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Theory, Practice and Modern Drama.

The relationship between practice and theory has always bedevilled drama departments. All
too often the two elements are implicitly concieved as polar opposites: performing versus
criticism, doing as distinct from thinking, body versus mind -- but, put like that, the practice /
theory question reproduces the dualism that characterizes Western civilization as a whole. So
perhaps the split merely mirrors our cultural conditioning, in which case the debate is
unresolvable as long as our social context remains unchanged. In the more limited area of
drama-teaching, of course, it tends to be a trade-off. The balance between theory and practice
shifts depending on intended outcome, with conservatories focussing exclusively on training
in specific skills at one end of the spectrum, and primarily academic analysis at the other.
Both extremes seem insufficient to the contemporary view. Indeed, drama departments
specifically evolved in order to integrate theory with practice, reflecting the holistic nature of
theatre as a form of expression that combines all the other arts and involves intellectual
activity as well as emotion, equally on the creative level and in audience response. However,
this holistic concept is itself a peculiarly twentieth-century definition. Although the
"gesamtkunstwerk" comes from Wagner, few theatre people before the modern period would
have considered what they did in these terms.
Gordon Craig, for instance, recorded that when he began acting in the 1880s he learnt his trade
from watching -- and copying -- older actors, which was the standard apprenticeship. He
also remarked that the only direction he received was whether to enter stage right or left, and
that he never had an idea of a play as a whole since all he saw were cue-scripts: texts that
consisted solely of his own lines, together with the concluding words of the speech
immediately before. Although by the end of the 19th century a great deal of attention was
spent on elaborate scenery, costumes -- like interpretations of leading roles -- were often
handed down, with Craig wearing the same black velvet doublet for Cromwell in an 1892
performance of Henry VIII at the Lyceum, which Henry Irving had used a quarter of a
century earlier in 1876 as King Phillip in Tennyson's Queen Mary. In the same way, an actor
tackling a classic role would look back to how Kemble or Kean had presented it. Despite the
celebrated ensemble acting of the Meiningen Company, there was little in the way of holistic
vision on display at even the leading London theatres. Theory -- of any kind -- was also
conspicuously absent.
In fact one could say that there was no theoretical dimension to drama at all before the 20th
century. Aristotle may have been the great exemplar of academic theorists. But there is little
evidence that The Poetics had any influence on the way Greek tragedies were written; and

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although his rediscovered ideas conditioned the works of Dryden and the French neoclassicists, they were more often used simply as an intellectual stick to beat playwrights who
had quite other agendas, and continued to ignore Aristotelian principles. Think of Sidney's
Apology, and its complete lack of effect on Marlowe, let alone Shakespeare. Then, ever since
Diderot there had been calls for greater realism in the theatre, but these also had little effect on
stagecraft. In fact, up to the modern era the most characteristic writings related to theatrical
practice were studies of rhetoric, which abounded in the 17th and 18th centuries, and were
designed as much for political orators as for actors. These generally focussed on setting down
"rules" for gesture, as with Riccoboni's treatise on The Art of The Theatre: for example, "In
lifting up the arm, the superior part, ie. from the shoulder to the elbow, ought to be first
elevated: the hand ought to be the last part in action". However, some could be seen as early
forerunners of contemporary communication and reception-theory, like The Art of Acting by
Aaron Hill, who offers prescriptions (in heroic couplets) for representing "the passions". In
his model, the job of the actor is to transmit heightened emotions to the audience through a
form of bio-feedback, which requires authentic feeling to reach the degree of intensity where
the same emotion will be experienced by a spectator. Typically, even though Hill was a friend
of Garrick, and involved in every aspect of 18th century theatre -- author of some 10
tragedies, with titles like The Fatal Vision (or the Fall of Siam) and The Fatal Extravagence;
manager of Drury Lane; author of a weekly journal of theatrical commentary and gossip -Hill's aim in publishing the Art of Acting was to gain support for a School of Oratory, whose
aristocratic pupils would be trained for parliament, not the stage.
By contrast, the 20th century is the age of ideology. Theory has dominated every aspect of
life, from eugenics to relativity -- even history has become historiography -- and the theatre
has both reflected and promoted this theoretical atmosphere. Of course some of the major
currents had already appeared by the 1860s: Darwin's theory of evolution / the economic
theories of Karl Marx -- or in theatrical terms Zola's call for naturalist drama. But, even
though the Communist Manifesto had already reached a sixth edition in 1890, it was only in
this century that theory (on all levels) became a determining social factor. And it is worth
noting that all the ideological constructs that shaped modern, as well as post-modern
perspectives share a common denominator: they are theories of radical change. Social
historians like Raymond Williams use "keywords" to encapsulate movements; and one I find
particularly appropriate is offered by Warren Susman in a book called Culture as History:
"Transformation was a key word in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries,
becoming significant not only in the world of science...but in the world of history and
social science as well. History increasingly had to confront the changing of forms in
which experience was expressed -- often rapid change because of technological

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innovation." 1
One might add that the whole concept of transformation was even more central in the arts. In
previous periods theatre's function might have been seen as re-forming manners or moral
excesses (as with 18th century comedy) -- but that implied restoring a status quo. Now, as
theatre became politicized, the aim of playwrights and directors was the reverse: to transform society. In addition, signalling a new concern with the relationship between medium and
message (long pre-dating MacLuhan), to transform the stage itself. Indeed, attempts to
change the nature of performance can be seen as the defining mark of modern drama; and in
almost every case the transformation has been fuelled by or based on theory.
Strindberg's post-inferno plays are the dramatic expression of his Occult Diaries and his
research into Eastern religions. Shaw accompanied his plays with philosophical prefaces that
almost outweigh the dramatic scripts (897 pages to 1125 pages in the Hamblyn "collected
works" edition). Stanislavski's work is only judged to have become important when he
developed a system, and defined it in a treatise. Even such anti-verbal movements as the
Dadaists and Surrealists wrote manifesto after manifesto. Above all, there is the example of
Bertolt Brecht, who not only developed a style of dramaturgy explicitly based on political
ideology, but wrote extensive theoretical essays to explain and justify his plays -- and
significantly, it is Brecht's theoretical writings that have had far more influence than his actual
plays. The trend has continued in the second half of the century. Grotowski's productions in
the 60s were a relevation, but it was his book Towards a Poor Theatre that served as a
catalyst for the American avant garde -- while his followers, like Richard Schechner or
Eugenio Barba, moved from performance to extensive writings on theatre anthropology.
One significant sign of the times is the emergence of theatre journals, specifically designed to
promote a revolutionary vision: the most influential being The Mask, which ran from 1908 to
1929, and TDR (originally the Tulane Drama Review) in the 70s. Another distinguishing
20th century factor is the founding of theatre schools, which focus on research (not actortraining): Craig's School for the Art of the Theatre and the Dalcroze institute at Hellerau,
Copeau's Vieux Columbier School and the Meyerhold Free Workshop, Grotowski's
paratheatrical projects, Barba's School of Theatre Anthropology. In all theory is the starting
point for performance -- frequently adapting concepts from other areas: biomechanics,
eurythmics, psychotherapy -- and the aim is always a total change in the nature of theatre,
the creation of a new theatre.
The norm, particularly for directors who are identifiably modernist, has been a combination of
practical performance work with theoretical writings. Like Shaw, Copeau started off his

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career as a critic. Piscator and Meyerhold wrote extensive theoretical essays to explain or
provide a theoretical framework for their productions, just as Brecht did for his plays. Even a
pragmatic showman like Peter Brook signalled his switch from commercial and classical
theatre with a book; and its title, The Empty Space, sums up the wholesale rejection of the
past, starting again from first principles to build something new, that has been a standard
feature of modern theatre ever since Alfred Jarry.
Of course, there are some major exceptions -- artists who are quintessentially modernist, but
who have written very little of a theoretical kind. For example, Pirandello with a just a single
short essay to his name -- Beckett, whose early essays on Joyce and Proust have only
tangential relevance to his drama, limiting his commentary to self-conradictory marginalia like
"no symbols where none intended" -- or Robert Wilson, who has consistently let his largely
non-verbal work speak for itself. However, each of these could be seen as extremely cerebral
artists. The major theme of all three has been the nature of perception. Pirandello specifically
labelled his comedy "philosophical". Beckett's minimalism, his increasing simplification and
economy, as well as thematic abstraction are the hallmarks of a highly intellectual drama (as I
have argued elsewhere). Wilson's architectural structuring of sound and movement, hypnotic
stasis and deconstructed reality are exceptionally cerebral.
At the other end of the spectrum, there are a number of highly influential figures whose
experience in practical theatre was almost non-existent. The major names here are, of course,
Gordon Craig, Adolph Appia, and Antonin Artaud -- and their position as purely theoretical
catalysts in many ways epitomizes the nature of modern theatre. Craig started out as an
actor (as did Artaud). In fact during his 8 years with the Lyceum and on tour he gained a
reputation as one of the most promising younger actors, then directed and designed a series of
six productions -- three operas, a nativity play, plus one of Ibsen's early historical dramas and
a Shakespeare for his mother, Ellen Terry between 1900 and 1903. But after that Craig
withdrew from the stage, which he saw as incapable of realizing his increasingly abstract ideal.
And apart from just two occasions when he was persuaded to demonstrate his ideas in
practice -- the notorious 1912 collaboration with Stanislavski on Hamlet in Moscow, and a
1926 production of another of Ibsen's historical dramas (which largely reproduced effects of
23 years before) -- Craig deliberately restricted himself to exhibitions of his designs, and
publishing. Artaud's theatrical experience was even more limited: some minor acting roles and
three film performances, a production of Strindberg's Dream Play, two plays by Roger Vitrac
and a small number of other short surrealist pieces, plus one of his own plays in which
Artaud not only acted the title role but also designed the set and directed. Appia's work was
still further removed from performance. His pathbreaking books on staging Wagnerian opera

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were published over a decade before he designed his first full-length production, and over
twenty years before his only professional productions: stagings of just three of Wagner's
operas, all of which aroused strong criticism. Between them a total of six operas, eight plays,
one dance drama, and nine or ten one-act pieces. Compare this, say, to Max Reinhardt -- for
whom a typical year would have been (as it was in 1911) directing 23 plays, several in
multiple productions, 4 operas, one festival drama and a mammoth spectacular pageant. In
addition, neither Craig, Artaud, or even Appia, accepted their productions as a full realization
of their theories.
Appia at least achieved what he wanted in technical terms, but commented that the net result
of his Wagnerian stagings was "the opposition has triumphed". For Gordon Craig, little of
what he intended came across in production -- as he remarked about The Vikings "all seems to
me as unlike... what I have always strived for in my work as possible", while the Moscow
Hamlet "fell back instead of advancing", and Craig's attitude to working in the theatre became
one of frustration: "it is hard to remain patient and silent while my imaginings are being
messed about". Although Artaud tended to blame the public (and the decadence of modern
society) for the failure of what he called his "aborted theatre", he finally came to admit that
"There is nothing I loathe / And detest as much as this idea of a play, / Of a performance, /
Because of the appearance, the unreality, / Attached to all that is produced and that is /
Shown..." Live theatre always fell short of the ideal; and for both Craig and Artaud the only
solution was the total dominance of the director. Artaud tried to develop ways of making
performance "fixed in its least details" so that the presentation would be "as strict and
calculated as any written work". Similarly, Craig's response had been to call for an Ubermarionette to replace the actor. And following the logic of this, Craig conceived a mechanical
stage entirely under his control, where there would be nothing naturalistic, nothing accidental
or unintended. A totally abstract theatre, created from the play of light over three-dimension
moving forms, which might be seen as the materialization of pure theory.
Indeed, the fact that Craig's ideal remained an idea, and was never put into practice, gives it a
particular theoretical value. But all theories are not equally effective. Take the work of
Norman Bel Geddes, which in some ways was no less visionary than Craig's, and just as farreaching in its attempts to change the nature of theatre. For instance, Bel Geddes spent a
whole decade working on a projected staging of Dante's Divine Comedy, from 1921 to 1930,
at the same time as Craig in Italy was working on a production of Bach's St Matthew Passion,
which occupied him from 1914 to 1936. Though developed quite independently, both
projects are directly comparable. Each required the construction of a special theatre, with a
monolithic multi-level permanent set, massed choruses in neutral costumes that would merge

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them with the scene, and extremely complex lighting. The stage forms were equally symbolic:
Craig deriving his flights of steps, bridge over a crypt and high enclosing arches from church
architecture -- Bel Geddes' rising concentric tiers, intersected by a central stairway descending
all the way from on high, being based on the circles of hell and Jacob's ladder. Large scale
models were built of each setting, on which movements and lighting effects could be worked
out, and photographs taken using figurines. In each case the action was worked out in detail,
with Bel Geddes creating a full production script, keyed to a grid laid over the ground plan,
and dividing the 2 and 3/4 hour performance into 20-to-30 second sections, giving moves for
each of the 1,000 performers with sound and light cues. Bel Geddes submitted plans for a
"Divine Comedy Theatre" to the 1930 Chicago World Fair; Craig tried to interest Mussolini
in sponsoring a "St Matthew Passion" festival. Neither were ever produced.
In fact Bel Geddes' plans were far more extensive than Craig's ever became, and extremely
practical. He had experience in mounting performances on a similar scale, having designed the
American production of Reinhardt's The Miracle, and in addition to the model plus dozens of
photographs and over 60 scene-renderings for The Divine Comedy, Bel Geddes provided
architectural blue prints and elevations, as well as detailed cost estimates. And he
meticulously preserved every scrap of material, making an exact reproduction possible.
Several exhibitions of his designs were mounted not only in New York, but in Amsterdam and
Berlin, just like Craig; and he also mounted a course to teach his ideas, though not in his own
school. In additon he drew up architectural plans for a whole series of innovative theatres,
which experimented with radically new relationships between the audience and the stage; and
though most were still-born, his design for a whole theatre complex with multiple
performance areas was pirated by the Russians, and constructed in the Ukraine. Yet where
Craig, along with Appia and Artaud, are all still well-known -- widely acknowledged as
among the most important "makers of modern theatre" -- and each has attracted extensive
academic study, Bel Geddes has sunk from sight. No scholar has judged Bel Geddes worth a
monograph; and his name is barely remembered except by experts in American theatre
history.
This difference in treatment is, I think, instructive. Like Craig, Bel Geddes designed operas,
and a Hamlet (which he also adapted and directed), together with marionette plays, a
symbolist play (Pealleas & Melisande) and a modern poetic drama. But his range was eclectic
rather than intellectually consistent. He also designed lavish spectacles for an entrepreneurial
showman like Reinhardt, several musicals (including Fred Astaire's Lady Be Good), and some
hyper-realistic sets for naturalist dramas. For a time he even managed a Broadway theatre,
and he was constantly producing plans for successive World Fairs, culminating in a complete

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site-plan for Chicago and the General Motors exhibition building in New York (a futurama
viewed from sound-equipped armchairs on a 1/4 mile conveyor-belt, which was constructed
in 1940). In short, his aims were largely commercial; and he spent the last 20 years of his life
as a successful industrial designer. Although his aim was to reshape society on the broadest
futuristic level, it was therefore easy to see Bel Geddes as part of the system, instead of
working to demolish it and build a radically new theatre. Perhaps most significant of all,
while his designs were exhibited internationally, he published nothing. He wrote no books
outlining his vision, not even an article to explain his principles.
By contrast, what marks the work of Appia, Craig and Artaud is (1) an explicit and total
opposition to the existing system. In the case of the first two, this was limited to the theatre
itself and primarily concerned with the rejection of naturalism. Artaud, who began his career
several decades later when political ideologies were widely spread, extended his attack to the
whole culture of Western civilization ("No more Masterpieces !").
(2ndly) Unlike Bel Geddes, all three focus exclusively on art. Even where social change is
envisaged -- as it was implicitly in Appia's work with Dalcroze, or quite obviously with
Artaud's image of "the Plague" and his attack on "the ideology of authority" in The Cenci -their only tool remains theatrical performance.
(3rd) For Craig and Artaud, at least, the inertia of traditional theatre, its resistance to change,
radicalizes their ideas, making their vision more extreme, so that in order to promote their new
forms of theatre they have to abandon the stage. They become John the Baptist figures
calling in the wilderness.
(Finally) All three articulate their artistic aims in print -- indeed in Craig's case the outpouring
of words is staggering: 14 books and one autobiography, three journals (which he wrote
almost single-handedly under various pseuonyms, as well as edited, with The Mask running
into 15 volumes over 20 years, plus five pamphlets or portfolios). And for all of these
innovators the absence of practical work brings out the theoretical quality of their
publications.
Appia's proposals were perhaps the most concrete of the three; and as a result the effect of
his writings was the most limited of the three. His ideas were picked up in Meyerhold's use
of simplified setting, and music as a unifying factor in production, while his concept of
rythmic space was finally adopted at Bayreuth in the 1950s. Craig's writings were more
visionary, and had a broader effect. His book On the Art of the Theatre and even more his
journal, The Mask, were the catalyst for the whole "Art Theatre" movement, which
proliferated over the first quarter of the century and provided much of the energy for early
theatrical experiment. In addition, his designs, together with Appia's, initiated a revolution in

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stage-lighting, where the atmospheric use of light became the controlling emotional factor of a
performance. Artaud, who rejected logic and reason as "chains that bind us in a petrifying
imbecility of the mind", is the most imprecise of all; and his essays, which are almost purely
inspirational, became the core text for the whole counter-culture revolution of the late 1960s.
What made these three so influential was not just that they liberated the imagination, but the
degree to which they provided a set of fundamental, indeed elemental principles that could be
applied in different ways by other theatre artists. And their relevance continues, even if the
ideas they promoted have now become so much a part of the cultural atmosphere that their
source is unrecognised. For instance, improvisational theatre, the emphasis on process rather
than product [that characterises "devising", among other things], and the use of performance
as therapy derives from Artaud. In fact, all attempts to break down the separation between
stage and audience can be seen as based in Artaud. More specifically, Craig's abstraction and
aestheticism, his concept of plastic space, even his replacement of the actor with an Ubermarionette, are all realized in Robert Wilson's work. Significantly, there is no question of
direct influence here. Though familiar with some of Craig's designs, Wilson's style was
already fully developed before he read anything by Craig. But the statuesque quality Wilson
imposes on his performers, the sculptured costuming and facial masking (particularly in
recent productions, such as the Paris Madame Butterfly) that transform actors into
archetypes, the rigid choreography and the avoidance of emotional display, all correspond to
Craig's ideal. So do Wilson's architectural settings, in which structural elements are shifted
from scene to scene to create unfolding patterns, and the way he orchestrates light, making it a
concrete presence. Even the high-tech quality of Wilson's theatre is essentially Craigean.
Theory triumphs. It has become absorbed, inscribed in contemporary performance by
osmosis.
Indeed, it's hard to see how (even if successful) their stage work could have served as a model,
since so few people had the chance to see it. Appia's final Wagnerian production of Die
Walkure in Basel only had four performances, Craig's earliest (and in some ways most
striking) production of Dido and Aeneas ran for three nights, Artaud's single "Theatre of
Cruelty" production (The Cenci) only lasted for two.
1. Warren Susman, Cutlure as History, 1984, p.234.