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projectshakespearia · 7 years ago

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Two Gentlemen of Verona: The World of the Play Part II

Kyle Stockdall as Proteus and Stuart Ashenbrenner as Valentine. Their goofy faces make me giggle every time I look at this.

Introduction In Part I of this “World of the Play” series, I provided a little bit of background information on the show, the selection process, and some context for our conceptual approached. In this post, I would like to go into a little more depth about the text, its history, its “problems,” and some of the editing choices I made for this production. Hopefully this will adequately answer some of the questions/comments I’ve encountered since this show was announced: I haven’t heard of that one. I don’t like that show. Is that the one with the dog? What’s that one about again? I can see why people don’t stage that show very often. What are you going to do about the rape? (Yes, you read that correctly

While I don’t see a real need to defend this play or its author, I would like to explore some of the challenges of the text I face in staging it. The source material is interesting and provides some insight into Shakespeare’s process and development as a writer. Granted, this script is by no means “perfect,” but that’s no reason why it cannot be staged in an entertaining way in line with the work we do with Bard in the Quad.

Valentine rescues Sylvia from Proteus in a 1792 depiction by Francis Wheatley.

Background and Source Material As with many of Shakespeare’s plays, there is debate as to the precise date of the authorship of Two Gentlemen of Verona. While there is evidence that the play was written no later than 1598, generally historians and critics hypothesize the date to fall somewhere between 1590-1595 based on the writing style. Viewing the characters and plot devices that are used to greater effect in later works (spunky heroines disguised as boys, lovers separated by disapproving parents, rustic clowns, an untamed “green space” where chaotic events occur, etc.) I agree with the proposal that this play was very early in Shakespeare’s career and very likely his first play.

As with most of Shakespeare’s works, his source material came from a combination of literary sources and his own imagination. The three main sources for the plot and characters come from a “friendship tale” that includes a love triangle found in Boccaccio’s Decameron which results in one friend “giving” his lover to the other friend, a prose romance of betrayed love written by Jorge de Monemayor in 1542, and a long poem by Arthur Brooke titled The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet. The most original part of Shakespeare’s work, and probably the best, is the invention of Launce who displays a dizzying level of clever word-play and almost postmodern self-awareness in his two long monologues about his relationship with Crab, his dog.

There is no record of Two Gentlemen of Verona being performed prior to 1762, although we can assume Shakespeare’s troupe, The Lord Chamberlain’s Men, staged it in repertory in the late 16th century. It is, after all, included in the First Folio publication in 1623. While is not a rich history of productions of Two Gentlemen of Verona, it is staged more often than even more “problematic” plays such as Timon of Athens or Cymbeline. Much of the writing about the production history has to do with how directors “deal” with the two major challenges with the ending. (Also note, this does not take into account the other inconsistencies that proliferate this script.)

The Plot In a not-so-brief plot summary, Two Gents tells the story of Proteus and Valentine, lifelong friends who part so Valentine can seek his fortunes by serving in the Emperor’s court (or later, the Duke, an inconsistency that is never addressed). Proteus has decided to stay in Verona to be with his beloved Julia. Valentine chides Proteus for being “over the boots” in love and heads off to Milan (or Mantua, or Padua, another inconsistency). The relationship between Proteus and Julia develops through a series of letters delivered by pages and servants. Meanwhile, Proteus’ father Antonio discusses with his servant Panthio Proteus’ future. He is concerned that his son will not be “a perfect man” if he does not leave home and experience the world.

Shortly after Proteus has received a love letter from Julia, Antonio commands his son to Valentine in the Emperor’s court. Proteus begs his father to delay his departure, but Antonio stands firm. Proteus and his servant, Launce, must bid friends and family farewell. Proteus and Julia exchange rings in a tearful good-bye and Launce performs his first monologue about how his dog, Crab, refuses to shed “one single tear” about the departure.

After an unspecified amount of time has passed, Valentine has settled into courtly life and finds himself in love with Sylvia, the Duke’s witty and sophisticated daughter. He denies his feelings, but his own clownish servant, Speed points out that Valentine has adopted the lovesick behaviors Proteus had exhibited back in Verona. Valentine indeed loves Sylvia and she reciprocates the feelings, however, the Duke wishes to match his daughter with Thurio, a wealthy and foppish suitor. It is at this time that Proteus arrives in Milan with Launce, welcomed heartily to the court by the Duke.

Valentine is thrilled about this reunion and eagerly introduces Proteus to Sylvia, begging him to espouse her virtues. He then reveals to Proteus his and Sylvia’s plan to elope. Proteus pretends to be a supportive and devoted confidant, but grapples whether or not to cross Valentine and abandon Julia in order to pursue Sylvia. He decides that it would be a betrayal to himself not to pursue Sylvia with whom he is now deeply in love and hatches a complicated plan to ruin Valentine, thwart Thurio, and have Sylvia for himself. By revealing Valentine’s plot to the Duke, Valentine is banished from Verona. With Valentine out of the way, Proteus sets to court Sylvia for his own. He convinces Thurio to write a beautiful song that will be performed for Sylvia and then promises Thurio he will woo Sylvia on his behalf.

While all this scheming has gone on, Julia has been waiting in Verona for her beloved to return. Growing impatient, she implores her maid to disguise her as a young page so that she may track down Proteus. Lucetta is, at first, reluctant and concerned about her lady’s plan, but eventually helps her. Julia leaves Verona and arrives in Milan disguised as “Sebastian” just as the musicians prepare to perform for Sylvia. Julia watches the scene play out and is heartbroken over Proteus’ overtures towards another woman. Proteus’ advances toward Sylvia, however, are thoroughly rebuffed and she pledges her devotion to Valentine and Valentine alone.

Proteus, desperate for some token from Sylvia begs for her portrait. She agrees and he employs “Sebastian” to deliver a letter to Sylvia and a ring, which happens to be the ring that Julia gave to Proteus upon his departure from Verona. In one of the best-written scenes in the play, Julia goes to Sylvia with letter and ring in hand. Sylvia, is kind and sensitive to the image of Proteus’ “former lover” and refuses to accept his tokens. Julia is, of course, relieved that Sylvia shows no interest in Proteus. Realizing that her father will force her to marry Thurio, Sylvia decides to enlist the help of noble Sir Eglamour to guide her through the wilderness and find Valentine.

Valentine and Speed are on the road to Mantua when they are accosted by a group of bandits. In a comic exchange the bandits attempt to rob the travelers until Valentine proclaims that he has been banished for attempting to kill a man. The bandits, perhaps impressed or intimidated, decide to make Valentine their leader. Back in Milan, Sylvia’s absence has been noted and the Duke, Thurio, “Sebastian,” and Proteus set out into the wilderness to track them down.

While on the road, the bandits capture Sylvia and chase of Sir Eglamour, but are intercepted by Proteus and “Sebastian.” The bandits scare off Sir Egalmour and Proteus “frees” Sylvia from her captors. There in the woods Proteus again confesses his love and devotion to Sylvia, which she again refuses. Proteus, growing increasingly frustrated threatens: “I’ll woo you like a soldier at arm’s end, and love you ‘gainst the nature of love: force ye.” He attempts to assault Sylvia when Valentine intervenes. Valentine confronts Proteus for his treachery, not against Sylvia, but against their friendship. Proteus, overcome with guilt, apologizes to Valentine (not Sylvia) for his breach of trust to Valentine and not for the attempted rape. Valentine immediately accepts the apology and in a gesture of goodwill “gives” Sylvia to Proteus.

Proteus’ happiness over this turn of events is short-lived when Sebastian grows faint. The two gentlemen attend to the page Proteus recognizes the ring he gave to Julia on “Sebastian’s” person. Julia reveals herself and Proteus’ feelings for her are suddenly reignited. Valentine joins the hands of Proteus and Julia. At that moment, the bandits return, having captured the Duke and Thurio. Valentine commands the bandits to free the Duke and he confronts Thurio, who immediately gives up all claim on Sylvia. The Duke, suddenly satisfied with Valentine’s honor, approves of the match. In one last request, Valentine asks the Duke to pardon the outlaws and he agrees. Happily, the group sets off to return to Verona with the assumption that Valentine will wed Sylvia and Proteus will wed Julia.

Got all that?

The “Problems” and the Editing Process There are, quite simply, more than a few issues a good dramaturg could have ironed out for Shakespeare, had such a thing been common practice in the 16th century, such as the inconsistencies in location or status . . . or the fact that several characters inexplicably disappear and are never heard from again. My work in editing this script took into account several issues: time/writing errors, story/theme challenges, and the overall director’s concept.

If you read closely the convoluted summary, you can get a sense of how it might be challenging for an audience to untangle the various plot lines and characters. In an effort to simplify matters, I first made some serious cuts to the text and changes to location references so that it was clear where and when characters were coming and going. I omitted long sections of dialogue between Launce and Speed that wasn’t directly connected to the plot, I cut out the characters of Panthio and Sir Eglamour entirely, and I made some internal cuts to several of Proteus’ longer soliloquies. Most of this was in the service of having a play that would run two hours or less. Why did there need to be a long scene where Panthio and Antonio discuss the merits of Proteus leaving home? There doesn’t, so instead Antonia tells the audience she’s kicking her ne’er-do-well son out of the house and then sends Proteus packing. It’s a quicker and funnier solution for our purposes and moves the plot along for efficiently. Sir Eglamour’s presence is also inconsequential when, with a few cuts, it makes just as much sense for a stubborn Sylvia to set out on her own, just as Julia does earlier in the play.

The story/theme challenges come mostly at the troublesome ending of the play with the attempted rape followed by Valentine’s “giving” Sylvia to Proteus. There are so many quick and complete reversals in this short scene that, besides egregiously offending contemporary mores, they defy logical reason. While some of these issues are explained away that this is the work of inexperienced author attempting to construct a “happy ending” to his romantic comedy, but others are best understood within Shakespeare’s own cultural context. The most problematic excerpt is from Act V, scene 2:

PROTEUS: I’ll force thee yield to my desire.

VALENTINE: Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch, Thou fiend of an ill fashion.

PROTEUS: Valentine!

VALENTINE: Thou common friend, that’s without faith or love, For such is a friend now. Treacherous man, Thou hast beguiled my hopes. Naught but mine eye Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say I have one friend alive. Thou wouldst disprove me. Who should be trusted, when one’s right hand Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake. The private wound is deepest. O time most accursed, ‘Mongst foes that a friend should be the worst!

PROTEUS: My shame and guilt confounds me. Forgive me Valentine. If hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offense, I tender’t here. I do as truly suffer As e’er I did commit. VALENTINE: Then I am paid. And once again I do receive thee honest. Who by repentance is not satisfied Is nor of heaven nor earth. For these are pleased; By penitence th’ Eternal’s wrath appeased. And that my love may appear plain and free, All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. JULIA: O me unhappy!

Unhappy indeed! In this bizarre passage, it is clear that Valentine is far more concerned at Proteus’ treachery toward the bonds of friendship and not the attempted act of violence upon Sylvia. While at first, Valentine admonishes Proteus to cease the “rude uncivil touch,” it is the betrayal of their friendship that wounds him “deepest.” His reaction towards Proteus’ violent and despicable behavior towards Sylvia seems disproportionate. It’s one thing to forgive a friend who wrongs you, it’s an entirely different matter to completely dismiss a violent assault whether or not the victim is your romantic partner. While this is difficult for modern audiences to grasp, it is well in line with perceptions of gender and courtship in the 16th century.

One of Shakespeare’s sources here was, as mentioned earlier, a “friendship tale” from the 14th century proto-novel The Decameron. These types of Medieval tales emphasize the bonds of male friendship and are reminiscent of Arthurian legends of honor among men. Consider other male friendships in Shakespeare’s canon between Prince Hal and Falstaff, Antonio and Bassanio, or Leontes and Polixenes - these are men willing to fight and suffer for each other and feel the wound of betrayal even more deeply than one would from a lover. Although women in Elizabethan society did not lead completely cloistered lives, their gender was assumed to be weaker physically and morally and they were certainly not considered to be equals to their male counterparts. In terms of courtship and marriage between men and women, men were assumed to be the wooers and once wedded and bedded, husbands were responsible for their wives’ behavior in public as parents are responsible for their children’s behavior.

Culturally speaking, the only truly equal relationship was between people of the same gender. Shakespeare plays with this frequently by allowing his cross-dressing heroines to speak in honest friendship with the male objects of their affection. In this context it would have made sense for Valentine to be so offended by Proteus’ breach of trust. That is not to say that sexual violence was wholly acceptable, but such a crime would be viewed by Valentine akin to vandalizing his property rather than harming another fully autonomous human being. This also explains why Valentine can so easily give away his “rights” to Sylvia without consulting her. Sylvia (or any woman) must always been in the care of a man passed from her father’s care to her husband’s. It makes sense, in this view of gender and male friendship, that Valentine would demonstrate his devotion and love of Proteus and acceptance of his penance by giving Sylvia away.

Understanding the context, however, does not make for a palatable ending to a modern audience, particularly within the cheery atmosphere of Bard in the Quad. While I can imagine an intimate production of this play that delves into the complexities of female agency and male aggression, this is neither the time nor place.

My choice to cut the “All that was mine in Sylvia, I give thee” is not unheard of in the production history of Two Gents. It was common practice to omit the troublesome lines until actor/director William Charles Macready reintroduced them in 1841. I initially bristled at the notion of “fixing” the ugly parts of Shakespeare when my usual approach is to let the ugly be ugly, but concluded that while this ludicrous offer, as offensive as it is, could have made sense with a little more development, it does not in its current state. It happens so quickly and then requires the fickle Proteus to “metamorphose” once again when he discovers that Sebastian is, in fact, Julia. I left the attempted assault in the play, but have Proteus direct his apology toward Sylvia rather than to Valentine. At this point in rehearsal, the solution is a little shaky and needs some fine-tuning, but it’s much more in line with the spirit we are attempting in our sunny, summer melodrama.

The last set of changes I made to the script can be viewed as adaptations to suit the concept. For example, I changed Antonio’s gender to “Antonia” because I found the idea of a tough-as-nails, disapproving “Mama” character chasing her son out of town with a giant ladle funny. I have also named the “host” character “Miss Kitty” who will serve as emcee to the production and sing with her band, The Barn Bangerz, during pre-show and transitions. She’ll work the crowd during the pre-show, introduce our dog performer and the Human Society volunteers, and set the tone for the evening.

I knew I wanted to fold live music into this production and inadvertently came across John Denver’s AM Gold classic, “Take Me Home, Country Roads” while listening to a podcast over Spring Break. A little alteration of the lyric “Almost Heaven, West Virginia” to “Almost Heaven, West Verona,” and I was onto something. I scoured the John Denver song book to find other sunny ballads to work into the show and came across “Thank God I’m a Country Boy,” Leaving on a Jet Plane” (altered to “Leaving on a Railway” for our purposes), and “For You,” among others. In a serendipitous bit of casting I was able to cobble together a band including guitars, banjo, fiddle, upright bass, spoons, and washboard. The music adds so much to the production as The Barn Bangerz underscore the action and involve the audience while layering a homespun anachronistic whimsy into the world of the play.

In my next “World of the Play” series entry I will discuss some of the script’s stronger merits and how we are using the Proteus’ piggishness to our comic advantage. In addition I will explore some of the characters and themes connected as connected to Shakespeare’s later and more well-developed comedies.

#bardingthequad #shakespeare #twogentlemenofverona #coolvallis #OSUTheatre #alifeinthetheatre #directing

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directlywithlizzie · 8 years ago

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Director’s Notebook: The Upward-Beating Heart Dramaturgy

Our poster.

INTRODUCTION ABOUT PROCESS: Devising theatre can take make forms. It can incorporate community engaged theatre practices, it can begin as a free-flowing organic improvisational process, it can start as a response to a specific event, or any number of ways “in” to the story. In essence, devised theatre is a process of collaboratively developing a new work for the stage. I have seen devised plays that are extremely experimental and strange and I have seen plays that are much more “traditional” (or Aristotelian) in their narrative structure.

In the beginning, our process (and product) was only limited by the inspirational text (Rilke’s Letter’s to a Young Poet) and the constrains of time and imagination. When we began in January, I didn’t imagine we would have created an epic romantic drama based on the historical events of the Spanish Civil War. Many factors influenced the story including the students’ interest in history, the discussions about art and loneliness inspired by Rilke, the short and very personal performance pieces the students developed for class, a general sense of anxiety about the state of American politics and a fear of the rise of Fascism, the unique skills each person brought to the ensemble, and a thousand other tiny factors that brought us to The Upward-Beating Heart.

When the idea of using the events of the Spanish Civil War was pitched to the class after a small-group brainstorming session, there was some initial trepidation about taking on such ambitious historical subject matter. We discussed the pros and cons of that particular idea, as well as several other “hot contenders” for the structure. In the end, the story of Federico and his relationship with a group of activist-artists was the unanimous choice in moving forward. I encouraged the ensemble to focus on developing a good story and characters and we could worry about fitting that into specific historical events later. I felt that the inherent struggles of finding a place in the world during a time of war is universal enough that no matter what we wrote, there would be a suitable battle.

The group pitching The Spanish Civil War found three major historical realities of that conflict that seemed particularly relevant to our interests as an ensemble. First, art played an influential role within the resistance. Second, the idealistic struggle between the more socially progressive Republicans and the religiously conservative Fascist Nationalists provided some intriguing parallels to contemporary American politics. Third, within this complicated struggle, both “sides” committed extremely horrific atrocities. The ensemble was interested in a complicated narrative that doesn’t simply divide into a story of “good” versus “evil.”

Early in the writing process, I did my own research and found that the small provincial capital of Teruel was a fitting setting for our rag-tag group of freedom fighters. The fascinating history of this impoverished Medieval city was full of mystery, legends, and tragedy. Regarding the Spanish Civil War, it became the site of a famously bloody battle in the Winter of 1938 where the Republicans briefly took the city back from the hands of the Nationalists. This setting was too perfect to pass up and throughout the re-writing, refining, and editing process, we folded Teruel into the drama. The historical references and dates are more or less accurate including details about the Anarchists burning down the convent, the legend of the Lovers of Teruel, Franco’s strategy to take Madrid that gave the Republicans an opportunity to launch their battle, and so forth. Some events had to be blurred for the sake of the narrative plausibility and, of course, the characters depicted are completely fictional.

What follows is a brief description of some historical and other references in the script to provide a dramaturgical context for the choices we made and a little information about the characters and what they represent within the world of the play.

THE UPWARD-BEATING HEART DRAMATURGY

Spanish children preparing for the evacuation, some giving the Republican salute.

The Spanish Civil War Please note, this is a brief overview of the most relevant details about this conflict related to the events of this play and does not account for every nuanced aspect of this complicated history.

The events for the Spanish Civil War (1936-1938) were essentially started by an ideological conflict between two factions. When the Second Spanish Republic was established by King Alfonso XIII in 1931 after a number of years of political turmoil and various coups, more left-leaning socially progressive groups were gaining power. The new constitution included freedom of speech and public assembly, allowed divorce, stripped the Spanish nobility of special legal status, eventually expanded women’s suffrage, and, in essence, disestablished the Roman Catholic Church. A number of socialist groups supported these reforms, which led to the large and often disparate collection of resistance fighters including Anarchists, labor unions, and political socialists.

Spain’s more conservative political groups resented this socially progressive movement and, perhaps most importantly, the secularization of a traditionally Catholic country. Tensions grew throughout 1933-1934 until finally a military coup was staged in July 1936 by disaffected former military leaders and, thus, the struggle for Spain began. The Republic managed to maintain control of much of the country’s major industrial power centers including Madrid and Barcelona until 1939 when the last strongholds were taken by the Nationalists. Both sides received foreign support aligned with their particular political views. The Fascist Nationalists received support from Hitler’s Germany and Mussolini’s Italy while the Republicans were aided by the Russians, the French, and Mexico.

Two other noteworthy realities of this war related to The Upward Beating Heart was the role that art played in promoting pro-Republican propaganda and the atrocities committed by both factions. Ernest Hemingway, Lillian Hellman, and George Orwell all created works to promote the need to support the Republican cause and aid the Spanish people. A number of other artists, sculptures, and writers created pro-Republican works as well. Perhaps the most famous of these was Picasso’s haunting masterpiece, Guernica, produced in 1937.

The overall death toll of the Spanish Civil War was around 500,000. The number of atrocities committed against non-combatants is debated but the Nationalists (sometimes referred to as the “White Terror”) are said to have committed up to 150,000 executions (including 50,000 in Nationalist-controlled Spain) while the Republicans (the “Red Terror”) executed around 38,000.

The War officially ended on April 1, 1939 and Franco ruled Spain until his death on November 20, 1975. In 1969, Franco designated Juan Carlos, the grandson of Alfonso XIII, as heir-apparent of Spain. He assumed that the young man could be groomed to carry on with Franco’s ultraconservative rule. While Juan Carlos maintained public support for Franco in those final years, he secretly began meeting with more liberal leaders and exiles who wanted social reform. After Franco’s death, Juan Carlos I began to dismantle the Franco regime and worked toward establishing Spanish democracy.

The Battle of Teruel This battle was a turning point in the course of war staged between December of 1937 and February of 1938. The Nationalists had control over this small provincial capital in southern Aragon, but the Republican military leaders saw an opportunity in this particularly cold December as the Nationalist presence was weakening. Franco, it seemed, was diverting troupes from various smaller areas to stage an assault on Madrid.

The Republican forces first arrived in Teruel on December 15 and by January 3, the Governor’s Building was taken by the Republicans. The Nationalist relief efforts were swift and they began bombarding the town in mid-January. By February 22, the Nationalists had retaken the town for good. This battle was particularly bloody. In a town whose population was around 20,000, there were 140,000 casualties in the two month period.

Teruel

The city was Teruel was founded by Alfonso II in 1171 and throughout the Middle Ages had a prominent Jewish community living under fairly tolerant conditions while the Muslims were in power, this also influenced much of the architecture characteristic of the area. The capital of Aragon is remotely located in the mountains in southern Aragon.

The Lovers of Teruel

The legend of Diego and Isabel is said to have occurred in 1217 in Teruel involving two of the city’s wealthiest families, the Marcilla and Segura. Isabel and Diego were childhood friends who fell in love. While their parents would have approved of the match, when it came time to marry, Diego’s family had fallen on hard times. Don Seguro forbade the marriage, but eventually told Diego that if he could return to Teruel at the end of five years a wealthy man, the pair could marry.

Diego left to seek his fortune, and Don Seguro began to pester his daughter to marry someone else. Isabel reasoned with her father, telling him that God wished for her to remain a virgin until the age of 20 so that she would have enough time to learn to properly manage a household. Don Seguro felt that this was reasonable and wanted his daughter’s happiness and told her that they would put off the marriage. Over the five years, Isabel hoped for Diego’s return but no one from Teruel had heard from Diego and so Don Seguro arranged a marriage for Isabel to Don Pedro of Albarracín.

On the night of the wedding, Diego returned triumphantly to Teruel a wealthy man, but was informed that Isabel had just married another. The heartbroken Diego realized that Don Seguro had counted the negotiation day as part of the timeline to get his fortune and Diego did not. The young man thought he had five years from the morning after the negotiation to return to Isabel.

Diego crept into the bridal chamber to see Isabel and begged her to kiss him. She refused, not wanting the dishonor her new husband. He begged again, and she refused. Diego died there in Isabel’s arms. Don Pedro awoke and Isabel told him everything. He praised her for he sense of honor and they agreed to bury him in secret. The next day, Isabel appeared in her wedding dress at the funeral procession. She leaned down and kissed Diego and died at his side.

This legend grew and the people demanded that the two lovers should be buried side by side so that they could be together in death. The Church was petitioned to grant this request and in 1560, the mummies of Diego and Isabel were exhumed and placed in ornate tombs resting in the church of San Pedro.

Salutes Both the Republican and Nationalist fighters used specific hand-gestures in solidarity. The Republicans would raise a clenched fist, which has also been an identifying symbol in many socially progressive resistance movements in the 20th century.

The raised fist of resistance to violence and oppression.

The Nationalists, like the German Nazis and Italian Fascists, used the Roman salute of a raised arm with the palm facing down.

Families and Characters of The Upward-Beating Heart The characters in the play were developed over a series of weeks and writing exercises. Before the cast began writing scenes, they created basic character templates. While some of the details remained unchanged from the initial conception, many characters changed drastically. What follows is a brief outline of the characters and their relationships to each other and the world of the play as they have developed through rehearsal. This is a play about war and art and tragedy, but like all plays, it’s also a love story. The importance of love of family, friends, and falling in love is at the heart of all the conflicts explored in the story.

The Garcia Leon Family The play is, more of less, seen through the eyes of Federico Garcia Leon (”Fede” or “Rico” to friends and family), a 23-year-old somewhat aimless poet/musician in search of meaning. Time isn’t fixed or linear in this world. While the opening prologue shows Federico piecing together fragmented memories of people from his youth, the play skips forward 40 years to 1977 when a much older version of Rico revisits The Colorín for the first time since he escaped execution in 1938. 1977 Rico then spends the play re-membering the events of 1937-1938, the people he knew and loved, and the many regrets of his youth as he struggled to choose between family, romantic love, and political ideals.

The Garcia Leon family had its own tragic history. Martín, Milagros, and Federico grew up in a loving middle class home full of music. Their parents were kind and supportive and, it would seem that the children would have happy lives. Their mother, however, became ill. While it is never explicitly said in the script, it is suggested that she was suffering from seizures or a brain tumor. Later, the adult Milagros, suffers from the same malady. Their mother was seemingly getting better, but after a freak accident, the family home burned to the ground and both parents perished in the fire. Fede was 11 at the time and was put into the care of sixteen-year-old Martín and seventeen-year-old Milagros.

Milagros acted out to the tragic loss of her parents with a rebellious streak of alcohol and sex. She was lonely and desperate, and eventually found her way to life in a convent where she took the name Hermana Clara. Serving with the Little Sisters of the Poor gave her purpose in life. Martín, on the other hand, immediately became a responsible adult and joined the army in order to support Fede and himself. While he was initially part of the Republican Army, he was also devoutly Catholic and saw the vision of the Nationalists to be more in line with what he felt were traditional Spanish values. Martín is reasoned and principled and often finds the Nationalists tactics at odds with his faith and sense of justice.

During this time, Fede became somewhat lost in the mix. As the youngest in the family, his mother and father doted on him. He was close with both his parents and the loss left a lonely void in his life he tried to fill with music and writing. He adores his brother and sister, and felt completely abandoned when she joined the convent. Martín worked constantly to support the small family, and to an extent, Fede’s less lucrative artistic passions. They are close, but don’t share everything. While Martín maintains a committed devotion to the Church, Fede’s resentment for all he has lost has driven him from faith.

Fede saw himself growing up and having a family and loving relationship like his parents, he idealizes their relationship longs for a similar one. His love life prior to meeting Desi was scattered and mostly comprised of physical trysts with other men he’d meet at bars. He had never really been in love or shared an emotional connection with other person until he met Desi. The excitement of this relationship, particularly in a time of crises, brings Fede (referred to as “Rico” by his new friends from The Colorín) and Desi very close very quickly.

The Moreno Reyes Family The play features three members of this family. Emilia and Desiderio are the brother and sister owners of The Colorín, a popular hang-out for left-leaning artist types and the central location in The Upward-Beating Heart. Carla is Emilia’s daughter who Rico meets in 1977 when he returns to Teruel.

Emilia and Desi are extremely close and, like Fede, Milagros, and Martín, they have experienced family tragedy prior to the events in the play. Emilia is 27 in 1937 and Desi is 25. Like the Garcia Leons, they grew up in a happy and loving family. Their mother died giving birth to Desi and they were raised by the father, a painter and socialist sympathizer. The Colorín was a cafe and that was originally owned by their grandfather before being passed down to their father and onto them. Like the Garcia Leons, their home was full of music. They helped their father work at The Colorín from the time they were little children.

Emilia left Teruel in her late teens to attend University. She studied literature and history and eventually returned to the small town to become a teacher. Desi, a talented fútbol player, worked his way up through the club circuit and eventually secured a position on the National Team. In his third match, however, he sustained a career-ending injury and returned home to work with his father at The Colorín. Things were stable with the family until Desi and Emilia’s father was arrested by the Nationalists in 1937 for distributing pro-Republican propaganda. They have no idea where he was taken or how to find him. The siblings run the bar together and attempt to support the Republican cause as their father would have done.

Emilia is smart and tough and very protective of her younger brother, who has always been a little more introverted. They were always close, but after losing their father, they became even more resolved to navigate life together. Desi is extremely loving, caring, and thoughtful, but when he knows what he wants he is unafraid to take a risk and get it. He found in Rico a person he could talk with and share with openly. Although Desi had been in relationships before, none had been as serious or intimate as what he found with Rico. They had both experienced loss and loneliness. Realizing how much he actually did love Rico and what he was willing to risk for him came as somewhat of a surprise to Desi. But once he realized the love was there, he believed it was a love worth dying for.

Emilia is one of the only characters in the play that doesn’t fall in love with anyone else. She grows from being a very open and friendly person to one that is extremely cynical and suspicious due to the constant emotional losses she faces. She is dedicated to her family above all else and “romance” holds little value for her. After Desi was arrested, Emilia desperately attempted to get him back, determined to succeed with her brother where she had failed with her father. Desi is eventually released and she cares for him. In the epilogue it is revealed that Emilia had one daughter, but died when Carla was very young. While it is never said directly, the lines suggest that the boorish Nationalist officer, Carlos, is Carla’s father and that Emilia eventually took her own life. Carla was raised by Desi.

The Artists and Activists The misfit Republican supporters include Guillermo, Lucia, Adelita, and Carmen each representing a different point of view and role within the resistance.

Carmen Lobo Esina originally came from a well-to-do family from Seville. She is very educated and passionate. As a young woman, she is swept up in progressive causes and sees the rise of Fascism in her country as a threat to speech, free-thought, and personal liberty. She begins to publish an underground socialist newsletter which is distributed to small towns occupied by Nationalist forces. Carmen is idealistic and kind, but sometimes a little naive at the lengths that others will go in this war of ideals. She often sees the world in terms of “good” and “evil” making her extremely critical of people like Martín, who in spite of his inherent sense of morality, she views as a Nationalist thug. Carmen works to inspire others to support the Republican resistance through non-violence, in particular she wants the object of her affection, Ana, to choose a side and stand up against the Nationalists.

Adelita Duarte Espinoza is a luminous and charismatic speaker and resistance fighter. While she mostly organizes rallies and non-violent demonstrations against the Nationalists, she has seen combat and fended off the Fascists from Republican strongholds. Adelita maintains a deep sense of faith, but believes in social progress, unions, women’s rights, and so forth. Her brother, Leo, was a pacifist but also dedicated to the Republic. He joined the Republican army as a medic and was killed in battle. This loss has further resolved Adelita to stop the Nationalists no matter how long it takes.

Guillermo de la Cruz was a young University professor who saw many of his progressive friends arrested and jailed by occupying Nationalist forces. A hard-core outspoken Atheist, he became especially enraged at the way he saw the Nationalists manipulate the people by aligning themselves with the Catholic faith. He left the University to join the Republican cause and became increasingly radicalized as the months of conflict wore on and he witnessed more and more executions and other atrocities perpetrated by Nationalists. He was always a passionate and idealistic person, but his experiences have made him blunt and sometimes unforgiving to those who don’t share his ideals.

Guillermo met Lucia Mariposa Galén at a Republican rally in Madrid and he became taken with the nascent activist. He and Lucia struck up a friendship in spite of their opposing views on how people can be persuaded to support the Republic. Guillermo is extremely protective of Lucia, seeing himself as a mentor in activism and resistance. Lucia and her husband Ramón worked together in a theatre troupe when he began spying for the Republic. He was found out and taken by the Nationalists in the night, after months of hoping to reunite with him, she discovered he had been executed shortly after his arrest.

Lucia grew up in a rather sheltered environment and came from a family of theatre performers. She had gained some success as an actress in her early 20s. While she was not raised to be political, she saw Ramón’s sacrifice as a wake-up call that inspired her to join the resistance in order to fight for an eventual peace. She has a strong belief that art can be used to change minds more effectively than bullets and violence. While she is dedicated to fighting for the Republic to honor Ramón, she grows weary of the constant struggle and longs for the days of making art and enjoying life’s pleasures.

The Nationalists and Others In writing the play, it was important to the ensemble that the conflict be depicted in a more complex way than equating the Republicans as “pure good” and the Nationalists as “pure evil.” While the ideologies each side represents come from a clear moral position of either progress or repression, the characters chose to ally themselves to one side or the other for nuanced reasons. It was important, therefore, to make Martín a particularly sympathetic character. He is a Nationalist soldier, but he didn’t join the Nationalists because he wanted to oppress people. Instead, he saw the Nationalists as a group attempting to bring political stability and faith to their country.

Maria is the daughter of a Nationalist officer who meets Martín in The Colorín. She is smart and independent, but also loyal to her father and his beliefs. Maria grew up in privilege and sees the Republicans as foolish and needlessly violent. She is not particularly political believing that her place is support the views of the men in her life. She cares deeply for family ties and is furious when she believes that Fede betrays Martín.

Maria has grown up surrounded by men. She was essentially raised by her father and is extremely comfortable in speaking up and verbally sparring with men. She sees Martín as different than the other soldiers. She likes his gentleness and kindness and that fact that he clearly works hard to support his own family. She hope for a future with him.

Carlos and Luís are two other occupying soldiers in Teruel. Both entered the military young and both supported the Nationalists early on in the conflict. While Carlos is smart and calculating, Luís is more of a follower falling into the Nationalists for the promise of a steady paycheck and money for liquor. Carlos is cruel, but doesn’t realize it, or necessarily care one way or another. He sees himself as charming and feels that concepts like “morality” and “ethics” have no real place in the world. He lives for pleasure, for the moment, and for himself. He is unprincipled, possessing an ideology of victory or defeat not of right or wrong. He followed the Nationalists because he saw “which way the wind was blowing,” had the Republicans been more successful, he would have followed them.

Both Carlos and Luís tend towards the more sinister aspects of humanity, operating from impulses of selfishness, fear, or anger. Luís is thin-skinned, quick to anger, and emotionally volatile. While his paycheck goes to support his mother and sisters, he treats women with brutish contempt and reacts out of fear rather than from places of strength and authority. Carlos has more calculating motivations. He is emotionally detached and controlled. He can be cold or terrifyingly violent depending upon his mood. When Emilia caught his eye and repeatedly rejected his advances, it motivates him pursue her even ardently. He assumed it was a game and took it upon himself to “win” her even if it was through violence.

Carlos and Luís represent the uncontrolled and deadliest aspects of toxic masculinity, perhaps some of the worst aspects of Fascist culture. Ana Louisa Barros, is another matter altogether. In some ways, Ana shares Carlos’ detachment from overt morality. Ana, like Carlos, has surveyed the players involved in the conflict, but she chose neutrality. The daughter of a popular jazz singer, Ana was raised in a culture of nightclubs and fast living. Like Carlos, she failed to make deep human connections with others, often choosing pleasure and selfish fulfillment over anything else.

In spite of Ana’s moral cowardice, she is charming, witty, flirtatious, and beautiful. She sees little point in causes and ideals as people who hold these values usually wind up dead. She has been supported financially by older Nationalist officers and sees nothing wrong with the arrangements, that in her view, save her life. While Guillermo and others criticize Ana’s lack of conviction, she finds their passion to be tragically foolhardy.

Unlike Carlos, Ana does experience loneliness and fear. Amidst the violence and tragedy of life in Teruel, she somehow found herself frequenting The Colorín. Perhaps she was drawn to the familiarity of the bohemian atmosphere. Or perhaps she liked the food and music. . . apparently they have great tapas. Regardless of the reasons she came, Ana eventually warmed to the artists and activists and they warmed to her. Ana’s refusal to take a stance has been a sore subject among most of her new friends, but some of them, Carmen in particular, hold out hope that she will come around and actively support the Republican cause.

Music Music it its own character in the world of The Upward-Beating Heart and reveals Federico’s developing perceptions of the people he grows to know and love. The songs are a connective tissue that bind Federico’s fragmented memories, particularly the chorus of “The Anthem” which is sung several times throughout the play. The full Anthem sequence at the beginning of Act II comes at a turning point for Federico as he defines each character’s role in the conflict and realizes he must make his own choice.

The “Lullaby” evokes other memories for Fede and connects him to his past and future. The simple tune tells an abbreviated version of the love story between Isabel and Diego, one of Fede’s childhood favorites. Milagros reveals that it was the same melody sung by a group of the Little Sisters of the Poor that drew her to that order. The familiar song creates a tension in Federico, representing the best and worst parts of his childhood. When he hears Adelita playing it later in the play, it connects them in their childhood memories and the losses they have both experienced.

Federico also composes two love songs in the play, “The Heartbreak Song” and “The Upward-Beating Heart” which show his deepening connection with Desi. He is working on “The Upward-Beating Heart” when he first meets Desi in The Colorín. When he sings the first hopeful line: “For one human to love another, it is the epitome the ultimate test” he doesn’t yet fully grasp its weight. Later, he shares the completed song that becomes a gentle statement on the potential of love to change a person. Fede composes “The Heartbreak Song” as the external political conflict has caused turmoil in his romantic relationship. The bonds he feels with Desi are tested amidst the crisis, but the thought of actually losing him makes Fede realize how deeply he has fallen.

Memory and Regret (and a bit about Brecht) The historical context of this play sets up the characters to make impossible choices. The conflicts between one ideology and another, between family and friends, between action and neutrality don’t have simple solutions. Even more complex is the decision of when to fight and when to run.

As Rico reflects upon his youth in 1977 with Carla, he tells her: “half the time I think I’m remembering pieces of a dream.” He has lived many years in solitude since leaving Teruel and can’t help but carry with him a deep sense of shame and sorrow for the life he never had the chance to live with Desi at his side. Carla, having been raised under the shadow of Franco’s regime and as the inheritor of Emilia and Desi’s own tragic pasts, assures the wayward protagonist that it was all, indeed, real.

We have all been living with this material for months and are still having revelations about the weight of the story and characters. This past week in Theatre History class, we have been covering the work and influence of Bertolt Brecht on the development of social theatre. While I don’t think we consciously set out to write “Brechtian Epic Theatre,” the influence is there in the play’s structure and content. I love Brecht and his work, no doubt, informs my aesthetic and approach to theatre in general. There are certainly aspects of this production that could be called “Brechtian,” such as the multiple scenes and locations, the use of projections, the historification, and the broken narrative structure. But script’s content frequently draws on a typically Brechtian point of view on social issues. Brecht tends to write characters who come to suffer due to an excess of virtue rather than vice. In addition, in a Brecht play, there is very little “evil” in a traditional narrative sense, but instead humans that are driven to make impossible choices within a broken system. There is a central and unsolvable problem in The Upward-Beating Heart that questions how one takes action and maintains morality in the face of death.

In the end, characters suffer whether or not they do the “right” thing and often those who survived the war were those who acted selfishly or out of cowardice. The more noble and “pure” characters such as Lucia, Martín, and Hermana Clara die while Carlos, the most overtly wicked characters lives on. This wasn’t meant to be a cynical existential statement on the part of the ensemble, but a sobering reminder that we must stand for the side of justice in spite of the risk . . . and the risk is real. It is up to the audience to decide what is worth fighting for and what is worth dying for. As Emilia tells Federico when they believe Desi to be forever lost at the hands of the Nationalists, “We all die for love.” But in a poignant memory, the ever-optimistic Desi, reminds that audience that even after so much suffering, pain, and loss: “I still believe in love. I believe love is worth dying for.”

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