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Notes from the Dramaturge
Breath[e] is inspired by Samuel Beckett's short piece "Breath", a work with no dialogue, that consists of two identical pre-recorded cries separated by the sound of inhalation and exhalation. A faint light expands and contracts within the sound cues, illuminating nothing more than a space strewn with garbage. The stage direction "CURTAIN" frames it as a theatrical performance. If Beckett's theatre can be considered a descent into silence, this 1971 piece stands out as a bold gesture, a renunciation of all but the most single-minded commitment to form as content. Beckett was criticized for his cold formalism, but he was unrepentant. He wanted an art "weary of puny exploits, weary of pretending to be able, of being able, of doing a little better the same old thing, of going further along a dreary road." So we took this text as our starting point. We wanted to examine what this piece affirms rather than renounces thirty years on. Richard Foreman once defined theatre as the "manipulation of presence and absence with sound and image within a defined space." This seemed the most eloquent first principle, the one and only rule we needed to start to play (play as verb rather than noun - another point of departure seen less and less in what is called 'process'). We found a narrative in the Chakras - the centers of energy that run from the base of the spine to the top of the head. Each has a specific "colour". We followed Artaud's rationale when he stated that "a knowledge of breathing illuminates the colour of the soul". Because of this, "there is all the more reason why it can arouse the soul, facilitate its expansion." Jane traced this narrative through her own body. The shifts in rhythm that you hear, the fluctuations in heart rate are all indicative of an emotional excavation, from the rawest, darkest places to somewhere that approaches clarity, transcendence. When we heard the recording, we knew we had found the kind of affirmation that a theatrical performance could be built upon. Enjoy. John Delacourt |