Broadway production, by contrast, the Parasite is a frail, thin figure, drab and wearing rags. In the script, the Parasite, having fed on the Larva, re-emerges at the end of the Act transformed–in the Broadway version a swelled and padded giant with a top hat. Our 1992 production examined the Parasite from a different perspective, because it appears to be the only character not based on a specific insect–it is important for what its function is and not for its resemblance in any of the contemporary literature. So on the one hand there is nothing in the works used by the Capek brothers, by J. H. Fabre, to suggest the social life of this figure; but on the other hand, there were descriptions of several different types of parasite the actor could use to create character–wasp, tic, and worm (see Etymology and Acting in the published article for a brief discussion). The costume was as generic as the character, but the re-emergence at the end of the act had it wearing pieces of all the characters that had been killed and eaten by Miss Larva, along with the Larva’s own yellow bow. The 1998 production made each successive character less human, more grotesque than the previous, until, at this point, the Parasite ceases to be human at all. The character was played by the voices of other actors until the final re-emergence, when all the actors who had played Insects create a mass character to attack the Tramp, in effect doing the same thing the 1992 production did with costume pieces. This time the entire bodies of the Dung Beetles, Crickets and Larva are taken over and combined in the Parasite–it embodies them literally. |
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The Tramp, disheartened by the social lives of the insects he has met, wonders if there is any redeeming value system at all. He notices some ants, and review its system. The ants appear to work together in a communal system, and he has some hope for it. But it soon fades, as the ‘work’ these ants perform becomes increasingly mechanized, their movements unthinking, and the push always to a faster pace and for more product. An invasion by another nation of ants becomes a pretext to turn this structured society–all too easily–into a military society, and a dictator, or emperor-ant emerges. The Tramp tries to convince them, as a veteran of the late war, to stop this path of destruction, but they will not listen. Individual ants emerge briefly as reminders of the effects of war–including a vacillating journalist, and an inventor ant who cannot stop himself from creating new weapons–and the Act ends in chaos.
In the original Broadway reviews, this Act appears to have resonated most. A war was only recently ended, a revolution in Russia was turning increasingly dictatorial and militaristic–clearly the subject for the Capeks. It was in many ways the most experimental theatrically, using group movement and tableaux to depict the easy shift from one kind of centralization to another. The intended effect can best be seen in the image of the Emperor Ant, whose costume carries elements of Imperial Rome, Germany, and arguably other historical references. The 1992 Handmade/McMaster production was very much indebted to the documentation for the Broadway production, and to repeating its effect. It used a similar staging, a circular sloping ramp for the assembly-line scenes, individuality obliterated by uniforms and masks, all movement rhythmic, machine-like, to Mossolov’s appropriately titles ‘Iron Foundry.’ When war breaks out on stage, the ramps in front are turned and the telegraphic, difficult text is visualized through tableaux, to some extent seen in the Broadway photographs. The Emperor Ant creates his new persona by removing his mask and painting his face, not unlike his predecessor. The 1998 Handmade production created as similar assembly-line, along the lines created by the ‘mother-board’ floor design, with regular movements by the cast of five ants–which the Tramp subsequently joins, hoping for some communal redemption. But as the counting and series of movements become more difficult, one ant must take control for the ‘dance’ to continue, and the Emperor Ant is created. The group movement becomes more violent, warlike, with predictable results. |
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The lengthy epilogue begins with the Tramp in darkness, unconsolable. Voices in the darkness reviewing the action of the play lead into several interrupted ‘endings.’ First three ‘Ephemera’ enter. Variously translated as ‘Mayflies’ or ‘Moths,’ they emerge to dance, love, and then die within a day. Next, a ‘Chrysalis’ cries out. This character has been on stage throughout the play, regularly crying out, eagerly and expectantly, to be born–the cynical Tramp repeatedly suggests that she should put off the prospect, and yet expresses some hope, some sympathy with her hopefulness. At this point in the play she emerges from her cocoon; she is another ‘Ephemera,’ and after dancing briefly, she, too, collapses and dies. For the Tramp this was the last hope for redemption, and he, too lays down and dies.
The action is not over yet. First two Snails crawl onto the stage and comment on the number of bodies–all the better for their own feeding habits. Then two human ‘woodcutters’ (or a woodcutter and his wife) happen upon the body of the Tramp. There are two different endings to the play. In the first the Actor playing the Tramp, having found his way offstage surreptitiously, re-emerges as a different character–a ‘Pilgrim’–and greets a new day with the Woodcutters. In the second, the Tramp does not die, but awakens from a dream, and greets a new work-day. In the original productions, these false and disparate endings were difficult to stage and for audiences to accept. Negative reviews led to a written defence by the playwrights, along with the alternative ending. The Capeks insisted that the ending was designed to be hopeful and not nihilistic, but producers had difficulty achieving this. See the Theatre Topics article on the 1992 production, in particular Critical Reception and Defence Against Nihilism in the published article. The 1992 Handmade/McMaster production faithfully translated all these episodes, and staged each one. We tried out both endings, and found both unsatisfactory as written–in either case they destroyed the tone. For discussion, see Complications and Endings in the published article. This section of the adaptation was in two respects the most interesting to work on: it represented in miniature the problem of tone for the entire play; it showed just how important a knowledge of the history of original and past productions could be to a new production. By turns lyrical, romantic, hopeful, and cynical, bathetic, grotesque, the Epilogue repeatedly disrupted audience expectation. It was bound to be ‘disappointing’ in this sense; but it seemed clear, as we worked on our adaptation, that this disruption was what was experimental about the production. It may have been produced at National Theatres (Prague), and in commercial theatres (West End and Broadway), but it was written by artists steeped in (now) historical avant-garde of Expressionism and Futurism, originally designed with those forms in mind, and then transposed. The odd results can be seen in the photographic documents–elegant ephemerae (dancing on large glass plates lit from below), an excitedly positive Chrysalis, a distraught central figure, a stage full of bodies, and two comic grotesques as Snails. A strange set of images. For the 1992 production, the voices from the darkness belonged to everyone in the cast. We had the Ephemerae dance at the beginning of the production so as not to completely surprise the audience. We also intensified the relationship of the Tramp with the Chrysalis throughout the production, putting her in danger and making him more responsible for her safety, physically protecting her in the increasingly dangerous world. We did our best to create real sympathy for the Ephemerae, each of whom has a monologue expressing the extraordinary passion they have for life, the beauty they see in the world. They are surprised by death in an innocent, nearly comic manner in each case. The intention was to interrupt the tone repeatedly, so that the presence of the Snails would not be so jarring. The adapted ending included the Tramp’s resurrection as a very different kind of traveller, the ‘Pilgrim.’ Throughout these endings, the production increasingly exposed its theatrical elements. Death, except for the Chrysalis, involved stepping backward out of the light (thus avoiding a stage full of bodies). The Snails were puppets. And the new character for the Tramp, the Pilgrim, was signified by the obvious removal of make-up during his last speech. In this way we hoped to short-circuit the difficulties of the script. The 1998 production was the result of a much more radical adaptation of the script, translating whatever we could out of words into movement. In this version the Ephemerae are gone, their roles entirely embodied by the Chrysalis, who does dance and die. The last stage action, however, was a group dance that left images of hope, or at least a stoic resistance to despair. |
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