Posts tonen met het label roodnoot. Alle posts tonen
Posts tonen met het label roodnoot. Alle posts tonen
woensdag 24 december 2014
zaterdag 26 april 2014
recensie 2 - in de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden (kaaitheater)
Warm maanlicht beschijnt een onuitsprekelijk verlangen
NICO VAN ROSSEN − 08/02/96, 00:00
'In de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden'
produktie Kaaitheater, regie Peter van Kraaij
Binnen, 'In de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden', schijnt na een tijdlang absolute donkerte hetzelfde maanlicht als buiten. Langzaam vallen twee eenzame personages op de vlakke speelvloer te ontwaren, met op de tribune de contouren van welgeteld 17 toeschouwers. Welk verlangen dreef spelers en publiek op deze duistere plek bijeen, terwijl er toch zoveel andere, bekendere verleidingen waren?
Dat is precies de vraag waar het in dit stuk van de helaas jong overleden toneelschrijver Bernard-Marie Koltès (1948-1989) om draait: welk verlangen? Twee mensen, een dealer en een klant, worden onvermijdelijk naar elkaar toegetrokken. De een om iets te verkopen, dat is zijn taak, de ander met een onuitgesproken verlangen. Wim van der Grijn als dealer probeert zijn nieuwe klant te paaien. Aanvankelijk enigszins intimiderend, om zijn klant in een onderdanige positie te dwingen, later vriendelijk, vasthoudend, sluw of bijna smekend. “Zegt u mij daarom, weemoedige maagd, op dit uur van het doffe grommen van mensen en dieren, zegt u mij het ding dat u verlangt en dat ik u kan leveren, en ik zal het u leveren, met zachtheid, bijna eerbiedig, misschien zelfs met vriendschap.”
Frieda Pittoors als klant maakt vergelijkbare stemmingen door als haar potentiële dealer, melancholiek, verlangend, afwijzend, zich koesterend in het koele maanlicht (de enige warmte die er op dit nachtelijk uur is) of geslagen als dood vogeltje op de grond. Minder uit zich dit in houding of gebaar, als wel in intonatie. De tekst, die zoals meestal bij Koltès bepaald geen gewone spreektaal is, vráágt ook om een subtiele benadering. Hij bestaat uit een aantal lange zinnen die langzaam om het onderwerp heen meanderen. In krap anderhalf uur voeren Van der Grijn en Pittoors hun onderhandelingen als gevoelig en gestileerd taalspel op, waarin uiteindelijk niets benoemd wordt. Als de dealer als eerste zijn prijs noemt, verzwakt hij zijn positie. Als de klant haar verlangen prijsgeeft, maakt zij zich afhankelijk van de verkoper. “Maar nee, de verwarring van deze plek en van dit uur doet mij vergeten of ik ooit enig verlangen heb gehad dat ik mij zou kunnen herinneren; nee, ik heb al even weinig een verlangen als dat ik u een aanbod heb te doen”, spreekt zij in de nieuwe, zeer soepele vertaling van Patricia de Martelaere.
Na een laatste check constateren dealer en klant, die door hun rollen onlosmakelijk aan elkaar verbonden zijn, dat de taalonderhandelingen op niets uitgelopen zijn. Hen resteert alleen nog de fysieke strijd, op leven en dood. Daarop vouwt de dealer bijna liefdevol zijn hand om de keel van zijn klant die het niet wilde zijn. Het maanlicht dooft.
Na afloop sprak één van de schaarse toeschouwers: “Het is een gedicht dat je nog een keer zou willen horen.” Een rake opmerking vond ik dat. Nog één keer de klank van hoop en verleiding, van aantrekken en afstoten, met de echo van de zorgvuldig in woorden gestreden strijd in je oren het theater verlaten. Een gedicht, nog eens, zolang het nog kan.
NICO VAN ROSSEN − 08/02/96, 00:00
'In de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden'
produktie Kaaitheater, regie Peter van Kraaij
Binnen, 'In de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden', schijnt na een tijdlang absolute donkerte hetzelfde maanlicht als buiten. Langzaam vallen twee eenzame personages op de vlakke speelvloer te ontwaren, met op de tribune de contouren van welgeteld 17 toeschouwers. Welk verlangen dreef spelers en publiek op deze duistere plek bijeen, terwijl er toch zoveel andere, bekendere verleidingen waren?
Dat is precies de vraag waar het in dit stuk van de helaas jong overleden toneelschrijver Bernard-Marie Koltès (1948-1989) om draait: welk verlangen? Twee mensen, een dealer en een klant, worden onvermijdelijk naar elkaar toegetrokken. De een om iets te verkopen, dat is zijn taak, de ander met een onuitgesproken verlangen. Wim van der Grijn als dealer probeert zijn nieuwe klant te paaien. Aanvankelijk enigszins intimiderend, om zijn klant in een onderdanige positie te dwingen, later vriendelijk, vasthoudend, sluw of bijna smekend. “Zegt u mij daarom, weemoedige maagd, op dit uur van het doffe grommen van mensen en dieren, zegt u mij het ding dat u verlangt en dat ik u kan leveren, en ik zal het u leveren, met zachtheid, bijna eerbiedig, misschien zelfs met vriendschap.”
Frieda Pittoors als klant maakt vergelijkbare stemmingen door als haar potentiële dealer, melancholiek, verlangend, afwijzend, zich koesterend in het koele maanlicht (de enige warmte die er op dit nachtelijk uur is) of geslagen als dood vogeltje op de grond. Minder uit zich dit in houding of gebaar, als wel in intonatie. De tekst, die zoals meestal bij Koltès bepaald geen gewone spreektaal is, vráágt ook om een subtiele benadering. Hij bestaat uit een aantal lange zinnen die langzaam om het onderwerp heen meanderen. In krap anderhalf uur voeren Van der Grijn en Pittoors hun onderhandelingen als gevoelig en gestileerd taalspel op, waarin uiteindelijk niets benoemd wordt. Als de dealer als eerste zijn prijs noemt, verzwakt hij zijn positie. Als de klant haar verlangen prijsgeeft, maakt zij zich afhankelijk van de verkoper. “Maar nee, de verwarring van deze plek en van dit uur doet mij vergeten of ik ooit enig verlangen heb gehad dat ik mij zou kunnen herinneren; nee, ik heb al even weinig een verlangen als dat ik u een aanbod heb te doen”, spreekt zij in de nieuwe, zeer soepele vertaling van Patricia de Martelaere.
Na een laatste check constateren dealer en klant, die door hun rollen onlosmakelijk aan elkaar verbonden zijn, dat de taalonderhandelingen op niets uitgelopen zijn. Hen resteert alleen nog de fysieke strijd, op leven en dood. Daarop vouwt de dealer bijna liefdevol zijn hand om de keel van zijn klant die het niet wilde zijn. Het maanlicht dooft.
Na afloop sprak één van de schaarse toeschouwers: “Het is een gedicht dat je nog een keer zou willen horen.” Een rake opmerking vond ik dat. Nog één keer de klank van hoop en verleiding, van aantrekken en afstoten, met de echo van de zorgvuldig in woorden gestreden strijd in je oren het theater verlaten. Een gedicht, nog eens, zolang het nog kan.
recensie - in de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden (kaaitheater)
Kaaitheater roept met Koltès meer vragen op dan het beantwoordt
MARIAN BUIJS − 01/02/96, 00:00
In de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden van Bernard-Marie Koltès door het Kaaitheater. Regie: Peter van Kraaij.
Twee mensen ontmoeten elkaar op een ongure plek, ver van de bewoonde wereld. De een noemt zich een dealer en dringt de ander de rol op van klant, maar wat heeft hij te verkopen? Sex, drugs? Hij probeert de potentiële klant een verlangen aan te praten, en als die zich verzet, gooit hij het over een andere boeg en doet zich voor als een vriend. Tevergeefs, het antwoord is steeds koel afwijzend.
In de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden, een toneeltekst van de in 1989 aan aids gestorven Franse schrijver Bernard-Marie Koltès, roept meer vragen op dan beantwoord worden in de anderhalf uur durende voorstelling. Het is een raadselachtige tekst die regisseurs kennelijk zozeer intrigeert dat ze het niet kunnen laten het stuk telkens opnieuw te ensceneren.
Ditmaal doet de Vlaming Peter van Kraaij dat bij het Brusselse Kaaitheater met twee kanjers van acteurs. Wim van der Grijn en de actrice Frieda Pittoors. Hij is precies zo griezelig vriendelijk als de rol vraagt. Zij bespeelt alle registers die liggen tussen doodsangst, bluf, onschuld en ongrijpbaarheid.
Hun gesprek begint in het donker. In een kil, grijzig licht onderscheiden we de gestalte van een vrouw en een man. Zij probeert zo ver mogelijk van hem vandaan te blijven, de schouders als een schild opgetrokken, het gezicht afgewend. Maar uiteindelijk buigt ze. Letterlijk, ondanks zichzelf kruipt ze naar hem toe.
Hun spel van aantrekken en afstoten brengt van Kraaij met de grootste zorgvuldigheid in beeld. Als twee dieren in slow motion draaien ze om elkaar heen. In het verlengde van de tekst is de omgeving bijna abstract: een kale toneelvloer, desolate geluiden en een groot, felverlicht billboard versterken de troosteloze atmosfeer.
Intussen steken de man en de vrouw om beurten hun monologen af, waarin de ene metafoor over de andere duikelt, zonder een adempauze om je als luisteraar te realiseren wat er eigenlijk wordt gezegd. Als je na afloop de tekst leest, blijkt die opnieuw fascinerend, maar of de literaire, gecondenseerde taal zo geschikt is voor het theater, weet ik niet. Ik hoor flarden, maar mis het betoog.
Telkens valt het woord 'verlangen' en geen van deze twee geharnaste mensen lijkt daaraan te willen toegeven. Ze wenden zich van elkaar af, doodsbang, maar worden toch naar elkaar toegetrokken, ondanks alles op zoek naar liefde, naar menselijk contact. En, met aids in het achterhoofd, is dat onverbrekelijk verbonden met de dood.
Elk verlangen is, net als alles van waarde, inmiddels handelswaar; elk individu is een consument geworden. Dat wil Koltès ons tonen: de wereld als onherbergzame plek waar twee mensen niet anders kunnen dan loven en bieden. Of dat mannen zijn, vrouwen of - zoals nu - een man en een vrouw, maakt in wezen niet uit, het beeld is weinig opwekkend.
De acteurs doen hun uiterste best de gecompliceerde tekst transparantie te geven. Van der Grijn paart een geruststellende toon mooi aan een geheimzinnige dreiging en Pittoors waagt zelfs een poging de loodzware ernst te doorbreken. Haar ironische glimlach stijgt boven elk doemdenken uit. Zelfs als de man zijn hand om haar hals legt, lijkt haar gezicht even op dat van een clowntje.
Marian Buijs
MARIAN BUIJS − 01/02/96, 00:00
In de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden van Bernard-Marie Koltès door het Kaaitheater. Regie: Peter van Kraaij.
Twee mensen ontmoeten elkaar op een ongure plek, ver van de bewoonde wereld. De een noemt zich een dealer en dringt de ander de rol op van klant, maar wat heeft hij te verkopen? Sex, drugs? Hij probeert de potentiële klant een verlangen aan te praten, en als die zich verzet, gooit hij het over een andere boeg en doet zich voor als een vriend. Tevergeefs, het antwoord is steeds koel afwijzend.
In de eenzaamheid van de katoenvelden, een toneeltekst van de in 1989 aan aids gestorven Franse schrijver Bernard-Marie Koltès, roept meer vragen op dan beantwoord worden in de anderhalf uur durende voorstelling. Het is een raadselachtige tekst die regisseurs kennelijk zozeer intrigeert dat ze het niet kunnen laten het stuk telkens opnieuw te ensceneren.
Ditmaal doet de Vlaming Peter van Kraaij dat bij het Brusselse Kaaitheater met twee kanjers van acteurs. Wim van der Grijn en de actrice Frieda Pittoors. Hij is precies zo griezelig vriendelijk als de rol vraagt. Zij bespeelt alle registers die liggen tussen doodsangst, bluf, onschuld en ongrijpbaarheid.
Hun gesprek begint in het donker. In een kil, grijzig licht onderscheiden we de gestalte van een vrouw en een man. Zij probeert zo ver mogelijk van hem vandaan te blijven, de schouders als een schild opgetrokken, het gezicht afgewend. Maar uiteindelijk buigt ze. Letterlijk, ondanks zichzelf kruipt ze naar hem toe.
Hun spel van aantrekken en afstoten brengt van Kraaij met de grootste zorgvuldigheid in beeld. Als twee dieren in slow motion draaien ze om elkaar heen. In het verlengde van de tekst is de omgeving bijna abstract: een kale toneelvloer, desolate geluiden en een groot, felverlicht billboard versterken de troosteloze atmosfeer.
Intussen steken de man en de vrouw om beurten hun monologen af, waarin de ene metafoor over de andere duikelt, zonder een adempauze om je als luisteraar te realiseren wat er eigenlijk wordt gezegd. Als je na afloop de tekst leest, blijkt die opnieuw fascinerend, maar of de literaire, gecondenseerde taal zo geschikt is voor het theater, weet ik niet. Ik hoor flarden, maar mis het betoog.
Telkens valt het woord 'verlangen' en geen van deze twee geharnaste mensen lijkt daaraan te willen toegeven. Ze wenden zich van elkaar af, doodsbang, maar worden toch naar elkaar toegetrokken, ondanks alles op zoek naar liefde, naar menselijk contact. En, met aids in het achterhoofd, is dat onverbrekelijk verbonden met de dood.
Elk verlangen is, net als alles van waarde, inmiddels handelswaar; elk individu is een consument geworden. Dat wil Koltès ons tonen: de wereld als onherbergzame plek waar twee mensen niet anders kunnen dan loven en bieden. Of dat mannen zijn, vrouwen of - zoals nu - een man en een vrouw, maakt in wezen niet uit, het beeld is weinig opwekkend.
De acteurs doen hun uiterste best de gecompliceerde tekst transparantie te geven. Van der Grijn paart een geruststellende toon mooi aan een geheimzinnige dreiging en Pittoors waagt zelfs een poging de loodzware ernst te doorbreken. Haar ironische glimlach stijgt boven elk doemdenken uit. Zelfs als de man zijn hand om haar hals legt, lijkt haar gezicht even op dat van een clowntje.
Marian Buijs
maandag 31 maart 2014
rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead - film
een film uit 1990 van Tom Stoppard op basis van zijn eigen toneeltekst
rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead - introduction
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead was Tom Stoppard's breakthrough play. It was a huge critical and commercial success, making him famous practically overnight. Though written in 1964, the play was published in 1967, and it played on Broadway in 1968, where it won the Tony for best play.
The play cleverly re-interprets Shakespeare's Hamlet from the point of view of two minor characters: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. The Laurel-and-Hardy-like pair are totally incidental to the action of Hamlet, subject to the whims of the King Claudius – who gets them to betray Hamlet – and then tricked by Hamlet into delivering a letter that condemns them to death (check out the Shmoop's guide to Hamlet; it's useful to know the basic plot). Stoppard's play turns Hamlet on its head by giving these two the main roles and reducing all of Shakespeare's major characters (including Hamlet) to minor roles. Written around and in-between the lines of Shakespeare's play, Stoppard brilliantly takes the main concerns of contemporary theater – absurdism, the inevitability of death, breakdown in communication and feeling – and inserts them into the text of a much earlier play.
The absurdist tradition that Stoppard is writing in suggests another enormous influence: Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot (1952). Beckett's play is just as important to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead as Hamlet is. Waiting for Godot consists of two tramps sitting on-stage bantering back and forth and waiting for someone named Godot, who never comes (check out Shmoop's guide to Waiting for Godot for more detail).
Waiting for Godot changed theater by undermining many of its traditional values: plot, characterization, and dialogue that move the action of the play forward. By portraying the act of "waiting" on stage, Beckett's play also opened up new ideas about meta-theatrics (plays that are about plays – how they're made, how they're seen, and/or how they interact with society). Since the characters in Godot are in the same position as the audience – waiting for something to happen – much of their dialogue works on multiple levels and seems to hint at awareness on the part of the tramps that they're actually two characters in a play.
Stoppard wrote Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead in this absurdist and meta-theatrical tradition. It is very much influenced by Beckett, and much of the silly dialogue between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern simply would not have been seen in the theater before Waiting for Godot. It's as if Stoppard uses the innovations that Beckett brought to contemporary theater in order to pry open the minor Shakespearean characters of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Some critics think that Stoppard was too much under the influence of Beckett at this point in his career, but we think that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is something unique and independent of both Waiting for Godot and Hamlet. It is an almost universally acknowledged masterpiece of contemporary theater.
If life were a play, most of us would be minor characters in it. Sure, we might imagine it differently, but very few of us live our lives as Hamlets. In general, we more closely resemble the silly characters that only occasionally get caught up in the central action, characters like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. We call ourselves "masters of our domains," but when we think about how many things in our lives we actually have control over, it's not necessarily a long list.
If there's one thing that we don't have control over at all, one thing that's absolutely certain, it's that we're going to die. We don't think about this too often – it's not a cheerful subject – but we see and hear about people dying all the time: on the news, in books and plays, in video games, and in our personal lives as well. It's one of the most common things in the world, and yet when you get down to it none of us knows a thing about it. It's a real mystery, not a detective story with an interesting twist at the end, but a real unknown: a mystery that endures. In some ways, it's impossible to think about. Your mind just can't fathom it, and your imagination falls short.
Stoppard's play cleverly explores all of these issues surrounding death. It doesn't give us heroic or tragic deaths like we get in Hamlet, but it tries to figure about what's significant when a "minor character" dies – someone unimportant who dies by their own folly. Insignificance, Stoppard seems to argue, is just as important a theme to be explore as significance.
bron
The play cleverly re-interprets Shakespeare's Hamlet from the point of view of two minor characters: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. The Laurel-and-Hardy-like pair are totally incidental to the action of Hamlet, subject to the whims of the King Claudius – who gets them to betray Hamlet – and then tricked by Hamlet into delivering a letter that condemns them to death (check out the Shmoop's guide to Hamlet; it's useful to know the basic plot). Stoppard's play turns Hamlet on its head by giving these two the main roles and reducing all of Shakespeare's major characters (including Hamlet) to minor roles. Written around and in-between the lines of Shakespeare's play, Stoppard brilliantly takes the main concerns of contemporary theater – absurdism, the inevitability of death, breakdown in communication and feeling – and inserts them into the text of a much earlier play.
The absurdist tradition that Stoppard is writing in suggests another enormous influence: Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot (1952). Beckett's play is just as important to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead as Hamlet is. Waiting for Godot consists of two tramps sitting on-stage bantering back and forth and waiting for someone named Godot, who never comes (check out Shmoop's guide to Waiting for Godot for more detail).
Waiting for Godot changed theater by undermining many of its traditional values: plot, characterization, and dialogue that move the action of the play forward. By portraying the act of "waiting" on stage, Beckett's play also opened up new ideas about meta-theatrics (plays that are about plays – how they're made, how they're seen, and/or how they interact with society). Since the characters in Godot are in the same position as the audience – waiting for something to happen – much of their dialogue works on multiple levels and seems to hint at awareness on the part of the tramps that they're actually two characters in a play.
Stoppard wrote Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead in this absurdist and meta-theatrical tradition. It is very much influenced by Beckett, and much of the silly dialogue between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern simply would not have been seen in the theater before Waiting for Godot. It's as if Stoppard uses the innovations that Beckett brought to contemporary theater in order to pry open the minor Shakespearean characters of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Some critics think that Stoppard was too much under the influence of Beckett at this point in his career, but we think that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is something unique and independent of both Waiting for Godot and Hamlet. It is an almost universally acknowledged masterpiece of contemporary theater.
If life were a play, most of us would be minor characters in it. Sure, we might imagine it differently, but very few of us live our lives as Hamlets. In general, we more closely resemble the silly characters that only occasionally get caught up in the central action, characters like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. We call ourselves "masters of our domains," but when we think about how many things in our lives we actually have control over, it's not necessarily a long list.
If there's one thing that we don't have control over at all, one thing that's absolutely certain, it's that we're going to die. We don't think about this too often – it's not a cheerful subject – but we see and hear about people dying all the time: on the news, in books and plays, in video games, and in our personal lives as well. It's one of the most common things in the world, and yet when you get down to it none of us knows a thing about it. It's a real mystery, not a detective story with an interesting twist at the end, but a real unknown: a mystery that endures. In some ways, it's impossible to think about. Your mind just can't fathom it, and your imagination falls short.
Stoppard's play cleverly explores all of these issues surrounding death. It doesn't give us heroic or tragic deaths like we get in Hamlet, but it tries to figure about what's significant when a "minor character" dies – someone unimportant who dies by their own folly. Insignificance, Stoppard seems to argue, is just as important a theme to be explore as significance.
bron
rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead - plot
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern wander through a featureless wilderness, flipping coins, which keep coming up heads. Each time a coin lands on heads, Rosencrantz wins it. While Guildenstern worries about the improbability of a coin landing on heads so many times in a row, Rosencrantz happily continues flipping. Guildenstern wonders if they have entered a world where the laws of chance and time are absent. The pair struggles to recall why they are traveling and remember only that a messenger called them.
They encounter a troupe of actors, known as the Tragedians. The leader of the group, called the Player, indicates that the Tragedians specialize in sexual performances and gives Rosencrantz and Guildenstern the chance to participate for a fee. Guildenstern turns the improbable coin-flipping episode to their advantage by offering the Player a bet. The Player loses but claims he cannot pay. Guildenstern asks for a play instead. Guildenstern starts to leave as the Tragedians prepare, and Rosencrantz reveals that the most recently flipped coin landed tails-up.
The scene changes suddenly. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are now inside Elsinore, the royal castle of Denmark, watching as Hamlet and Ophelia burst onstage and leave in opposite directions. Mistaking Rosencrantz for Guildenstern, Claudius explains that he sent for the pair so that they could ascertain what is bothering Hamlet, their childhood friend.
Bewildered, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern discuss how they might probe Hamlet for the cause of his supposed madness. They play a game of question-and-answer, further confusing themselves about their purpose and even their identities. Guildenstern suggests that he pretend to be Hamlet while Rosencrantz questions him. They realize that Hamlet’s disturbed state is due to the fact that his father, the former king of Denmark, has recently died, and the throne has been usurped by Hamlet’s uncle, Claudius, who also has married Hamlet’s mother, Gertrude. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern overhear Hamlet speaking riddles to Polonius.
Hamlet confuses Rosencrantz and Guildenstern with an enigmatic speech. Polonius comes in to tell Hamlet that the Tragedians have arrived. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern despair about how little they learned of Hamlet’s feelings. They cannot decide whether he is insane.
Polonius, Hamlet, and the Tragedians enter, and Hamlet announces that there will be a play the next day. Hamlet leaves, and Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and the Player discuss the possible causes of Hamlet’s strange behavior. The Player departs while Rosencrantz and Guildenstern discuss what happens after death.
As Claudius, Gertrude, Polonius, and Ophelia enter, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern explain that Hamlet wants them all to attend the play. The group leaves, but Hamlet enters. Not noticing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Hamlet wonders whether he should commit suicide. Ophelia enters, praying. After a short conversation, she and Hamlet exit.
Alfred, one of the Tragedians, arrives dressed as Gertrude. The other Tragedians enter to rehearse their play, which parallels Claudius’s rise to power and marriage to Gertrude. Ophelia enters, crying, followed by an angry Hamlet, who tells her to become a nun, then quickly departs. Claudius and Polonius enter and leave with Ophelia. The Player explains the tragic aspects of the Tragedians’ play, which metaphorically retells the recent events at Elsinore and foreshadows the deaths of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They discuss whether death can be adequately represented on stage. The scene goes black.
In darkness, voices indicate that the play has disturbed Claudius. The next day, Claudius and Gertrude ask Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to find Hamlet, who has killed Polonius. Alone again, the pair concocts a plan to trap Hamlet with their belts, but they fail as Hamlet enters from an unexpected direction and immediately leaves, carrying the dead Polonius. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern call Hamlet back, but he refuses to say what he has done with Polonius’s body. Hamlet accuses Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of being Claudius’s tools. Hamlet escapes as Claudius enters, only to be brought back onstage under guard. The scene shifts outdoors, where Guildenstern tells Rosencrantz that they have to escort Hamlet to England. Hamlet arrives in conversation with a soldier. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern reluctantly depart.
On the boat to England, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern wonder where they are and whether they might be dead. They notice Hamlet sleeping nearby, remember their mission, and consider what to do when they arrive. Guildenstern has a letter from Claudius, which reveals that Hamlet is to be executed in England. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern cannot decide what to do.
As the pair sleeps, Hamlet switches the letter they were carrying with one he has written. The next morning, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern awake and hear music coming from barrels onboard the ship. To their surprise, the Tragedians emerge from the barrels just before pirates charge the ship. Hamlet, the Player, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern jump into the barrels, and the lights go down.
When the lights come back up, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and the Player come out of the barrels. Hamlet is gone. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern tell the Player about the letter and rehearse what they will say to the English king. Guildenstern discovers that the letter now states that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are to be executed. The Tragedians encircle the pair. Despairing about his fate, Guildenstern takes a knife from the Player and stabs him. The Player cries out and falls, apparently dead. The Tragedians clap as the Player jumps up. He says that his death was a mediocre performance while showing Guildenstern that the knife was actually a stage prop.
The Player describes the different deaths that his troupe can perform while the Tragedians act out those deaths onstage. Rosencrantz applauds, and the light shifts, leaving Rosencrantz and Guildenstern alone. Rosencrantz breaks down and leaves as he realizes his death is near. Guildenstern wonders how they were caught in this situation, lamenting that they failed to seize an opportunity to avert their fate. Guildenstern exits.
The light changes, revealing the dead bodies of Claudius, Gertrude, Hamlet, and Laertes. Horatio arrives and delivers the final speech of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, as the music rises and lights fall.
bron
They encounter a troupe of actors, known as the Tragedians. The leader of the group, called the Player, indicates that the Tragedians specialize in sexual performances and gives Rosencrantz and Guildenstern the chance to participate for a fee. Guildenstern turns the improbable coin-flipping episode to their advantage by offering the Player a bet. The Player loses but claims he cannot pay. Guildenstern asks for a play instead. Guildenstern starts to leave as the Tragedians prepare, and Rosencrantz reveals that the most recently flipped coin landed tails-up.
The scene changes suddenly. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are now inside Elsinore, the royal castle of Denmark, watching as Hamlet and Ophelia burst onstage and leave in opposite directions. Mistaking Rosencrantz for Guildenstern, Claudius explains that he sent for the pair so that they could ascertain what is bothering Hamlet, their childhood friend.
Bewildered, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern discuss how they might probe Hamlet for the cause of his supposed madness. They play a game of question-and-answer, further confusing themselves about their purpose and even their identities. Guildenstern suggests that he pretend to be Hamlet while Rosencrantz questions him. They realize that Hamlet’s disturbed state is due to the fact that his father, the former king of Denmark, has recently died, and the throne has been usurped by Hamlet’s uncle, Claudius, who also has married Hamlet’s mother, Gertrude. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern overhear Hamlet speaking riddles to Polonius.
Hamlet confuses Rosencrantz and Guildenstern with an enigmatic speech. Polonius comes in to tell Hamlet that the Tragedians have arrived. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern despair about how little they learned of Hamlet’s feelings. They cannot decide whether he is insane.
Polonius, Hamlet, and the Tragedians enter, and Hamlet announces that there will be a play the next day. Hamlet leaves, and Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and the Player discuss the possible causes of Hamlet’s strange behavior. The Player departs while Rosencrantz and Guildenstern discuss what happens after death.
As Claudius, Gertrude, Polonius, and Ophelia enter, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern explain that Hamlet wants them all to attend the play. The group leaves, but Hamlet enters. Not noticing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Hamlet wonders whether he should commit suicide. Ophelia enters, praying. After a short conversation, she and Hamlet exit.
Alfred, one of the Tragedians, arrives dressed as Gertrude. The other Tragedians enter to rehearse their play, which parallels Claudius’s rise to power and marriage to Gertrude. Ophelia enters, crying, followed by an angry Hamlet, who tells her to become a nun, then quickly departs. Claudius and Polonius enter and leave with Ophelia. The Player explains the tragic aspects of the Tragedians’ play, which metaphorically retells the recent events at Elsinore and foreshadows the deaths of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They discuss whether death can be adequately represented on stage. The scene goes black.
In darkness, voices indicate that the play has disturbed Claudius. The next day, Claudius and Gertrude ask Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to find Hamlet, who has killed Polonius. Alone again, the pair concocts a plan to trap Hamlet with their belts, but they fail as Hamlet enters from an unexpected direction and immediately leaves, carrying the dead Polonius. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern call Hamlet back, but he refuses to say what he has done with Polonius’s body. Hamlet accuses Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of being Claudius’s tools. Hamlet escapes as Claudius enters, only to be brought back onstage under guard. The scene shifts outdoors, where Guildenstern tells Rosencrantz that they have to escort Hamlet to England. Hamlet arrives in conversation with a soldier. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern reluctantly depart.
On the boat to England, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern wonder where they are and whether they might be dead. They notice Hamlet sleeping nearby, remember their mission, and consider what to do when they arrive. Guildenstern has a letter from Claudius, which reveals that Hamlet is to be executed in England. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern cannot decide what to do.
As the pair sleeps, Hamlet switches the letter they were carrying with one he has written. The next morning, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern awake and hear music coming from barrels onboard the ship. To their surprise, the Tragedians emerge from the barrels just before pirates charge the ship. Hamlet, the Player, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern jump into the barrels, and the lights go down.
When the lights come back up, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and the Player come out of the barrels. Hamlet is gone. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern tell the Player about the letter and rehearse what they will say to the English king. Guildenstern discovers that the letter now states that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are to be executed. The Tragedians encircle the pair. Despairing about his fate, Guildenstern takes a knife from the Player and stabs him. The Player cries out and falls, apparently dead. The Tragedians clap as the Player jumps up. He says that his death was a mediocre performance while showing Guildenstern that the knife was actually a stage prop.
The Player describes the different deaths that his troupe can perform while the Tragedians act out those deaths onstage. Rosencrantz applauds, and the light shifts, leaving Rosencrantz and Guildenstern alone. Rosencrantz breaks down and leaves as he realizes his death is near. Guildenstern wonders how they were caught in this situation, lamenting that they failed to seize an opportunity to avert their fate. Guildenstern exits.
The light changes, revealing the dead bodies of Claudius, Gertrude, Hamlet, and Laertes. Horatio arrives and delivers the final speech of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, as the music rises and lights fall.
bron
zaterdag 8 maart 2014
samenvatting woyzeck - georg büchner
Woyzeck is the tragic tale of a military barber named Woyzeck, who stabs to death his beloved common-law wife, Marie, for her infidelity. We first encounter Woyzeck with his friend, Andres, in an open field outside the town. Woyzeck is having violent, apocalyptic visions and thinks that he hears voices, while Andres sees and hears nothing unusual. Next, we meet Marie. She is sitting with her child by the window, watching the military marching band go by and admiring the Drum-Major. Woyzeck arrives to give Marie money and tells her about his latest hallucinations. The next day, Woyzeck and Marie visit a fair where they are drawn into a Showman's booth. The Drum-Major spies Marie and is attracted to her instantly. He and the Sergeant follow Marie and Woyzeck into the booth, where the Showman conducts a spectacle with a dancing monkey and an "astronomical horse," all the while making jokes at mankind's expense. The Sergeant helps Marie into the front row for a better view.
Some days later, Marie sits with her child on her lap, admiring a pair of gold earrings that the Drum-Major gave her. When Woyzeck arrives, she lies and says that she found them. After he leaves, she scolds herself for being a "no-good tart," but then decides that she is no more immoral than anyone else. Our focus switches to Woyzeck, who is shaving the Officer. The latter mocks him egotistically, telling him he has no morals or virtue. Woyzeck defends himself by saying that he would be moral and virtuous if he were not so poor. Meanwhile, Marie and the Drum-Major meet in secret. The sexual tension between them is explosive and it is implied that they gratify their sexual urges. At the Doctor's office, the Doctor scolds Woyzeck for urinating in the street, since he could have used the urine for experimental tests. He is studying the effects of a peas-only diet on Woyzeck's physical and mental health. The Doctor is delighted by Woyzeck's descriptions of his increasingly tormented hallucinations, and gives him a monetary bonus.
Presumably some days later, we find the Officer visiting the Doctor. The two men exchange playful jabs before Woyzeck arrives. The Officer tells Woyzeck of Marie and the Drum-Major's affair. Woyzeck confronts Marie, who becomes defensive and dodges his accusations. In the next scene, we find the Doctor presenting Woyzeck to his students as an experimental subject. He refers to Woyzeck in the manner one might refer to a lab rat or guinea pig. Back in the guardroom, Woyzeck begins to feel very hot and tries to share his increasing mental torment with Andres, who calls him a "bloody fool." When Woyzeck joins the other soldiers at the inn, he sees Marie and the Drum-Major dancing and becomes enraged. We next find him alone in an open field. He hears voices mimicking the rhythm of the dance that tell him to stab Marie to death. That night, the voices keep Woyzeck awake.
The next day in the barrack square, Andres recounts the Drum-Major's chauvinistic comments about Marie, and Woyzeck hurries off to the inn. There, he whistles insubordinately at the Drum-Major, who beats him up and leaves him bleeding. In the next scene, he buys a knife from a Jew, who jokes that he is buying himself an "economical death." Our attention then turns to Marie at home, flipping frantically through the Bible. Her guilt has caught up with her, and she wishes to be absolved of her sin like the adultress who was brought before Christ. Woyzeck has not been by to see her in two days. While Marie flips through the Bible, Woyzeck is at the barracks, rifling through his belongings. He reads from an official military document that states his birthday as the date of the Feast of the Annunciation.
In the next scene, Marie sits with Grandmother and a group of girls on the steps to her house. When they run out of songs, the Grandmother tells a 'black fairy tale' about an orphan boy who found life empty and was miserable and lonely for all eternity. Just as she finishes her story, Woyzeck arrives and leads Marie outside the town. When she tries to get away, he accuses and insults her, and then stabs her repeatedly before the sounds of townspeople approaching scare him away. Woyzeck goes to the inn, where he jeers at a dancing woman named Kathe. She ignores him until she notices the blood on his hands and causes a scene. Woyzeck's excuses as to how the blood got on his hands do not add up, and he is forced to flee to the crime scene in search of the knife. When he stumbles upon Marie's body, he coos to her, proud that he has absolved her of her "black" deed and made her "white" and pure again. He throws the knife in a pond and then, deciding it is not deep enough, wades in after it to throw it deeper.
After he washes the blood off his hands, Woyzeck returns to Marie's house to find his child in the care of the Idiot, Karl. When he tries to embrace his child, the latter screams and pushes him away. Woyzeck sends the Idiot and child away. In the play's last scene, a Policeman addresses various townspeople including the Doctor and a Judge. He says simply: "A good murder, a proper murder, a lovely murder, as lovely a murder as anyone could wish, we've not had a murder like this for years."
Some days later, Marie sits with her child on her lap, admiring a pair of gold earrings that the Drum-Major gave her. When Woyzeck arrives, she lies and says that she found them. After he leaves, she scolds herself for being a "no-good tart," but then decides that she is no more immoral than anyone else. Our focus switches to Woyzeck, who is shaving the Officer. The latter mocks him egotistically, telling him he has no morals or virtue. Woyzeck defends himself by saying that he would be moral and virtuous if he were not so poor. Meanwhile, Marie and the Drum-Major meet in secret. The sexual tension between them is explosive and it is implied that they gratify their sexual urges. At the Doctor's office, the Doctor scolds Woyzeck for urinating in the street, since he could have used the urine for experimental tests. He is studying the effects of a peas-only diet on Woyzeck's physical and mental health. The Doctor is delighted by Woyzeck's descriptions of his increasingly tormented hallucinations, and gives him a monetary bonus.
Presumably some days later, we find the Officer visiting the Doctor. The two men exchange playful jabs before Woyzeck arrives. The Officer tells Woyzeck of Marie and the Drum-Major's affair. Woyzeck confronts Marie, who becomes defensive and dodges his accusations. In the next scene, we find the Doctor presenting Woyzeck to his students as an experimental subject. He refers to Woyzeck in the manner one might refer to a lab rat or guinea pig. Back in the guardroom, Woyzeck begins to feel very hot and tries to share his increasing mental torment with Andres, who calls him a "bloody fool." When Woyzeck joins the other soldiers at the inn, he sees Marie and the Drum-Major dancing and becomes enraged. We next find him alone in an open field. He hears voices mimicking the rhythm of the dance that tell him to stab Marie to death. That night, the voices keep Woyzeck awake.
The next day in the barrack square, Andres recounts the Drum-Major's chauvinistic comments about Marie, and Woyzeck hurries off to the inn. There, he whistles insubordinately at the Drum-Major, who beats him up and leaves him bleeding. In the next scene, he buys a knife from a Jew, who jokes that he is buying himself an "economical death." Our attention then turns to Marie at home, flipping frantically through the Bible. Her guilt has caught up with her, and she wishes to be absolved of her sin like the adultress who was brought before Christ. Woyzeck has not been by to see her in two days. While Marie flips through the Bible, Woyzeck is at the barracks, rifling through his belongings. He reads from an official military document that states his birthday as the date of the Feast of the Annunciation.
In the next scene, Marie sits with Grandmother and a group of girls on the steps to her house. When they run out of songs, the Grandmother tells a 'black fairy tale' about an orphan boy who found life empty and was miserable and lonely for all eternity. Just as she finishes her story, Woyzeck arrives and leads Marie outside the town. When she tries to get away, he accuses and insults her, and then stabs her repeatedly before the sounds of townspeople approaching scare him away. Woyzeck goes to the inn, where he jeers at a dancing woman named Kathe. She ignores him until she notices the blood on his hands and causes a scene. Woyzeck's excuses as to how the blood got on his hands do not add up, and he is forced to flee to the crime scene in search of the knife. When he stumbles upon Marie's body, he coos to her, proud that he has absolved her of her "black" deed and made her "white" and pure again. He throws the knife in a pond and then, deciding it is not deep enough, wades in after it to throw it deeper.
After he washes the blood off his hands, Woyzeck returns to Marie's house to find his child in the care of the Idiot, Karl. When he tries to embrace his child, the latter screams and pushes him away. Woyzeck sends the Idiot and child away. In the play's last scene, a Policeman addresses various townspeople including the Doctor and a Judge. He says simply: "A good murder, a proper murder, a lovely murder, as lovely a murder as anyone could wish, we've not had a murder like this for years."
biografie georg büchner
Georg Buchner (pronounced Buechner) was born on October 17, 1813 in the small town of Goddelau, in Hessen, Germany. His father, a scientist and rationalist, primed him from an early age with a scientific approach to the world, which would later manifest itself in the sharp, realistic, and critical nature of his writing. Buchner grew up in a stable, pleasant household, though he eventually became unusually disillusioned and pessimistic in his literary style. He began his medical training at Strasbourg in 1831, where he became clandestinely engaged to Minna Jaegle, the daughter of a pastor. Two years later he transferred to Giessen, where he began to study philosophy and history. It was there that he became embroiled in his country's political arena, helping plot a conspiracy against the Hessian government. In an attempt to mobilize the peasantry, he published a famous revolutionary political tract, The Hessian Courtier.
Because of his radical political involvement, Buchner was eventually forced to flee Germany altogether for Zurich. After settling there, he relinquished his political fervor and developed a politically-disillusioned outlook that manifested itself deeply in his three plays, Danton's Death, Leonce and Lena, and especially his ultimate effort, Woyzeck. In addition to these, Buchner completed the introspective story, Lenz, and a play based on the life of the Venetian wit Pietro Arentino. Despite the short length of his literary career, Buchner contributed immeasurably to the dramatic canon and being considered "the inexhaustible source of modern drama," he never considered himself a playwright by profession.
While in Zurich, he was preparing to be a researcher and teacher at the university. As a writer, Buchner's influences included Shakespeare first and foremost, in addition to the young Goethe and writer Johann Michael Reinhold Lenz, on whose life story he based Lenz. Buchner did not identify himself with any of the literary movements of his time, save perhaps the Storm-and-Stress movement of the 1770s, but it is certain that he had no patience for Romanticism or any other trend that drew focus away from or made fantastical the raw nature of life. Considering his great love of Shakespeare, Buchner would have been glad to know that certain critics have compared Woyzeck to Hamlet in its melancholic outlook and the calculating, mumbling madness of its protagonist. After his early death, Buchner's scientific writings were quickly rendered obsolete by new discoveries, and his dramatic writings fell into obscurity until revived by the Naturalist Gerhart Hauptmann.
Although scholars have interpreted his works in the various contexts of their own interest and times, there is a common agreement that Buchner's work is so ahead of its time that it will always remain universal. He is said to have precipitated a wide and far-reaching array of literary movements including: "Naturalism, Social Realism, Psychological Irrationalism, Expressionism, and Existential Theatre." As Herbert Lindenberger phrases it, he is "perhaps the only German writer before our own [20th] century who speaks directly to our time without the need of mediation." Georg Buchner died of an undiagnosed fever, probably typhus, at the age of 23 on February 19, 1837.
Because of his radical political involvement, Buchner was eventually forced to flee Germany altogether for Zurich. After settling there, he relinquished his political fervor and developed a politically-disillusioned outlook that manifested itself deeply in his three plays, Danton's Death, Leonce and Lena, and especially his ultimate effort, Woyzeck. In addition to these, Buchner completed the introspective story, Lenz, and a play based on the life of the Venetian wit Pietro Arentino. Despite the short length of his literary career, Buchner contributed immeasurably to the dramatic canon and being considered "the inexhaustible source of modern drama," he never considered himself a playwright by profession.
While in Zurich, he was preparing to be a researcher and teacher at the university. As a writer, Buchner's influences included Shakespeare first and foremost, in addition to the young Goethe and writer Johann Michael Reinhold Lenz, on whose life story he based Lenz. Buchner did not identify himself with any of the literary movements of his time, save perhaps the Storm-and-Stress movement of the 1770s, but it is certain that he had no patience for Romanticism or any other trend that drew focus away from or made fantastical the raw nature of life. Considering his great love of Shakespeare, Buchner would have been glad to know that certain critics have compared Woyzeck to Hamlet in its melancholic outlook and the calculating, mumbling madness of its protagonist. After his early death, Buchner's scientific writings were quickly rendered obsolete by new discoveries, and his dramatic writings fell into obscurity until revived by the Naturalist Gerhart Hauptmann.
Although scholars have interpreted his works in the various contexts of their own interest and times, there is a common agreement that Buchner's work is so ahead of its time that it will always remain universal. He is said to have precipitated a wide and far-reaching array of literary movements including: "Naturalism, Social Realism, Psychological Irrationalism, Expressionism, and Existential Theatre." As Herbert Lindenberger phrases it, he is "perhaps the only German writer before our own [20th] century who speaks directly to our time without the need of mediation." Georg Buchner died of an undiagnosed fever, probably typhus, at the age of 23 on February 19, 1837.
woensdag 29 januari 2014
dinsdag 28 januari 2014
maandag 5 december 2011
donderdag 17 november 2011
measure for measure - synopsis
Vincentio, the Duke of Vienna, takes leave on a diplomatic mission and entrusts his rule to his deputy Angelo. In secret, Vincentio has planned to disguise himself as a friar in order to observe his city's affairs - and especially the actions of Angelo. Under Vincentio, the city's harsh laws against fornication have been laxly enforced and Vincentio intends to let Angelo, who is a known hard-liner, enforce them uncompromisingly. The plan works well and Claudio, a young nobleman who has impregnated his fiance Juliet, is sentenced to death by Angelo. Claudio's sister, the postulate nun Isabella intervenes on his behalf, and is offered a deal: Angelo will spare Claudio's life if Isabella will sleep with Angelo. Isabella refuses and also realizes that she will be unsuccessful if she makes a public accusation against Angelo. The disguised Vincentio finally intervenes and helps plan two tricks to thwart Angelo. Eventually Vincentio "returns" to Vienna and holds court on a petition against Angelo. The play ends with Vincentio revealing that he was in fact disguised as the friar and making right all the problems created by Angelo's rule.
vrijdag 21 oktober 2011
zaterdag 15 oktober 2011
thomas bernhard - de theatermaker - uitleg en interpretatie
Eine innere Handlung ist kaum vorhanden, da es keine wirkliche Entwicklung gibt. Diese wird ersetzt durch Bruscons ständiges Klagen, Verurteilen, Höhnen über
a) schlechte Zustände, wenige Zuschauer, Unterschied zu vorherigen Aufführungen/Orten,
b) österreichische Bevölkerung, Katholizismus (Vergleich mit NS), Provinzialismus, Stumpfsinn
c) Unverstandenheit durch Menschen, Kritiker; kunstfeindliche Welt
d) Unfähigkeit des eigenen Sohnes (Antitalent, trotz Unterricht des Vaters)
e) allgemeine Unfähigkeit der Frauen (Tochter und Frau), die für ihn "völlig geistlose Köpfe" sind.
Hinzu kommt die exzentrische Selbstüberschätzung und der Hochmut Bruscons, der sich selbst mit Shakespeare, Voltaire und Goethe auf eine Stufe stellt. Er hält sich für ein Genie, das zukünftig weltberühmt wird. Sein "Rad der Geschichte" ist für ihn die vollkommenste Komödie. Allerdings muß Bruscon zur Selbstbestätigung seine Kinder dazu zwingen ihn den "größten Schauspieler aller Zeiten” zu nennen.
Seine Selbsteinschätzung nimmt zum Teil absurde Züge an: "Manchmal glaube ich/ ich bin Schopenhauer/ (...) Wiedergeburtsgedanke/ Geisteshomosexualität denke ich". Das Absurde wird beispielsweise auch an der Frittatensuppe deutlich, die er zu einer "Existenzsuppe” im hamlet`schen Stil heraufbeschwört: "Leberknödelsuppe/ oder Frittatensuppe/ das war immer die Frage".
In dem Stück thematisiert und ironisiert Bernhard Teile der eigenen Vergangenheit:
a) Die vierköpfige Brusconfamilie ist mit Bernhards ebenso erfolglosem Großvater Freumbichler und seiner Familie zu vergleichen, die ebenfalls ständig umhergereist ist.
b) Bruscon leidet im Theatermacher an einer Nierengeschichte, an der Bernhards Großvater starb. Außerdem überzieht Bernhard Eigenarten seines Großvaters ins groteske.
c) Zenraler Aufhänger ist der Streit um das Löschen des Notlichts. 1972 forderte Bernhard bei der Uraufführung seines Stückes "Der Ignorant und der Wahnsinnige" die Löschung des Notlichts während der letzten Minuten um vollständige Finsternis zu erlangen, was die Feuerpolizei nicht zulassen wollte und daraufhin sogar die Aufführung des Stückes zu verhindern drohte.
Allgemein ist das Thema, welches Bernhard im Theatermacher behandelt kaum von dem in anderen Stücken zu unterscheiden. Es geht in seinen Künstlerdramen um die Auflehnung des radikalen Künstlers gegen die lebensfeindliche Natur und geistfeindliche Gesellschaft und gleichzeitig das notwendige Scheitern dieser Auflehnung. Dabei versucht er mit Absurdem und Groteskem systematisch ethische und ästhetische Prämissen zu zerstören. Mit der monotonen Thematik seines Schaffens will Bernhard Feinheiten und vermeintliche Belanglosigkeiten in den Mittelpunkt stellen, um eine Auseinandersetzung mit dem Einzelnen zu forcieren.
bron
a) schlechte Zustände, wenige Zuschauer, Unterschied zu vorherigen Aufführungen/Orten,
b) österreichische Bevölkerung, Katholizismus (Vergleich mit NS), Provinzialismus, Stumpfsinn
c) Unverstandenheit durch Menschen, Kritiker; kunstfeindliche Welt
d) Unfähigkeit des eigenen Sohnes (Antitalent, trotz Unterricht des Vaters)
e) allgemeine Unfähigkeit der Frauen (Tochter und Frau), die für ihn "völlig geistlose Köpfe" sind.
Hinzu kommt die exzentrische Selbstüberschätzung und der Hochmut Bruscons, der sich selbst mit Shakespeare, Voltaire und Goethe auf eine Stufe stellt. Er hält sich für ein Genie, das zukünftig weltberühmt wird. Sein "Rad der Geschichte" ist für ihn die vollkommenste Komödie. Allerdings muß Bruscon zur Selbstbestätigung seine Kinder dazu zwingen ihn den "größten Schauspieler aller Zeiten” zu nennen.
Seine Selbsteinschätzung nimmt zum Teil absurde Züge an: "Manchmal glaube ich/ ich bin Schopenhauer/ (...) Wiedergeburtsgedanke/ Geisteshomosexualität denke ich". Das Absurde wird beispielsweise auch an der Frittatensuppe deutlich, die er zu einer "Existenzsuppe” im hamlet`schen Stil heraufbeschwört: "Leberknödelsuppe/ oder Frittatensuppe/ das war immer die Frage".
In dem Stück thematisiert und ironisiert Bernhard Teile der eigenen Vergangenheit:
a) Die vierköpfige Brusconfamilie ist mit Bernhards ebenso erfolglosem Großvater Freumbichler und seiner Familie zu vergleichen, die ebenfalls ständig umhergereist ist.
b) Bruscon leidet im Theatermacher an einer Nierengeschichte, an der Bernhards Großvater starb. Außerdem überzieht Bernhard Eigenarten seines Großvaters ins groteske.
c) Zenraler Aufhänger ist der Streit um das Löschen des Notlichts. 1972 forderte Bernhard bei der Uraufführung seines Stückes "Der Ignorant und der Wahnsinnige" die Löschung des Notlichts während der letzten Minuten um vollständige Finsternis zu erlangen, was die Feuerpolizei nicht zulassen wollte und daraufhin sogar die Aufführung des Stückes zu verhindern drohte.
Allgemein ist das Thema, welches Bernhard im Theatermacher behandelt kaum von dem in anderen Stücken zu unterscheiden. Es geht in seinen Künstlerdramen um die Auflehnung des radikalen Künstlers gegen die lebensfeindliche Natur und geistfeindliche Gesellschaft und gleichzeitig das notwendige Scheitern dieser Auflehnung. Dabei versucht er mit Absurdem und Groteskem systematisch ethische und ästhetische Prämissen zu zerstören. Mit der monotonen Thematik seines Schaffens will Bernhard Feinheiten und vermeintliche Belanglosigkeiten in den Mittelpunkt stellen, um eine Auseinandersetzung mit dem Einzelnen zu forcieren.
bron
thomas bernhard - de theatermaker - inhoud
Der "Theatermacher" Bruscon befindet sich mit seiner Familie (Ehefrau, Sohn Ferruccio, Tochter Sarah) auf einer Tourneé, auf der sie die von Bruscon verfasste Menschheitskomödie "Das Rad der Geschichte" aufführen. Der Handlungsort ist ein verkommener Tanzsaal im Gasthof "Schwarzer Hirsch" in Utzbach (Österreich). Die Zeit der Handlung umfaßt einen Abend.
Die ersten drei Szenen handeln von den Vorbereitungen (Aufstellen von Requisiten; Säuberung des Saals) für das Stück einige Stunden vor der Aufführung. Die letzte Szene spielt hinter dem Vorhang, Minuten vor der Inszenierung.
Zu Beginn beklagt sich Bruscon beim Wirt über den kümmerlichen, da vermoderten und verstaubten Zustand des Tanzsaals und über die allgemeinen Bedingungen in Utzbach. Er hält das Erlöschen des Notlichts in der letzten fünf Minuten des Stückes für eine unbedingte Voraussetzung für Aufführung, da seiner Meinung nach ohne die vollkommene Finsternis die Komödie zerstört wäre. Deshalb schickt Bruscon den Wirt zum örtlichen Feuerwehrhauptmann, um diesbezüglich anzufragen ob dies möglich sei. Zum Ende der ersten Szene verspeist die ganze Familie eine zuvor georderte Frittatensuppe.
In den folgenden beiden Szenen probt Bruscon das Theaterstück mit seinen Kindern und erteilt Regieanweisungen. Diese erweisen sich als vergeblich, da die Kinder des Schauspielens unfähig (antitalentiert) sind. Bruscons Frau liegt während dessen krank (Hustanfälle) im Bett. Der Theatermacher empfindet diese Umstände und Unzulänglichkeiten als Zerstörung seines (Lebens-)Werkes. Die Aufregung über den Dilettantismus seiner Umgebung führt sogar zu einem kurzen Schwächeanfall Bruscons. Zu den, ihn quälenden menschlichen Bedingungen kommen noch äußere, der Gestank und das Grunzen von Schweinen, ebenso wie ein aufkommendes Gewitter, hinzu. Am Ende der dritten Szene erfolgt die lang ersehnte Genehmigung zur Löschung des Notlichts.
Die letzte Szene kurz vor Aufführung stellt die kostümierten und geschminkten Darsteller hinter dem Vorhang dar. Sie warten auf (und beobachten) die allmähliche Füllung des Zuschauerraums und treffen letzte Vorbereitungen. In der Zwischenzeit verstärkt sich das Gewitter. Schließlich wird es so stark, daß das Dach des Tanzsaals einbricht und Wasser eindringt. Als noch ein Blitz ein nebenstehendes Haus in Flammen setzt geraten die Zuschauer in Panik und rennen aus dem Saal. Am Ende sieht man Bruscon samt Familie vor dem verlassenen Zuschauerraum.
bron
Die ersten drei Szenen handeln von den Vorbereitungen (Aufstellen von Requisiten; Säuberung des Saals) für das Stück einige Stunden vor der Aufführung. Die letzte Szene spielt hinter dem Vorhang, Minuten vor der Inszenierung.
Zu Beginn beklagt sich Bruscon beim Wirt über den kümmerlichen, da vermoderten und verstaubten Zustand des Tanzsaals und über die allgemeinen Bedingungen in Utzbach. Er hält das Erlöschen des Notlichts in der letzten fünf Minuten des Stückes für eine unbedingte Voraussetzung für Aufführung, da seiner Meinung nach ohne die vollkommene Finsternis die Komödie zerstört wäre. Deshalb schickt Bruscon den Wirt zum örtlichen Feuerwehrhauptmann, um diesbezüglich anzufragen ob dies möglich sei. Zum Ende der ersten Szene verspeist die ganze Familie eine zuvor georderte Frittatensuppe.
In den folgenden beiden Szenen probt Bruscon das Theaterstück mit seinen Kindern und erteilt Regieanweisungen. Diese erweisen sich als vergeblich, da die Kinder des Schauspielens unfähig (antitalentiert) sind. Bruscons Frau liegt während dessen krank (Hustanfälle) im Bett. Der Theatermacher empfindet diese Umstände und Unzulänglichkeiten als Zerstörung seines (Lebens-)Werkes. Die Aufregung über den Dilettantismus seiner Umgebung führt sogar zu einem kurzen Schwächeanfall Bruscons. Zu den, ihn quälenden menschlichen Bedingungen kommen noch äußere, der Gestank und das Grunzen von Schweinen, ebenso wie ein aufkommendes Gewitter, hinzu. Am Ende der dritten Szene erfolgt die lang ersehnte Genehmigung zur Löschung des Notlichts.
Die letzte Szene kurz vor Aufführung stellt die kostümierten und geschminkten Darsteller hinter dem Vorhang dar. Sie warten auf (und beobachten) die allmähliche Füllung des Zuschauerraums und treffen letzte Vorbereitungen. In der Zwischenzeit verstärkt sich das Gewitter. Schließlich wird es so stark, daß das Dach des Tanzsaals einbricht und Wasser eindringt. Als noch ein Blitz ein nebenstehendes Haus in Flammen setzt geraten die Zuschauer in Panik und rennen aus dem Saal. Am Ende sieht man Bruscon samt Familie vor dem verlassenen Zuschauerraum.
bron
donderdag 6 oktober 2011
zondag 18 september 2011
de bruiloft & langs de grote weg - tsjechov
De bruiloft (1889) "Je kunt beter gaan dansen in plaats van mij lastig te vallen met al dat gepraat." Geen pril geluk op dit bruiloftsfeest. De vader van de bruid is gevallen voor een Griekse banketbakker, de bruidegom aast op een grotere bruidsschat en er moet voortdurend gedanst worden. Op het laatste moment is er een generaal opgetrommeld om het feest wat cachet te geven. Hij blijkt een hardhorende luitenant-ter-zee in ruste die moeilijk tot zwijgen te brengen is.
Langs de grote weg (1884) "Geen huwelijk zonder stank, geen kroeg zonder drank." Onheilspellend en smerig, oordeelde de Russische censor en wilde het stuk niet vrijgeven voor opvoering. In Tsjechovs eersteling broeit inderdaad van alles. In een herberg trachten zwervers en pelgrims met drank de eenzaamheid van de nacht te verjagen. De tragische liefdesgeschiedenis van een aan lager wal geraakte landeigenaar brengt de gemoederen in beweging en uiteindelijk loopt het volledig uit de hand.
maandag 12 september 2011
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