Jacques Jouet - Upstaged

On Tuesday March 9th our eighth performance of Going Out to the People, written and directed by Marcel Flavy, was disrupted. Even now, its extremely difficult to say whether this was unfortunate either for us or for the audience. In any event, this disturbance was so artfully concealed from the public eye that the hallowed reputation of our national theater suffered no injury. Were it not for the professionalism of all involved including, to be fair, the source of the disturbance himself this would never have been possible.

There is something misleading in what I just wrote. What March 9ths audience saw was not actually Going Out to the People. Although they did not know it, although they could not know it, although there was no way for us to tell them, what they saw was far stranger.

For this to make any sense I need to begin at the beginning. Before I do, it is imperative that I stress that the following indeed, somewhat contradictory account was not written with the aim of assigning blame to any of the players in that nights drama. It should be remembered that these were professional artists violently shaken from their usual routines. There can be no doubt that for the duration of the crisis they performed to the best of their abilities. Taking sides for or against any of them would be not only inappropriate, it would be unfair. So as to be as absolutely explicit as possible: this document is offered with no other aim than the edification of a noble profession.

On the evening in question, the theater was filled to three-quarters of its full capacity (of eight hundred and fifty seats). In addition to the tickets sold, four complimentary press passes had been issued, two of which were redeemed. Alexandre Botsinas of The Morning Republic was to be found in his customary front-row seat, a notepad in his lap, the text of the play in hand. (I note these details as they were to prove not without importance.) Of the other journalist present nothing much need be said. Famed for his long critical naps, he was, in point of fact, actually asleep for the better part of the performance.

Act One proceeded as planned. Jean-Franois Ernu and Sylvestre Pascal-Bram breezed through its forty-five minutes in a mere forty-two an acceleration that Marcel Flavy, the plays author and director, had demanded after a lethargic Sunday matinee performance. This picking up of the plays pace was made without notable cuts to the text, although a number of not-so-pregnant silences were filled. At this quickened rate, the dialogue between the head of state and his principal advisor was filled with new energy. When the President of the Republican Council decides to disguise himself as a common citizen for a night to leave his palace incognito so as to take the pulse of his people, as it were we sensed, for the first time, a genuine curiosity move through the theater. This seemed to bode well for what was to come. I made a note to myself: Pacing! Watch over it! It is the productions most vulnerable child! People who dont work in the theater tend not to to realize how the daily rhythm of performance works imperceptibly and perniciously! to slow delivery. Keeping watch over a plays tempo is therefore absolutely essential. For this reason it is as exciting as it is important to find ways to counter the eroding effects of performance.

During a brief pause between the first two acts (three minutes of soundtrack not so much an intermission as a break for us to change the set), the two actors exchanged their favorable impressions of the performance with one of their colleagues, Annie Soulemenov, who does not go on until the beginning of Act Two in the role of a prostitute. Annie shared their sense that things were going well and declared that she would do everything in her power to build upon this auspicious beginning.

The events this chronicle was undertaken to relate began in the second minute of the second act. Nicolas Boehlmer, preparing to smoke his last cigarette before going onstage, heard a knock at his dressing-room door. Come in, he called out. He was to note later how difficult it was to deliver this unexpected line at a moment when he had already entered the imaginative universe of his character. In response to his invitation, a stranger entered one wearing the same wig, makeup, and clothes as Boehlmer (the outfit according to costume-designer Sylvie Plumkett of a careless intellectual). As he watched this mirror of himself advance, he sensed that the catastrophe was already underway.

What do you think youre doing he? Boehlmer exclaimed to his (significantly taller) double. He was not to have time to finish pronouncing the word here, short though that word is. The stranger radiated a natural authority. He forced Boehlmer into a low chair with remarkable rapidity and agility, then gagged him, removed his threadbare jacket, suspenders, and pants, and tied him up. Boehlmers wrists were forced beneath the chair and looped around his ankles, leaving him in a thoroughly uncomfortable position. He was in his underpants, bent forward, his head between his knees, one with his chair. Boehlmer said later that he had lacked the energy to put up even minimal resistance a curious phenomena he attributed to the perfectly unthreatening authority of the intruder. Without wasting a moment, the man we came to call the Usurper tucked Boehlmers jacket and pants under his arm, and, with surprising civility, apologized for his roughness. Boehlmer recalls the following phrase: I am indeed taking a part of you, but you will soon find it returned unharmed. You have my word. The Usurper added: In case this does not go without saying, I very much admire your work.

A moment later the stage manager called through the door that Boehlmer was due on stage in four minutes. The Usurper sipped from a bottle of mineral water, taking care to choose an unopened one, and left without further ceremony. Nicolas tried to call for help, but was able to produce no more than a muffled groan, impossible as it was for him to spit out the plastic bag held in his mouth by a red, white, and blue scarf not red, white, and blue by chance.

It seems that the Usurper chose to take Boehlmers costume with him when he left the dressing room in order to ensure that in case the actor was freed too soon Nicolas wouldnt be able to rush right out on stage. However, as it appears that the Usurper did not intend to extend his usurpation into Act Three, he let the costume fall in a darkened corner, leaving Boehlmer a small but real chance of finding it and finishing the role for which he had been cast.

Exactly as if he had been doing so for weeks, or, rather, as if he had actually become Boehlmer the Usurper walked over and sat down next to Pauline Bensmala, the actress playing the role of the second prostitute a role, it should be said, that is somewhat more developed than that of the first prostitute, played by Annie Soulemenov. Pauline was waiting for her entrance on a bench at the rear of the stage, next to the fire extinguisher. The blaze of red set against Paulines dark dress was an arrestingly beautiful sight one that, while not intended for the public, caught the sensitive eye of our house photographer, Gilbert Dcoinon. Gilbert was so struck by the image that, for once, he set aside his scruples and abandoned his cherished black-and-white so as to capture it in color. The result is a remarkable photograph, much sought after. But I digress. Back to Pauline. On her bench. Next to the fire extinguisher. And now the Usurper. She didnt notice anything out of the ordinary, though she did experience a moment of mild surprise when Boehlmer that is, he who she believed to be Boehlmer did not pat her shoulder as he had done during every performance since the dress rehearsal.