The Robben Island Bible

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The Robben Island Bible

Hello Everyone-

For this month’s Contemporary Classics Conversation subject, I was inspired by the situation we have found ourselves in over the past few months, of being quarantined in our homes and very limited in our movement and activities. Our lives have been completely upended, restricted, and so many aspects of living that we all have put in our lives to give it meaning, purpose, joy, are suddenly unavailable. Like many of us, to maintain perspective on my own situation (and to pass the time…the immense amount of time!) I have been doing a lot of reading. Of course, that includes quite a bit of Shakespeare. In Shakespeare’s plays, we find many characters whose circumstances are much more challenging than our own. This exposure gives us insight on deep, fundamental human struggles, and perspective on any circumstances we are in, providing strength when needed and relief when appropriate. So while this column usually focuses on a contemporary playwright and impactful moments in the theatre, this one will focus on a contemporary impact by a very uncontemporary playwright, and how Shakespeare brought strength and perspective to a group of men in far more dire circumstances than a temporary quarantine. Here is the story of The Robben Island Bible.

I’m sure all of you know of the man Nelson Mandela, and are familiar with his story of imprisonment and subsequent rise to prominence in an apartheid-free South Africa. The prison in which he spent 18 of his total 27 years of confinement is the notorious Robben Island. During the 1970’s, there was a fellow political prisoner named Sonny Venkatrathnam, a man of Indian descent. For a portion of their time, the prisoners were allowed to have books to read, until the powers realized they were using these books to educate themselves on law and politics and revolution. The book “privilege” was taken away. After a while, and after much pressure from the prisoners themselves, the policy was amended to allow each prisoner to keep one book, and one book only. Sonny Venkatrathnam decided that if he can only have one book, it needed to be a book that could last a long time. Brilliantly, he chose the Complete Works of William Shakespeare.

Over time, the book was passed around among the prisoners, the plays read and discussed. During his time in prison, Sonny’s family would communicate with him by sending him postcards and greeting cards. These cards had images of Hindu religious figures on them. To preserve these precious communications, Sonny would attach them to the cover of his Shakespeare book. Soon, another uprising by the prisoners caused the book policy to change again, and all books, except for Bibles, were taken from the cells. According to Sonny, on Sundays the prison would bring in a priest to provide a religious service for the prisoners. One Sunday, out of a desire to break the monotony and boredom, he decided to attend. The prisoners were each allowed to bring their Bible with them. Sonny told the guard he needed to get his Bible from the storeroom where the books were kept, and because his book of Shakespeare’s complete works was covered in the postcards of Hindu gods and goddesses, the guard believed it to be a religious book. As Sonny said, “Fortunately he wasn’t such a bright man, or he was too tired to care much, but he didn’t look too closely and he let me take it.” From that point on, Sonny was allowed to keep the book in his cell. Again, it was passed around, read, and discussed, this time in secret.

In late 1977, word came that Sonny was soon going to be released from prison. He passed around the book one more time, now asking his fellow prisoners to mark passages that meant something to them, that had the greatest impact on them, and sign their name next to it. In all, 34 inmates marked and signed the book, the most famous being Nelson Mandela, who wouldn’t be released from prison for another 13 years. His chosen passage? It’s from Julius Caesar:

CAESAR

Cowards die many times before their deaths;

The valiant never taste of death but once.

Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,

It seems to me most strange that men should fear,

Seeing that death, a necessary end,

Will come when it will come.

Thinking of Nelson Mandela marking that passage while imprisoned in the vicious Robben Island prison, and only halfway through his ultimately 27-year confinement that he had no idea would ever end, gives new weight and meaning to those words. The power of that idea in those circumstances is gut-wrenching, and provides incredible perspective on our own current situation. Temporary quarantine becomes much, much easier to manage.

The Robben Island Bible, or the Robben Island Shakespeare, as the book has become known, still exists and is in the possession of Sonny’s family (Sonny passed away in March of 2019 at the age of 84). It occasionally is brought on exhibit. I have found no current information regarding its next tour, but I am keeping an eye out.

To share your own Shakespearean passage of inspiration, insight, and/or strength, please comment below and then join Capital Classics for our Shakespeare Book Club at the Noah Webster branch of the West Hartford Library via Zoom on Monday, July 6. The topic is “Shakespeare Strong” and we will all share and discuss our own impactful passages. For information on accessing the meeting via zoom, email: bard@westhartfordlibrary.org or info@capitalclassics.org.

“See” you there and then!

Geoffrey Sheehan

Artistic Associate

Capital Classics Theatre Company

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Martin McDonagh: Feisty Comedy

Hello Everyone-

For this month’s Contemporary Classics Conversation subject, I was inspired by an article in the New York Times about Martin McDonagh and his coming-to-Broadway play, The Hangmen. Martin McDonagh is one of my absolute favorite playwrights to come around in a long time. He has struck a chord in me with his intelligence, his humor, his incredible story telling structure filled with surprises, his feistiness, and his very, very Irishness.

When I was a young theatre student, I was drawn to Sam Shepard for these same reasons (except for the Irishness; or Shepard, it was his Americanness). Shakespeare was still several years away, until I was taught how to access these same traits in his writing. So, it is no surprise that the first McDonagh play I read was The Lonesome West, an Irish tribute to Shepard’s True West. I was so impressed by how funny it was, how surprisingly violent (which I have to admit, I love that stuff in the theatre-see: William Shakespeare’s plays), and yet how sympathetic to humanity it was. Our flaws and vulnerabilities and unignorable desires are on full display in that play and in all his other work I have since read and/or seen.

The first play of his I saw was The Cripple of Inishmaan, in a 2011 Irish and American tour co-produced by the Druid Theatre Company of Ireland, and New York’s Atlantic Theater Company at the International Festival of Arts & Ideas in New Haven. I had not yet read the play, and purposefully chose not to prior to seeing the performance. I read so many plays for my work, my pleasure, my curiosity, that it is a rare occasion that I can see a show in which I don’t already know the story. I wanted the experience of suspense and surprise that comes with a new, unknown play. And boy, did I get it! Twists, turns, shocks, all accompanied by outbursts of laughter, sighs of sympathy, and silent, awestruck appreciation for the brilliance of the script. I jumped into a standing ovation at the curtain call (a rarity) and later that evening at a nearby restaurant when I saw a few of the actors, I crossed over to their table and told them of my great enjoyment of their work (even more rare).

In this vein, the Conversation I would love for us to have this month, is one about the surprises we have had in the theatre. Those emotional responses that are out of our mouths before we know it. The joy of seeing something brand new, and the great appreciation of excellence in the theatre. I look forward to hearing from you!

For more on Martin McDonagh, here are the links to the NY Times article, and the webpage to the Broadway show:

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/04/theater/martin-mcdonagh-hangmen-broadway.html

https://hangmenbroadway.com/

Geoffrey Sheehan

Artistic Associate

Capital Classics Theatre Company

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Lorraine Hansberry

A Raisin in the Sun, Family, & Love

Hello Everyone-

For this month’s Contemporary Classics Conversation subject, I turn to thoughts of the holidays that we are in the midst of, and among the anticipated joys and celebrations of the days ahead, is the inevitability of some difficult family situations many of us find ourselves facing. The anxiety those can bring and the deep and long-held wounded relationships are an incredible challenge.

Several years ago, when dealing with some of these challenges, I experienced another moment where the power of theatre changed my perspective on an issue most immediate in my life, and in changing my perspective, changed my actions as well. It was not the first time I had read or experienced Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun. Far from it. I knew this play well. But this time, another moment in the lives of the Youngers would impact me in an unexpected deeply affecting way. It is this excerpt from Act III, scene 1. Walter, out of his humiliation and despair, had just proclaimed his intent to accept the previously-refused financial offer from Karl Lindner intended to prevent the Youngers from moving into Clybourne Park, leaving Mama and his sister Beneatha stunned, each in their own way, at the disintegration of their family member:

BENEATHA    That is not a man. That is nothing but a toothless rat.

MAMA            Yes—death done come in this here house. (She is nodding, slowly, reflectively) Done come walking in my house on the lips of my children. You what supposed to be my beginning again. You—what supposed to be my harvest. (To BENEATHA) You—you mourning your brother?

BENEATHA    He’s no brother of mine.

MAMA            What you say?

BENEATHA    I said that that individual in that room is no brother of mine.

MAMA            That’s what I thought you said. You feeling like you better than he is today? (BENEATHA does not answer) Yes? What you tell him a minute ago? That he wasn’t a man? Yes? You give him up for me? You done wrote his epitaph too—like the rest of the world? Well, who give you the privilege?

BENEATHA    Be on my side for once! You saw what he just did, Mama! You saw him—down on his knees. Wasn’t it you who taught me to despise any man who would do that? Do what he’s going to do?

MAMA            Yes—I taught you that. Me and your daddy. But I thought I taught you something else too … I thought I taught you to love him.

BENEATHA    Love him? There is nothing left to love.

MAMA            There is always something left to love. And if you ain’t learned that, you ain’t learned nothing. (Looking at her) Have you cried for that boy today? I don’t mean for yourself and for the family ’cause we lost the money. I mean for him: what he been through and what it done to him. Child, when do you think is the time to love somebody the most? When they done good and made things easy for everybody? Well then, you ain’t through learning—because that ain’t the time at all. It’s when he’s at his lowest and can’t believe in hisself ’cause the world done whipped him so! When you starts measuring somebody, measure him right, child, measure him right. Make sure you done taken into account what hills and valleys he come through before he got to wherever he is.

Oh, the profound wisdom of our elders, real and fictional, and the capacity of theatre to bring this wisdom to us all. How many times had I not made the effort to look past my own anger and wounds to “measure (somebody) right”? How many times had I given up on someone, believing in my own righteous indignation at their behavior, believing I was better than them? How few times did I measure somebody right?

Mama’s words exploded in my mind, crystallized my conscious awareness of my own behavior, and profoundly affected my perspective on others, those in my life I had many times professed to love and yet, had turned away from. It was severely humbling. And I am, to this day, grateful for this experience and the doors that have been reopened because of it.

So, my question for us to discuss this month are about this kind of deeply personal, conscious-affecting impact: have any of you had a theatrical experience that has profoundly changed your perspective on yourself, your circle of intimates, the world in which you live? Has that impact changed the way you go about living your life, relating to your circle of intimates, participating in the world in which you live?

We look forward to hearing from you, and continuing our Conversation!

For further experience with A Raisin in the Sun, the Yale Repertory Theatre is performing the play March 13-April 4, 2020. Here is a link to their page:

https://www.yalerep.org/productions-and-programs/production/raisin

 

Geoffrey Sheehan

Artistic Associate

Capital Classics Theatre Company

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Lauren Gunderson

Hello Everyone-

For this month’s Contemporary Classics Conversation subject, let’s consider Lauren Gunderson, a playwright in the top one or two spots in “the Most Produced Playwrights in America” list in 2016, 2017, and 2018, and for her return to the first-place slot for the 2019-20 season, she has had almost double the number of productions than the second-place finisher. Strangely, her Connecticut productions have been rare. Fortunately for those of us in the Greater Hartford area, Playhouse on Park presented her play, The Revolutionists, this past February/March. I hope many of you got a chance to see it and experience for yourselves what makes this playwright so popular. Her plays are inventive, imaginative, exciting, passionate, and absolutely incredibly human. In other words, the best of what theatre can and should be.

In her play, The Book of Will, “a play about the search for, the printing, and the surviving of Shakespeare’s Folio,” she includes a scene where the character of John Heminges has recently lost his wife, Rebecca. He ends up grieving on the empty stage of the Globe Theater. Upon being found by his friend and co-collector and collaborator in the Folio, Henry Condell, Heminges questions the value theatre has had in their lives. Here is their conversation:

HENRY:    When my first boy died, only months old, I couldn’t imagine a loving God that would have any part in such a thing. And I told him so in my prayers, silent because I know I’d be the one in the ground if anyone heard what I thought of God and his taking and taking and taking. Then I realized the great weight of every grieving father’s prayers that must hit God every night, and must sound so much like my own. Sons who lost fathers, husbands without wives, mothers – oh God the mothers. All that grief on God’s ear constantly. 

Then I felt bad for God. 

Which made me laugh. 

Which made me feel alive again. Funny how that worked out didn’t it. 


JOHN:         That’s a good story. Why do we bother? 

HENRY:     With what? 

JOHN:     With stories. Dramas. Especially the dramas. Isn’t that ridiculous? Grown men dressing up as kings and, even more ridiculously, queens. And the people come to see it. And they laugh. But they also weep. They weep with us. Why do they do it?

HENRY:     Because stories are real in their own way. 

JOHN:     No. Real life keeps going on and on, and the villains aren’t caught and the endings aren’t right, and it’s rough seas and dark days and we sit here in this barn playing fictions for willing dreamers. We tell it over and over and over again. And I sit through it and it’s false and it’s hot air and I need it. When I have nothing left to say I need it. When I hurt so much I can’t breathe, when I’ve got a horse for a heart and it won’t stop running and pounding and running me down, I need it, I don’t even want it, but I... 

HENRY:     John - 

JOHN:     Am I godless? I look to fairies and false kings instead of holy people. Does that a heathen make? 

HENRY:     No. Of course not, no. 

JOHN:     I cannot breathe without her, I cannot breathe at home or in the street or in the yard where she now lies, I cannot breathe in this world but here. Here I am come. And I am lulled into meaning. And that is greatest fiction of all. Meaning anything. 

(then with great ferocity) 

And God and his angels mock us every ending we play but the tragic ones, for if they aren’t tragedies yet, they will soon enough be. 

(beat) 

Story’s a forged life. Life’s a tempest of loss. Why do we bother with any of it? 

HENRY:     To feel again. 

JOHN:         I feel enough. 

HENRY:     I said to feel again. That’s the miracle of it. The faeries aren’t real but the feeling is. And it comes to us here, player and groundling alike, again and again here. Your favorite story just ended? Come back tomorrow, we’ll play it again. Don’t like the story you’re in? A different one starts in an hour. Come here, come again, feel here, feel again. History walks here, love is lived here. Loss is met and wept for and understood and survived here and not the first time but every time. We play love’s first look and life’s last here every day. And you will see yourself in it, or your fear, or your future before the play’s end. And you will test your heart against trouble and joy, and every time you’ll feel a flicker or a fountain of feeling that reminds you that, yes, you are yet living. And that is more than God gives you in his ample silence. And then it ends. And we players stand up. And we look at the gathered crowd. And we bow. Because the story was told well enough, and it’s time for another.

Beautiful. Theatrical. Human. That is Lauren Gunderson’s work. It captures perfectly why I do and go to the theatre. 

So my question for us to discuss are these same questions: Why do we do it? Why do you go to the theatre? And would you share in our Conversation any moments in the theatre that you have felt “a flicker or a fountain of feeling that reminds you that, yes, you are yet living”?

We look forward to hearing from you, and continuing our Conversation!

For more information on Lauren Gunderson and her list of plays, visit her website: http://laurengunderson.com/

Geoffrey Sheehan

Artistic Associate

Capital Classics Theatre Company

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Dominique Morisseau

Contemporary Classics Conversations

Hello Everyone-

When pondering the focus of our inaugural Contemporary Classics conversation, it was a very easy and obvious choice: the playwright Dominique Morisseau. For those of you who are regular (or even occasional) theatre-goers in Connecticut, you likely will have heard of her. This past season, her plays were produced in three of the major regional theatres in the state, and another will be presented in a small professional company in New Haven in spring, 2020. Her play, Paradise Blue, was presented at Long Wharf Theatre in New Haven last fall; Detroit ’67 at Hartford Stage Company this past winter; and Skeleton Crew earlier this summer at Westport Country Playhouse. For those of you who missed these shows, Skeleton Crew will be at the Collective Consciousness Theatre Company March 19-April 5, 2020. In addition, her play, Pipeline, was aired on PBS’ “Live at Lincoln Center” this past spring.

According to her website dominiquemorisseau.com, Dominique Morisseau is the author of The Detroit Project (A 3-Play Cycle) which includes the following plays: Skeleton Crew, Paradise Blue, and Detroit ’67. Additional plays include: Pipeline, Sunset Baby; Blood at the Root and Follow Me To Nellie’s. She is also the TONY nominated book writer on the new Broadway musical Ain’t Too Proud – The Life and Times of the Temptations. Dominique is alumna of The Public Theater Emerging Writer’s Group, Women’s Project Lab, and Lark Playwrights Workshop and has developed work at Sundance Lab, Williamstown Theatre Festival and Eugene O’Neil Playwrights Conference (in our very own New London, CT!). She most recently served as Co-Producer on the Showtime series “Shameless” (3 seasons). Additional awards include: Spirit of Detroit Award, PoNY Fellowship, Sky-Cooper Prize, TEER Trailblazer Award, Steinberg Playwright Award, Audelco Awards, NBFT August Wilson Playwriting Award, Edward M. Kennedy Prize for Drama, OBIE Award (2), Ford Foundation Art of Change Fellowship, Variety’s Women of Impact for 2017-18, and a recent MacArthur Genius Grant Fellow.

As you can see, a very impressive, impactful playwright! I have a quick anecdote to share with you regarding this impact, and the power of theatre to bring a community together in ways unforeseen and very much needed. As a theatre professor, my students are always assigned to go see a professional production of a play, and to write a paper on it focused on an aspect of whichever course they are in. Many of my students have never been to a professional production prior to this assignment. Such was the case with a student this past fall semester. An American citizen originally from Jamaica, she decided to go see Detroit ’67 at Hartford Stage, as we were studying the play in our class. She absolutely loved the production and the playgoing, live theatre experience, but the story she shared in class about it was one of the impact of the shared experience that happened in the lobby. She related how, during intermission, she was discussing the story of the play with a few other African-American women (whom she did not know but had met there) when a Caucasian woman approached the group and asked about what they were discussing. The woman stated (without malice or judgement, merely honestly and earnestly) that because this story was from 50 years ago, she didn’t see why it needed to be told, that we had moved past this already. According to my student, the women in the original group began to explain the current reality many in the African-American community face today, in America, on a daily basis. My student said it wasn’t an angry talk, that it was an exciting talk, it was insightful for everyone involved, and it was that impact that really made her love being a part of the theatrical experience. She had “no idea that things like that happened anywhere!” At the end of intermission, they all went into the theatre for the 2nd half, and on their way out afterwards, saw each other again. They greeted each other, thanked each other for the conversation, and went on their separate ways, more aware, more conscious of their community, and certainly more connected than they had been when they arrived that evening.

So, please join our Contemporary Classics Conversation. Have you seen a Dominique Morisseau play, in our state theatres or elsewhere? What did those plays make you think about? Have you had a similar lobby experience when attending a play? We look forward to hearing from you, and continuing our Conversation!

Geoffrey Sheehan

Artistic Associate at Capital Classics Theatre Company

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