October 8, 2008: Cluj, Day One – Theatre of the Oppressed

Dear Friend,

“…the theatre is a weapon. A very efficient weapon.[1]”

This is how Augusto Boal begins Theatre of the Oppressed, his book about the origins of Theatre of the Oppressed, which stem all the way back to the days of Aristotle. As I had an eight hour train ride ahead of me, I found this to be the perfect opportunity to read the book. I ended up reading the entire book today. I couldn’t put it down, it was that good, that engaging. I’ll explain in a bit.

Getting out of the door was an unnecessary chore, but that’s coming from someone who managed to get up at five o’clock in the morning, shower, and be ready to go at six o’clock. Iris and Paolo, though, were still pretty tired when they woke up, so it took awhile for them to get ready. We ended up leaving at seven, arriving at the train station at quarter after because of all the traffic. I felt very happy when I finally sat down on the train and started reading my book.

To try and condense in one blog entry the essence of Boal’s Theatre of the Oppressed would be like trying to explain to a friend in a half hour conversation everything that happens in the last Harry Potter book (I’ve tried and it didn’t work out too well.) However, despite the sheer impossibility of the task, I will endeavor to explain as best I can Boal’s argument for Theatre of the Oppressed as the inevitable next step in the course of theatre history. Also, keep in mind that much of what I write is written from the perspective of Boal and not necessarily from my own. It’s easier to write this way, as opposed to making painstaking delineation between two views. Bear with me.

Back in the day, people went to the theatre to have a catharsis. It wasn’t always like this. At one point, everyone was involved with theatre and it was called the dithyramb, a sort of festival, where everyone danced, sang, and was merry. At some point, there was a separation, actors and spectators, and the two masks of theatre old (tragedy and comedy) were founded and expounded. Within this separation laid a mode of communication, a form of control, which granted influence to the actors upon the spectators. When the actors laughed, the spectators laughed. When the actors cried, the spectators cried. Aristotle went on to explain in much greater terms (greater meaning sometimes you can’t even understand the guy) how tragedy and comedy work and how the desired effect is a catharsis, a purging of unnecessary, even dangerous emotions. This excess of emotions was considered unhealthy, an imbalance to self that required a return to equilibrium, similar to how a play’s imbalanced world needed to return to equilibrium by curtain call.

Boal calls this “Aristotle’s coercive system of tragedy,” which requires an example in order to explain. Aristotle’s favorite tragic hero, Oedipus, has a tragic flaw: pride. He’s practically perfect in every way, except for his pride. It’s his pride that influences him to kill his father, marry his mother, and not listen to that crazy, old guy Teiresias when he blames Oedipus himself for all the troubles happening in Thebes. While all this is happening, the spectator surrenders to the actor playing Oedipus. The spectator experiences within his catharsis pity (Oedipus is such a great guy, yet all these bad things are happening to him) and also fear (all these bad things are happening to Oedipus because of his pride, which therefore means pride is bad.) These two emotions, pity and fear, are also bad to have, but as they are happening within a catharsis, thereby ridding the spectator of these and other excess emotions (i.e. pride,) it’s all okay. The spectator has now regained emotional equilibrium, a state that very well could’ve been endangered by the spectator harboring excess emotions (i.e. pride) that could in some way negatively influence the equilibrium of others around the spectator, which in turn would negatively influence the equilibrium of the state. Catharsis is bad to Boal for the very reason that it’s meant to rid the spectator, through means of the basest manipulation, of emotions that endanger the sanctity of the state. Catharsis is control.

Boal’s whole argument for the advent of Theatre of the Oppressed speaks wholeheartedly against “Aristotle’s coercive system of tragedy.” This system, Boal credits, has stood the test of time and is evident in all forms and mediums of what today is considered art. Something as seemingly innocent and harmless as Sesame Street is coercive because of how it effectively causes its spectators to submit to this empathic form of receiving information which inevitably leads to catharsis. Children are manipulated into allowing puppets and people on a television screen (mere images) to think, feel, and even learn for them, instead of thinking, feeling, and learning for themselves. The system is everywhere, and Boal seeks to fight against it for the sake of the revolution, the revolution of the oppressed.

Boal, however, is not the first person to fight against the coercive system. The most notable revolutionary mentioned in Boal’s writings would have to be Bertolt Brecht. Brecht, famous for his use of epic theatre and alienation (the definitions of which are still debated today,) aids theatre towards the advent of Theatre of the Oppressed by claiming the world should be portrayed in theatre as it actually is and that the play should end without that world returning to equilibrium. This, in turn, rids the spectators of a catharsis. Instead, they are presented with the world and the way it’s becoming. They are now left to make their own decisions about what they should do, which Brecht believed would lead them to revolution. It is for this reason Brecht also believed that theatre should be done in the neighborhoods and the streets, not the downtown theatre. Theatre should be brought to those of the revolution. The bourgeois class had made theatre just for them, for the rich and elite. Theatre now should be for the revolutionaries, those subjugated for so long by the bourgeois to a theatrical world which manipulated them into believing in a world of the rich and elite and fortunate.

Brecht still falls short of Boal’s intent, though. While the spectator is no longer manipulated into purging himself of his revolutionary emotions, he’s still manipulated. Sure the world doesn’t return to the way it was before the play began and sure the spectator leaves the theatre thinking about the revolution, but he’s still sitting passively in the audience and not acting actively on the stage. This is Boal’s larger intent for Theatre of the Oppressed. Returning theatre to the dithyramb, we realize that not everyone can dance, sing, and be merry. Theatre hasn’t been for everyone for so long that they’ve almost forgotten how it works. They’ve been oppressed for so long. Now, though, theatre can become their weapon, and Boal intends for this to happen by getting the spectators out of their seats and onto the stage.

Theatre of the Oppressed empowers its participants (the oppressed) to rehearse, yes in theatre, the different alternatives one might take in the face of oppression. The main vehicle for this rehearsal is forum theatre, where an oppressed group is formed, an oppression addressed, a play structured around that oppression, and a forum held wherein which spectators to the play are allowed an opportunity to come onstage, replace a member of the cast, and enact, essentially, the revolution. There is no catharsis, because no one need let an actor think and feel for himself/herself. Now the spectators can take the stage, think and feel for themselves, and explore ways out of their oppression. This is the inevitable shift in theatre history. The people, the spectators, the oppressed have the power now. They have the weapon. No one can take it away from them.

It was a very exciting read. Lightbulbs came on, things became clearer, and I became so much closer to understanding not only Boal’s theories but also the theories of others cited in his book. I could re-read this book over and over and make new discoveries, or flesh out discoveries I’ve only begun to understand. My greatest question now, though, in light of what I’ve read of Boal in comparison to what I’ve learned about my faith, even in the past month, is how can Boal’s theories, and the course theatre is taking in this post-modern age, be used to work towards shalom? Can they work towards shalom? I think they can. Sin is the greatest form of oppression, oppression not only towards others but towards ourselves, even towards our God. Christ suffered the greatest oppression: he became sin. How can this all work together? Questions to ponder, friend. I’m excited about the journey.

Blessings.
Kailen

[1] Boal, Augusto. Theatre of the Oppressed. New York: Theatre Communications Group, 1985. pg. ix.