“Theatre in the Corridor” was written, in Czech, in December 1939; that explains why the first paragraph sounds rather anachronistic. It has remained unpublished for nearly forty years.

This was my third attempt to write a theoretical paper, after “Man and Object in the Theatre,” published in 1940 (English translation in: Paul L. Garvin, ed., A Prague School Reader on Esthetics, Literary Structure, and Style, Washington, D.C., 1964) and “Mácha's Conception of the World,” published the same year.

My approach followed the general theory of the Prague Linguistic Circle, focusing on the concepts of structure and sign. But I was much more influenced by the Prague School's poetics, linguistics, and general esthetics than by its sporadic studies about the theatre, which I found somewhat loose in their reasoning.

At the start of the sixteenth century, Duarte Barbosa, one of the earliest Portugese to arrive in Kerala, a state in southwest India, provides a description of Kalarippayatt (meaning “place of exercise,” referring to the technical system of training In its entirety. Kalari by itself means gymnasium or fencing school.) which although quaint is nevertheless still an apt account of this indigenous martial art system:

The performances usually begin for us in setting up the space on the previous night. The process is similar each time. We both approach it as a kind of ritual.

Winston Tong's solo theatre works—he has created more than half a dozen—meld widely divergent forms and sensibilities: his extreme economy of means is akin to types of traditional Chinese theatre; his use of puppets, dolls, and silhouettes recalls elements of Japanese Bunraku and Javanese shadow puppets; and his startling, pervasive eroticism has roots in nineteenth century French Symbolism.

“A Rimbaud,” which dates from 1976, Is a phantasmagory of tortured sensuality. It came, Tong says, “out of terrible alienation and a desire to make connection with some more ethereal thing. I wondered what love was. And I was kind of anguished.”

Seven small votive candles are lit as footlights. Then Tong quietly, solemnly walks on stage carrying an overnight-size black suitcase.

Some discussions of the semiotics of theatre limit themselves to one tradition of performance, while others use examples from different theatre traditions to illustrate their theories. Rarely, however, has there been an attempt to examine what occurs when a tale or element that is an integral part of one cultural code is translated into the performance code of another very different culture. An interesting example of this is John Emigh's production of Little Red Riding Shawl, which is presented within forms associated with the Balinese topeng tradition. (Although many productions of topeng use several actors, Emigh's performance is based on topeng pajegan [T82], the oldest form of topeng, where one actor plays all the roles in succession.) We will look at what modifications the topeng codes undergo in the course of the performance, what extratextual information is required of the audience, and how Emigh employs the various performance codes in order to convey messages on many different levels.

In March, 1976, the FramartGaiiery of Naples, Italy, sponsored the performance of an original Allan Kaprow work, Maneuvers. By previous arrangement, Kaprow had been commissioned to prepare a performance scenario of his choice to be performed, under his supervision and with his participation, by friends and patrons of the gallery.

Kaprow designed and sent on ahead a brief scenario of actions that could be carried out in unspecified locations, private or public, by participants working in couples. No formal audience would be present, and couples would be generally free to choose the place and time for performing each phase of the scenario. Because there would be no direct supervision of the couples as they performed, participants would be on their own to interpret the directions given in the scenario. Any even number could participate in the event.

There is no question, in these few pages, of presenting methods of semiotic analysis applied to the theatre or even of completely describing a performance and its structural principles. Rather, beginning with some theoretical concepts and a montage of photographs we simply would like to develop some thoughts on a performance and its semiotic analysis and to try to find a middle ground between concrete description and abstract semiotic theory: an approach, therefore, determinedly practical and theoretical that could contribute to a new phase of theatrical semiotics. Following some indispensible epistomological reflections on the justification of an approach derived from linguistics and structuralism, and following the examination of general models of theatrical functioning, it is imperative that the facts and the hypotheses be verified by comparison with precise analyses and practical observations of theatrical production.

The pantomime, Pierrot Assassin of His Wife—one of the most extraordinary solo performances of the late 19th century—was first created in 1881 by a stage-struck twenty-one-year-old Parisian student, Paul Margueritte, who spent his summer vacations outside the city putting on amateur theatre in an old barn loft. For the rest of the decade, Margueritte, although embarked upon a successful literary career, continued to present his pantomime whenever and wherever he could—for friends and relatives, before peasants in rented rural ballrooms, in fashionable Parisian salons for elite private audiences of artists and writers, and at special showings in professional theatres.

A radically new interpretation of the traditional comic figure derived from cornmedia dell'arte, Margueritte's macabre Pierrot contributed directly to the revival of pantomime that characterized the 1880's: Margueritte quickly became celebrated, and his work was written up in popular magazines; Stéphane Mallarmé, Edmond de Goncourt, Alphonsé Daudet, and André Antolne were among the admirers of Pierrot Assassin of His Wife.

Between May 12,1664 and March 15,1669, there took place one of those battles of the theatre without the understanding of which it would be difficult to correctly evaluate the force of the theatre, its ability to adapt, and the limits of its evolution. The premiere of L'lmposteur—written by Molière who, after a none too easy career, was finally being spoiled by the muses and his king (without whom the contribution of the muses would have had less effect)—resulted in the banning of the play and a series of events that finally led to royal permission granting that a completed text be published and presented onstage, a permission under whose grace we still find ourselves. Between the possible premiere and the version considered acceptable, the text was changed several times, proposing even more variants for performance.

Curtain

The room with its paneling of dark old oak is dim and gloomy; against the wall, here a wardrobe, there a dresser; a chair to the right, a table to the left, bottles on the floor, their necks broken.