The set is built, hung, and painted. It is gorgeous–I can’t wait for you to see it. The cast starts working on it Thursday afternoon, spending one day getting used to the space, and then we’re in technical rehearsals starting Friday, integrating lights, sound, costumes, and props.
What follows is my condensation of the design concepts presented at first rehearsal, with images of the set model by Scenic Designer John Culbert, and renderings by Costume Designer Jacqueline Firkins. Caveat: this description is based on notes I took way back on August 12th. Staging ideas have undoubtedly developed, changed, been scrapped and rethought since then.
The anchor of the set design is the central location of the basement, a sunken cement square that can also function as, for instance, the kitchen in the Channukah Party scene. In order to accommodate the band and still have floorspace for all the staging the show requires, the design includes a wide balcony space, on which the Radio ladies and the Moon will also do the bulk of their work. The stairs upstage center will be Stuart’s primary domain, evoking his characteristic sense of being trapped in a state of transition, unsure of where and how to land.
Set model by John Culbert
Notice the image covering the rest of the floor. This is a photograph of the early-evening Louisiana sky, taken through the trees. The disorienting up-is-down effect and the high contrast of the light blue sky and dark green foliage create an abstracted theatrical space in which a variety of locations can be evoked through simple furniture and creative staging. While initially, as you can sort of see in the photo, the design called for a photo-realistic painting, the gesture has since simplified into a more painterly, abstract pattern, which will be covered with a high gloss. The center ceiling panel contains some surprises that I won’t spoil here. The bottom face of it will be covered with the same painted image as the floor.
The costume design incorporates gestures from two different worlds. The first is, of course, the standard historical realism of 1963. This is mostly what you see in the photo.
Costume renderings by Jacqueline Firkins
But take note of two images: the man in the far right-center of the photo, and the woman in the gown in the middle, surrounded by reference photos. The man on the right is the Dryer, and he, along with the Washing Machine, is being dressed in a vocabulary reminiscent of early-century work clothes, with a few theatricalizing surprises thrown in (spellcheck doesn’t recognize “theatricalizing”, but if it’s not a word, it should be). In the center we have the Moon, in elegant evening attire that sets her apart from the other characters, both “real” (Caroline, Dottie, Noah, etc.) and anthropomorphized (Bus, Dryer, etc.). This dress connects the Moon somewhat with the similarly-stylish Radio, whom you can see sitting in the center of the balcony in the set model (by the way, in case you didn’t notice, the figures in the model are built from copies of Jacqueline’s renderings–the woman just upstage of the basement square with the headdress? That’s the Washing Machine).
Charlie Newell: “One of the biggest design challenges inherent in the show is this question about the Washer and Dryer. If you put an actual washer and dryer on stage, does that make it easier for the audience to understand, or not? Because then you’ve got the actors on stage singing and you’re asking, who the hell are those people standing next to the washer and dryer? And most of the time the actor is saying ‘I’M A WASHING MACHINE.’ So that’s kind of a clue. We’re in two worlds: 1963 and the world of ‘What is human about these other characters?’”
Jacqueline Firkins: “These are people, they have human qualities, and they have sensibilities. So we want them in clothes, we don’t want to say this is not a human, this is not a soul.”
This looks like the Titus set which looked like the Thyestes set which looked like the Vanya set. I’ll have to see it in person, but so far I’m not impressed.
In that they all had stairs in them, you’re right…
Actually, I was talking about Court Theatre design with a friend recently, and he said something similar, that Court shows, especially the ones Charlie directs, are always recognizable as such from the scenic design–a single bold gesture (like a big staircase, or a 14-foot square of yellow metal grating) that abstracts the space and allows scenes in various locations to take place in a single theatrical world without a lot of moving pieces (our recent forays into naturalism like THE FIRST BREEZE OF SUMMER being an exception). Some people, like my friend and I, really like this aesthetic. I’d go so far as to say that, to my eye, it’s often the only appropriate response to a classic text. But I’ve also heard from theater people and Court patrons who don’t find these sorts of worlds resonant.
There are a few reasons for the consistency of design at Court. One is Charlie’s personal aesthetic–he likes staging in these sorts of spaces, and he knows how to use them to make fun, evocative stage pictures. He therefore tends to work with designers (John Culbert, Leigh Breslau) who like creating sculptural, colorful, theatrical worlds.
The other reason is that the Abelson Auditorium, for all its gloriously bizarre proportions (nowhere else do 250 seats get to watch actors on a stage that huge from that close up) has no fly or wing space–so we have nowhere to store setpieces that need to come on and off. So a scenic design that can accomplish the staging needs of the text in a single gesture is usually the only way we can get through a show without using infuriatingly long, messy transitions with lots of stagehands breaking into the world to switch out the walls, or bring on a bed, or whatever.
But I agree that we should probably give staircases a rest for a while.