[Image: the Macedonian part of the title page of the script]
It was when I first saw the bilingual script of the play that it truly hit me that this play was to be rehearsed in two different languages. I think the script itself looks beautiful: the English original running down the left hand side of the page, matched line-for-line on the right with the elegant Cyrillic lettering of Macedonian. (You can see an image of this here.) The play will be performed in Macedonian with English surtitles, but because of the English-speaking members of the creative team, the play is rehearsed in two languages as well. Sasha deftly translates the directions and ideas that flow thick and fast between Colin and the actors, and clarifies points of reference if there’s any ambiguity. At times when there’s no neat translation Sasha will offer both the literal expression and then explain the intention (my favourite example being an English phrase for acknowledging a misleading direction: “a bum note”).
Having already had several read-throughs during a workshop week in March this year, this first week starts with detailed text-based work. A pattern forms in which a scene is read by the actors whilst seated, then Colin prompts questions for analysis of what’s going on in the scene, or what a character’s motives might be for particular actions. There’s no real time limit on this discussion, but with some gentle nudging the rehearsal then tends to move towards trying some basic staging “on our feet”, with script in hand. The actors are very physical, and even in the first seated read you can see how their bodies are responding the emotions of the text, and then naturally integrate a few simple props. The way they move seems to push their reading of the text quickly deeper, and they identify what “feels wrong” immediately. Although they are clearly enjoying this way of working, some actors are apologetic that they’re not “hitting the right note” first up, although this is of course not expected so early on. I learn that usually the company spend the initial weeks of rehearsal sitting around a table in discussion, and then physicalising the action much later when they’re more familiar with the text. From then on they rehearse with blocking on the actual stage rather than the rehearsal room. By contrast, it’s quite rare in Britain to work on the stage until the very final phase of technical rehearsal. It’s not necessarily a better or worse way of working, but for this play it seems that being in the smaller rehearsal room at this point focuses attention more on the fine details of psychology, movement and the structure of the text rather than the relationship to the performance space.
The large main stage of Bitola Theatre doesn’t lie dark though, as it is used for other concurrent rehearsals, at this point for music. Observing these rehearsals is a new challenge for me because there’s no translation into English like there is in the downstairs rehearsal room with Colin and Sasha. Fortunately, many ideas are demonstrated through instruments rather than described in words. Whilst I may miss the exactness of some of the references and instructions, I think that the compensation is that my senses are more attuned to the rhythms and pace of the music. The closest experience I’ve had to this is watching opera without surtitles: I get the gist of what’s going on, but the most impressive, engaging moments are when I forget that I don’t understand the exact words but instead feel the music and emotion reverberate through me, and my instinct assures me that I know the meaning of the song. These rehearsals are quite casual, and Nikola tells me later that his rule in rehearsal is simple: “don’t think, just do”. Based on the results he gets through the collective improvisations and brainwaves, it seems an effective way of working. I find myself humming the catchy tunes that Nikola refers to as “turbofolk”. Later I hope to post some sound files of this so you can hear what I am writing about; I promise you’ll end up humming them yourself.
Thursday and Friday were dedicated to the brothel scenes – this involves big chorus sequences, and the music is very sexy and percussion-driven. The only male actor to play a prostitute in the Temple of Aphrodite, Nikola Projcevski, injects a wonderful campness to his character Ground Beater, improvising poses like a ‘Page 3 Girl’ or miming tucking his dick between his legs. His dragged-up performance of femininity is very funny to watch, but also instinctively clever to the dramaturgy of this play, as it echoes the theatricality of the doubled-up casting of the twins Tisiphone and her brother Amphilochus. These early physical discoveries are the sort of thing that may never have happened if we only sat around with our noses in our scripts, but it also sets up a stylistic theatrical language for the production without anyone explicitly articulating a single defining trend. Much of this movement also naturally transcends the language barrier in the room: sometimes there’s delayed laughter once Sasha translates a joke that has some people are cracking up, but when something is physically funny it hits everyone at the same time and we’re all united by the moment.
I’ve written accounts of rehearsals before (you can read two examples here and here) but this process makes familiar patterns of theatre-making new again. I feel like I have alien eyes and ears to everything that I’m seeing. I’ll soon post some pictures of the company in rehearsal, as well as some photographs of the Ohrid and Hereklea amphitheatres as I visit them this weekend.
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