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Yahoo
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
'Good Night, and Good Luck' CNN live broadcast brings George Clooney's play to the masses
Saturday afternoon out west and evening back east, as citizens faced off against ICE agents in the streets of Los Angeles, "Good Night, and Good Luck," George Clooney's 2005 dramatic film tribute to CBS newsman Edward R. Murrow, became a Major Television Event, broadcast live from Manhattan's Winter Garden Theater, by CNN and Max. That it was made available free to anyone with an internet connection, via the CNN website, was a nice gesture to theater fans, Clooney stans and anyone interested to see how a movie about television translates into a play about television. The broadcast is being ballyhooed as historic, the first time a play has been aired live from Broadway. And while there is no arguing with that fact, performances of plays have been recorded onstage before, and are being so now. It's a great practice; I wish it were done more often. At the moment, is streaming recent productions of Cole Porter's "Kiss Me, Kate!," the Bob Dylan-scored "Girl From the North Country," David Henry Hwang's "Yellow Face" and the Pulitzer Prize-winning mental health rock musical "Next to Normal." Britain's National Theater at Home subscription service offers a wealth of classical and modern plays, including Andrew Scott's one-man "Vanya," as hot a ticket in New York this spring as Clooney's play. And the archives run deep; that a trip to YouTube can deliver you Richard Burton's "Hamlet" or "Sunday in the Park With George" with Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters is a gift not to be overlooked. Clooney, with co-star Anthony Edwards, had earlier been behind a live broadcast of "Ambush," the fourth season opener of "ER" as a throwback to the particular seat-of-your-pants, walking-on-a-wire energy of 1950s television. (It was performed twice, once for the East and once for the West Coast.) That it earned an audience of 42.71 million, breaking a couple of records in the bargain, suggests that, from a commercial perspective, it was not at all a bad idea. (Reviews were mixed, but critics don't know everything.) Like that episode, the "live" element of Saturday's broadcast was essentially a stunt, though one that ensured, at least, that no post-production editing has been applied, and that if anyone blew a line, or the house was invaded by heckling MAGA hats, or simply disrupted by audience members who regarded the enormous price they paid for a ticket as a license to chatter through the show, it would presumably have been part of the broadcast. None of that happened — but, it could have! (Clooney did stumble over "simple," but that's all I caught.) And, it offered the groundlings at home the chance to see a much-discussed, well-reviewed production only a relatively few were able to see in person — which I applaud on principal and enjoyed in practice — and which will very probably not come again, not counting the next day's final performance. The film, directed by Clooney and co-written with Grant Heslov (who co-wrote the stage version as well), featured the actor as producer and ally Fred W. Friendly to David Strathairn's memorable Murrow. Here, a more aggressive Clooney takes the Murrow role, while Glenn Fleshler plays Friendly. Released during the second term of the Bush administration, the movie was a meditation on the state of things through the prism of 1954 (and a famous framing speech from 1958 about the possibilities and potential failures of television), the fear-fueled demagoguery of Wisconsin Sen. Joseph McCarthy, and Murrow's determination to take him on. (The 1954 "See It Now" episode, "A Report on Sen. Joseph McCarthy," helped bring about his end.) As in the film, McCarthy is represented entirely through projected film clips, echoing the way that Murrow impeached the senator with his own words. Read more: CNN will broadcast a Broadway performance of George Clooney in 'Good Night, and Good Luck.' Don't miss it It's a combination of political and backstage drama — with a soupcon of office romance, represented by the secretly married Wershbas (Ilana Glazer and Carter Hudson) — even more hermetically set within the confines of CBS News than was the film. It felt relevant in 2005, before the influence of network news was dissolved in the acid of the internet and an administration began assaulting the legitimate press with threats and lawsuits; but the play's discussions of habeas corpus, due process, self-censoring media and the both-sides-ism that seems increasingly to afflict modern media feel queasily contemporary. "I simply cannot accept that there are, on every story two equal and logical sides to an argument," says Clooney's Murrow to his boss, William F. Paley (an excellent Paul Gross, from the great "Slings & Arrows"). As was shown here, Murrow offered McCarthy equal time on "See It Now" — which he hosted alongside the celebrity-focused "Person to Person," represented by an interview with Liberace — but it proved largely a rope for the senator to hang himself. Though modern stage productions, with their computer-controlled modular parts, can replicate the rhythms and scene changes of a film, there are obvious differences between a movie, where camera angles and editing drive the story. It's an illusion of life, stitched together from bits and pieces. A stage play proceeds in real time and offers a single view (differing, of course, depending on where one sits), within which you direct your attention as you will. What illusions it offers are, as it were, stage magic. It's choreographed, like a dance, which actors must repeat night after night, putting feeling into lines they may speak to one another, but send out to the farthest corners of the theater. Clooney, whose furrowed brow is a good match for Murrow's, did not attempt to imitate him, or perhaps did within the limits of theatrical delivery; he was serious and effective in the role if not achieving the quiet perfection of Strathairn's performance. Scott Pask's set was an ingenious moving modular arrangement of office spaces, backed by a control room, highlighted or darkened as needs be; a raised platform stage left supported the jazz group and vocalist, which, as in the movie, performed songs whose lyrics at times commented slyly on the action. Though television squashed the production into two dimensions, the broadcast nevertheless felt real and exciting; director David Comer let the camera play on the players, rather than trying for a cinematic effect through an excess of close-ups and cutaways. While the play generally followed the lines of the film, there was some rearrangement of scenes, reassignment of dialogue — it was a streamlined cast — and interpolations to make a point, or more directly pitch to 2025. New York news anchor Don Hollenbeck (Clark Gregg, very moving in the only role with an emotional arc) described feeling "hijacked … as if all the reasonable people went to Europe and left us behind," getting a big reaction. One character wondered about opening "the door to news with a dash of commentary — what happens when it isn't Edward R. Murrow minding the store?" A rapid montage of clips tracking the decay of TV news and politics — including Obama's tan suit kerfuffle and the barring of AP for not bowing to Trump's Gulf of America edit and ending with Elon Musk's notorious straight-arm gesture, looking like nothing so much as a Nazi salute — was flown into Clooney's final speech. Last but not least, there is the audience, your stand-ins at the Winter Garden Theatre, which laughed at the jokes and applauded the big speeches, transcribed from Murrow's own. And then, the curtain call, to remind you that whatever came before, the actors are fine, drinking in your appreciation and sending you out happy and exhilarated and perhaps full of hope. A CNN roundtable followed to bring you back to Earth. Sign up for Screen Gab, a free newsletter about the TV and movies everyone's talking about from the L.A. Times. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
5 days ago
- Entertainment
Japan's National Theater at the Crossroads: Stalled Redevelopment Leaves Performers, Fans in Limbo
The National Theater has been the home of traditional Japanese performing arts since its opening in 1966. Now the aging complex has closed its doors, and a controversial redevelopment plan has stalled, raising questions about cultural policy and the future of the performing arts in Japan. The iconic stage at Japan's National Theater, renowned for its Japanese cypress boards and elaborate stage machinery, has fallen dark. Performances at the aging theatrical complex in the heart of Tokyo came to a halt in October 2023, and plans to redevelop the site in collaboration with the private sector have stalled, leaving practitioners and fans of Japan's traditional performing arts in limbo. Origin and Mission of the National Theater The National Theater, located just opposite the Imperial Palace in central Tokyo, was established in 1966 for the purpose of 'preserving and promoting Japan's ancient traditional performing arts' by 'presenting performances, training successors, and conducting research.' The proposal for a national theater in Japan has been through various iterations since the early years of the Meiji era (1868–1912), each reflecting the national aspirations of the time. In the Meiji, such a theater was promoted in the context of the government's Westernization drive. After World War II, it was re-imagined as a symbol of Japan's rebirth as a 'cultural state.' But the groundwork for such a program was not laid until 1954, with the revision of the Law for the Protection of Cultural Properties. The revised law instituted a system for the preservation of 'intangible cultural properties,' including traditional crafts and performing arts. This paved the way for the establishment of a central institution tasked with advancing a comprehensive national policy for the performing arts. At the National Theater, established professionals in the traditional Japanese performing arts have had the opportunity to explore and study artworks in depth and produce polished performances that captivate audiences. At the same time, the National Theater has provided broad-based support for the growth of the performing arts at the amateur and semi-professional levels by opening up its theatrical facilities to a wide variety of independent performers. Among the National Theater's core functions is the training of young performers to carry on Japan's performing-arts traditions. Kabuki has traditionally been dominated by established families, in which skills are passed down lineally, from generation to generation. Yet today, graduates of the National Theater's training program account for about 30% of all active kabuki actors and almost 90% of the art's narrators and musicians. In 2019, Takemoto Aoidayū, a product of that training program, was designated a living national treasure. The National Theater's raison d'être lies in its steady support for critical aspects of cultural preservation that cannot be left to the private sector because they cannot be relied on to generate short-term profits: the presentation of authentic classical works in their original form and the cultivation of young practitioners to carry on the traditions of Japan's performing arts. That said, there is no denying the fact that the National Theater's devoted audiences, much like its performers, are showing their age. Hobbled by its 'highbrow' image, the theater has failed to attract younger patrons in significant numbers. With this in mind, government policy makers hammered out a new vision for the National Theater of tomorrow. While built on the same site and reaffirming the institution's core commitment to the traditional performing arts, the new National Theater would be an open, accessible, and lively hub that would also function as an international center of cultural tourism. It was to open by the autumn of 2029. But two successive invitations to tender (ITTs), in 2022 and 2023, failed to yield a qualified bidder. As a result, the aging National Theater closed its doors in October 2023 with no clear prospects for reopening. Hurdles to Private Investment The redevelopment of the National Theater complex has been presented as a major state initiative involving multiple agencies, including the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science, and Technology (MEXT), the Agency for Cultural Affairs, and the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport, and Tourism. Responding to questioning in the House of Councillors Budget Committee in March this year, Prime Minister Ishiba Shigeru called the National Theater 'the face of the arts in Japan' and made it clear that he considered the current impasse unacceptable. Yet the project remains stalled. Several factors have contributed to the failure of the government's ITTs. Foremost among these are the labor shortage attending the sudden resumption of construction projects after the COVID-19 epidemic and the rising cost of materials resulting from the weak yen and the war in Ukraine. These problems are not unique to the National Theater project; indeed, the media have been rife with reports of failed ITTs for new hospitals, schools, and construction in disaster-hit communities. But there are additional factors that have soured private developers on the National Theater project. To begin with, the architectural and engineering demands are daunting. Japan's traditional performing arts have unique staging requirements that must be built into the theater. Kabuki stages, for example, typically feature a hanamichi, a raised runway by which characters enter and exit through the audience, and many plays require a revolving stage, elevators, and other complex machinery. The National Theater at the time of its completion with a view of the stage from the audience (top). The 20-meter revolving stage has 16 movable platforms (bottom) allowing for a range of complex effects. Photographs taken in October 1966. (© Jiji) The National Theater was equipped with the largest revolving stage in Japan, with a diameter of 20 meters. The kabuki stage also has 16 platforms that can be raised and lowered individually. The machinery that controls these effects extends roughly five stories below ground level and weighs about 300 tons. There are no engineers or artisans living today who can share the lessons learned from the National Theater's construction six decades ago. It will take considerable time and expertise for designers to work out the best approach, keeping in mind the Metropolitan Expressway that runs beneath the site. Moreover, in earthquake-prone Japan, public buildings must comply with strict safety standards that have grown tougher and tougher over the years. (One reason the decision was made to demolish and rebuild the National Theater, instead of renovating the existing complex, is the extent of structural changes required to bring the buildings up to code.) Limits of the PFI Model Also at issue is the private finance initiative method that the government has chosen to implement this ambitious project. In a PFI, the government enters into a long-term contract with a private company to build and operate a public facility. The terms of the contract are meant to prevent the cost to the government from ballooning by ensuring that considerations of cost-efficiency and profitability are incorporated into the process at each stage, including post-construction maintenance and management. Since the early 2000s, PFIs have accounted for a growing share of public infrastructure projects. It is easy to understand why the Japanese government would embrace this model for the new National Theater. Demographic aging and population decline are causing Japan's social security expenditures to balloon even while the tax base shrinks, putting the government in a fiscal bind. However important the center's role as 'the face of the arts in Japan,' it is hard to justify using taxpayer money to build an expensive facility that critics may say will only benefit a very privileged portion of the population. With this in mind, the government opted for a PFI project aimed at developing a multipurpose complex that included such privately-owned, revenue-generating facilities as hotels, restaurants, and cafes, alongside the theaters themselves. The idea was to create a public space used and loved by a broader cross-section of the population, even while maintaining the National Theater's core functions, and at the same time minimize the impact on public finances. But prospective bidders were deterred by the risks of the scheme, which called on the winner to manage and maintain the facility for 20 years after completion while paying the state for use of the land (with rent initially calculated at ¥965 million annually). If revenues fell even slightly short of projections, the company would be saddled with long-term losses. Last February, policy makers announced plans to make the project more palatable to private developers, including lowering the rent and dropping some of the initial requirements, such as the inclusion of a hotel in the complex. The government has now allocated about ¥102 billion for construction, including supplementary funds to cover rising costs. Yet there is still no word on the timetable for a third ITT. Dwindling Spaces, Endangered Traditions Despite the closure of its performance spaces, the National Theater has not shut down its operations entirely. Some of the teaching and practice facilities within the complex are still usable, and training for young artists continues there and at the National Olympics Memorial Youth Center in Shibuya. But as professionals will tell you, 'one performance is worth a hundred rehearsals.' The loss of opportunities to perform in front of a live audience for a period of five years or more could stunt or even end budding careers. Aware of this danger, the National Theater has made efforts to secure alternative venues. But according to a survey by Geidankyō (Japan Council of Performers Rights & Performing Arts Organizations), the number of kabuki and bunraku performances scheduled by the National Theater in 2024 was down 42% and 5% respectively from 2019. A decline of this magnitude jeopardizes the very survival of kabuki as a living art form. A big part of the problem is the shortage of theaters in Tokyo. Even before the National Theater closed, the closure of theaters for renovations or financial reasons had created fierce competition for the remaining spaces. The public halls run by local governments operate on the principle of equal access for all members of the community, with little or no regard for whether artists rely on public performance to earn a living. But another issue is the relationship of the performers to the National Theater. Most European national theaters have their own resident companies and employ the performers and directors as part of their regular staff. If such a theater were to cut back on performances, leading to lower compensation, it could be subject to union action or administrative lawsuits. For this reason, when a European national theater is scheduled to close for renovation, the managing entity works proactively to secure alternative performance opportunities, as by arranging world tours. Japan's National Theater does not employ performers or directors on an ongoing basis. When opportunities to perform in National Theater productions dwindle, the onus is on the performers to compensate for the loss of income by raising funds and creating their own performance opportunities. For this reason, National Theater performers have banded together to apply for grants, organize fundraising events, plan programs, and arrange independent performance opportunities, including domestic and international tours. But it has been an uphill battle owing to the intense competition for funds and performance space. Clarifying the Mission The plan to redevelop the National Theater has provoked a good deal of debate over such nuts and bolts as the location of the complex and the method of financing. But the key issue is the fundamental question of what the public and the performers expect from Japan's National Theater. National theaters first appeared in Europe, where their emergence coincided with the rise of civic life in modern nation-states. Japan's historical background was quite different, as was the cultural milieu into which this foreign model was transplanted. Japan already had its own system with separate theatrical and dance troupes—each with its own established traditions, methods, and performance styles. Grafting a European-style national theater onto this smoothly functioning system inevitably raised problems. It is all the more important, therefore, that we begin this historic redevelopment project by clarifying the purpose of the National Theater and its place in the lives of the Japanese people. Does anyone really believe that the deliberations and discourse carried out to date have been sufficient to accomplish that? This unanticipated hiatus in the National Theater's operations is an unlooked-for opportunity to formulate a blueprint for the next 100 years, and it would be a shame to waste it. We should also seize the occasion to reassess Japan's cultural policy vis-a-vis the performing arts. This country lacks a stable cultural infrastructure where professional performers can securely train, explore their art, and earn a living. This requires the construction of multiple public theaters tailored to specific uses but available for sharing when one or another facility closes for renovations. The government needs to start looking at the performing arts as an industry, not a hobby, and implement policies that provide a sustainable working environment for the individuals and groups who rely on public performance to make a living. The search for optimal design solutions should proceed with this premise in mind. (Originally published in Japanese on May 15. Banner photo: The National Theater in Tokyo. © Jiji.)
Korea Herald
06-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Korea Herald
Sold-out final run of 'Godot' by two veteran stars
Shin Gu, Park Geun-hyung donate one night to next generation of theater artists It's not every day a theater production sells out instantly in Korea -- let alone one headlined by two octogenarian actors. But Shin Gu, 88, and Park Geun-hyung, 84, have done it again. Tickets for their final run of 'Waiting for Godot' were snapped up the moment they went on sale. The production runs from Friday through May 25 at the National Theater of Korea's Daloreum Theater. This farewell staging marks the end of a landmark collaboration that has captivated audiences since its 2023 premiere. From its debut at the National Theater in December 2023, to an encore run in 2024 and a 21-city national tour, the production has sold out 102 performances. Samuel Beckett's existential masterwork, a cornerstone of 20th-century absurdist theater, follows two vagabonds, Estragon (played by Shin) and Vladimir (Park), who wait and wait endlessly for a mysterious figure named Godot, who never arrives. Shin and Park, long embraced as familiar father figures and steady on-screen mainstays, deliver an interplay onstage -- seasoned and rhythmic back-and-forth -- that has resonated deeply with audiences. Both in their 80s, they aren't exactly the usual stage heartthrobs -- but the actors credited the show's sold-out success to audiences in their 20s and 30s, a demographic not typically drawn to modernist absurdist drama. 'Young people today live in a world filled with absurdities,' Shin said during a recent press conference. 'I think they connected with the play because the irrational world Beckett created feels close to their own.' Park agreed. 'Waiting for something that may not even exist -- isn't that just like life? Especially for young people today,' he said. 'That's why we decided to dedicate one of our final shows as a donation performance -- to connect with them more directly.' For that one-night benefit performance, scheduled for May 13, both actors waived their appearance fees. In adidtion, all proceeds from that performance, will be donated to a fund established by the Arts Council Korea, a national development agency for the arts of Korea, to support emerging theater artists. 'With all this love we've received, we wondered how we could give something back,' said Shin. 'We wanted to return the favor -- not only with a good performance, but with something that might help younger artists in a meaningful way.' The two said it was disheartening to see that the theater environment they experienced in their youth has changed so little even now. 'The arts need a strong foundation to grow,' Park added. 'Just as a nation needs a solid base to stand upright. Now that we're in the twilight of our lives -- physically and spiritually -- this is something we felt we had to do.' 'The theater world is, in truth, facing a difficult situation. Many actors working in this field are genuinely going hungry. According to statistics, 50 percent of theater actors earn less than 250,000 won ($180) a month purely from theater work,' said Arko Chairman Choung Byoung-gug. 'The seed money will grow into something larger. We'll be launching a campaign to encourage broader donations, building on the generosity of these two great artists,' Choung added.
New York Times
28-02-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
‘Mary Said What She Said' Review: A Hypnotic Huppert
Isabelle Huppert stands upstage center, demurely holding her hands in front of her waist, and starts to speak. She is motionless and in silhouette so we don't see her mouth, creating a sense of dislocation as to where the words we hear are actually coming from. And as we quickly discover, the Robert Wilson production 'Mary Said What She Said' interpolates live and recorded lines. But wait: After a few minutes, Huppert is standing a little closer to the audience. Moments later she is almost downstage. The entire time I could have sworn she wasn't moving. How did she pull off that sleight of hand — or feet? Huppert is playing Mary Stuart and wearing a 16th-century-style dress, which means she can take tiny steps without the audience seeing them, as if she were on casters. This creates the illusion of stillness in motion, or perhaps freeze-framed movement — either way a neat encapsulation of Wilson's art as a theater maker — that contrasts with the simultaneous verbal stream flowing in an almost uninterrupted manner over the course of this 90-minute monologue. (The show is in French with subtitles.) Written by Darryl Pinckney, who drew from the Queen of Scots's letters, 'Mary Said What She Said,' which is at NYU Skirball through Sunday, is inconceivable without Huppert, and she is the reason to see it. She gives a performance of rarefied virtuosity and rigor as she seemingly effortlessly handles the precise blocking and light and audio cues, the swings between immobility and fastidiously choreographed movement, the abrupt changes in tempo and pitch — and of course the dense, nonlinear text full of echoing repetitions, which must be a beast to memorize. Even when she's not moving or speaking, she always needs to be committed to the moment. It is a marvel to behold. This is Huppert's third collaboration with Wilson, after 'Orlando' (1993) and 'Quartett' (seen at the Brooklyn Academy of Music in 2009), so at least she knows his exacting M.O. She was also familiar with the character, having played her in Schiller's 'Mary Stuart' at the National Theater in London in 1996. Pinckney's play, however, is a very different proposition from that classic, dramatic confrontation with Queen Elizabeth I, the rival who had Mary beheaded. Here, Mary is alone with her swirling thoughts as her execution nears; the brilliant costume by Jacques Reynaud features a high collar that creates the optical illusion of a severed head, floating above the torso. With auburn hair pulled back tightly to frame a face painted white and a mouth like a searing slash of red, Huppert's Mary stares down death (uncannily, the actress appears to never blink) as past and present mix in chaotic mental fragments that often reoccur obsessively. She keeps bringing up, for example, her four ladies in waiting ('even you, miserable Mary Fleming') who, in an additional, historically accurate repetition, were all named Mary. We can't say we weren't warned of this obsessiveness: Before the show begins, a short video of a small dog chasing its tail plays on repeat inside a small frame in the middle of the red curtain obscuring the stage. Pinckney has been collaborating with Wilson as a writer and as a dramaturg since the late 1980s (often on monologues and adaptations from literary texts), and he has tailor-made a cryptic script that is hypnotic and maddening. Several times I had no idea what Mary was jabbering on about, yet I was never bored. Partly it was because I was locked inside the show's hermetic world by the elevated production values, which include Wilson's set and lighting, and Nick Sagar's sound design. (I was a little less enthralled by the original score, by the popular Italian neoclassical artist Ludovico Einaudi, but it is not distractingly objectionable.) Mostly, of course, the show exerts a grip because of the charismatic Huppert, the rare actress who can straddle not just film and theater, but also — more important — the mainstream (Florian Zeller's 'The Mother' at the Atlantic Theater) and the extreme (a recent Romeo Castellucci production of 'Bérénice' that baffled even hardened French audiences). And she shows no signs of slowing down despite being about to turn 72: On Monday, she could be taking a day off after her string of 'Mary' performances at Skirball, but instead she is heading uptown to read short stories by Guy de Maupassant at L'Alliance New York. I'll have what she's having.
New York Times
18-02-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
An Abortion Scene Gets Theater Audiences Talking, and Fainting
About 40 minutes into a recent performance of 'The Years' in London, Stephanie Schwartz suddenly felt ill and had to put her head between her legs. Onstage at the Harold Pinter Theater, the actress Romola Garai was holding two knitting needles while portraying a young Frenchwoman trying to give herself an abortion. The scene was set in 1964, a time when medical abortions were illegal in France, and Garai's character wasn't ready for motherhood. Schwartz, 39, said she had started feeling faint as Garai's character, Annie, described her attempt to carry out the procedure in stark, if brief, detail. But then, Schwartz recalled, there was a commotion in the balcony above. An audience member had actually passed out. Since opening last summer for a short run at the Almeida Theater, then again last month on the West End, 'The Years' has been the talk of London's theaterland. That has as much to do with audience reactions to the six-minute abortion scene as the near-universal critical acclaim that the production and its five actresses received for their powerful portrayal of one woman's life. While fainting theatergoers are nothing new — several passed out over the onstage torture in Sarah Kane's 'Cleansed' at the National Theater almost a decade ago — the sheer number keeling over at 'The Years' stands out. Sonia Friedman, the show's producer, said that at least one person has fainted at every performance despite a warning to ticketholders. Friedman said that she realized the scene's power, especially at a time when many women, particularly in the United States, fear a rollback of reproductive rights. After failing to carry out the home abortion, Annie describes her visit to a backstreet clinic, then, later, miscarrying the fetus at home. Still, Friedman said she worried that the scene had overtaken discussion about a play that portrayed women's lives in all their 'power, pain and joy.' 'What should dominate the discussion,' Friedman said, 'is, 'Why has it taken this long for such a work about women, by women, to be onstage?'' Based on a 2008 autobiographical book of the same title by Annie Ernaux, the 2022 recipient of the Nobel Prize in Literature, 'The Years' is an attempt to not just capture a woman's life, but also show France's shift toward sexual liberation and consumerism. Eline Arbo, the play's director, said that, when she read the book, she immediately wanted to bring its blend of emotional, political and social history to the stage, even if Ernaux's writing contained no dialogue. 'Everybody thought I was crazy,' Arbo said. She didn't think twice about including the abortion scene. It was such a key moment in Ernaux's life, Arbo said (Ernaux almost bled to death), adding that it was vital to remind audiences of the importance of legal abortion. Garai said she performed the abortion scene when she auditioned for the show, and had felt it was a 'great, accurate depiction' of something that many women experienced when abortion was illegal. 'It's their bodies, their histories,' Garai said. During rehearsals, Garai recalled Arbo mentioning that a handful of audience members had fainted when the director staged the show in the Netherlands. But Garai said she had dismissed the possibility of similar reactions in London. British theatergoers, Garai recalled thinking, were used to sitting through bloody productions of Shakespeare. Yet, two days after the play opened at the Almeida Theater, the stage manager rushed onstage mid-performance and stopped the show. Someone had fainted. The cast feared they had traumatized a woman who had experienced an abortion, but it soon became clear there was no pattern: Men were fainting, as well as women. Perhaps the summer heat was a contributing factor? But now that the play was running on the West End, during a bitterly cold winter, the fainting was 'even worse,' Garai said. (The run concludes April 19.) Arbo said that her best theory for the reactions was that the show's stripped-back style left room for audiences to imagine the abortion themselves, and so increased the scene's intensity. Really, though, she said, she had no idea why West End audiences were fainting. 'Do you have an answer?' she asked. 'I don't!' During a recent performance, the show, meant to run almost two hours without intermission, was stopped twice for about five minutes so that ushers could attend to flustered theatergoers. Other audience members said they had mixed feelings about those interruptions. Mary Tyler, 65, a retired management consultant, sighed when the play was first halted. 'You are joking,' she said. 'That is so rude to the performers.' When the play stopped a second time, Chi Ufodiama, 35, a public relations worker, said she was sympathetic if someone who had experienced abortion was struggling, but she was 'suspicious' that the pauses were a deliberate part of the show. (Garai dismissed that notion: 'Why would we do that?') During each pause, Garai walked to the back of the stage and formed a circle with the other four woman playing Annie at different points in her life: Anjli Mohindra, Harmony Rose-Bremner, Gina McKee and Deborah Findlay. Garai said the cast had decided to remain onstage partly to signal to the audience that the play was about women's communal experience. 'We're all here to tell the rest of this story together,' she said. Once ushers had ensured the audience member was all right (they sometimes provide bottles of water or medical assistance), Garai returned to the front of the stage and continued acting as intensely as before, without missing a word. It was no different than having a director interrupting her mid-rehearsal, Garai said. Within minutes of enduring the abortion, her character had moved on from that moment: She gets married, becomes a mother, and soon the play was racing through a divorce and other scenes that shed light on women's lives. Some were comedic, like a moment when McKee, playing Annie in middle age, attends her first aerobics class. Other scenes were more passionate, including one in which Findlay, portraying Annie in her 50s and 60s, describes an affair with a younger man. For Garai, that May-December romance was as strong a statement as the abortion. Garai said it showed that older women 'not only can desire, but can be objects of desire,' adding she had never seen such a relationship on a London stage before. Even for Schwartz, the audience member who felt she came close to fainting, the play's broader messages struck home. She said certain moments made her ponder what past generations of women lived through, as well as reflect on her own life experiences and those of her friends. The play was 'such a relatable depiction of womanhood,' Schwartz added, and that meant it had to include the abortion scene, too.
