How a play is produced/Introduction

by Karel Čapek

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Introduction

 

THIS instructive little book is designed to explain to dramatists, to the public, and to dramatic critics, how a play is produced, and through what transformations it has to pass before it bursts from its chrysalis in all the beauty and splendour of its first night.

We do not wish to pretend that we understand the theatre; as a matter of fact, no one really understands it, neither those who have grown old on the boards, nor the most ancient of managers—not even the dramatic critics themselves.

Good Heavens, if only the reader of plays could know beforehand whether a play will be a success or not! If only the manager could count the box-office receipts in advance! If only the actor could be given a sign that his part will be a success! Why, yes, then the production of a play might run as smoothly and calmly as cabinet-making, or the manufacture of soap.

But the production of a play is an art like that of warfare, and luck plays as great a part in it as in roulette, for no one knows beforehand just how things will turn out. It is a sheer miracle that the play gets played at all, not only on the first night, but on every succeeding night, and if it is played, that it gets played through to the end. For a play is not produced “according to plan,” but through the constant conquest of insurmountable obstacles. Every lathe in the scenery and every nerve in the actor’s body, is liable to break at any moment. Usually, it is true, they do not break, but despite this fact, the situation is a distressing one, nor can it possibly be improved.

There will be no talk here of the dramatic art and its mysteries, but simply of the theatrical trade and its mysteries. It certainly would be far more agreeable to discuss the possibilities of the ideal theatre, and the ideal manner of producing a play, but all such talk of ideals only hides the complicated and marvellous reality which actually exists for us. We are not brooding here upon the lurking possibilities of the Collective Drama, or the Constructivist décor; in a theatre all things are possible; it is a magician’s house of miracles. Indeed, the greatest miracle of all is that it goes on at all. If the curtain does happen to rise at eight o’clock, please remember that this is merely a fortunate coincidence, or simply a miracle.

Although we have avoided the temptation of talking about Art, all the same, we should like, at least in the Introduction, to burn a candle before the Divine Muse. You will behold her, poor thing, by no means in her glory; you will even see her pushed and buffeted about at rehearsals, with a cold in her head, forced to endure every kind of injustice, hard labour, and all the disturbing troubles of life behind the scenes. When she appears before you on the stage, painted, and in a blaze of lights, remember the burdens she has had to bear. Then you will have something like a conception of dramatic art.

Moreover, there are all kinds of people behind the scenes, below the scenes, and above the scenes, who help to pull and push the car of Thespis along. And even if they do play their parts in a very naturalistic manner, garbed in everyday clothes, or in blue overalls, they play a very important part in the production of a play. So let them also be celebrated in this book.