EPISODES OF AN EASTER RISING

Episodes was Handspring's first play for adults, produced in 1985. This was a string puppet version of a radio play by the same name by the South African writer, David Lytton. The play deals with the choices two white women have to make when a wounded black activist, hunted by the police, seeks refuge on their remote farm. This show (with manipulators visible to the audience) was well received in South Africa and was invited to the VIIth World Festival of Puppet Theatre in Charleville-Mézières, France.

History of the production | Credits | BACK TO EASTER

HOW HANDSPRING STARTED WORKING IN ADULT THEATRE: ADRIAN KOHLER   Episodes of an Easter Rising was the first play for adult audiences that was mounted by Handspring and it's why we have managed to continue to work in this field.   In the late seventies when I was living in Botswana, I came across a collection of African plays published by Heineman in the bookshop in Gaborone. The last play in the book was a half hour radio play, originally broadcast on the BBC which I found myself reading again and again. I had a strong feeling it could make a good puppet piece. Short, pithy scenes, poetic dialogue. When trying to find out more about David Lytton, I discovered that he was the nephew of South African writer C. Louis Leipoldt but had taken his mother's name when he wished to make a writing career of his own. He had published seven or eight novels, all of which had been banned in South Africa for their political content, and consequently few knew of his work at home. He was then living in exile in the UK.   I wrote to him when we started Handspring, saying we would like to perform his piece in the theatre but with puppets. He was completely unfazed by my request and gave us his blessing saying we could use it without royalties until such time as we were making a fortune out of it. We didn't make a fortune but found a new direction. For five years I talked about Easter Rising. In the beginning we were establishing our company and it seemed a bit of a lunacy to use up the small momentum we had built in the children's theatre arena, on a puppet venture for adult audiences about the need for white people to join the struggle. It could use up meagre resources and slide us into oblivion. Besides, I didn't have the confidence that we could do the play justice. I regarded our acting skills as still developing.    Five years later it seemed that we would never do it. Unless we did it now. In 1985. I had by then designed many versions of the characters, some wildly abstract. Then we met Esther van Ryswyk. She read the script and agreed to direct it. Her philosophy in the theatre was that if the play is strong enough, it doesn't need any frills. I had designed elaborate farmhouse sets. Out they went. So did the wildly abstract figures. The play was about real people with real choices to make. So all the characters would be as naturalistic as the situations they were in. All we would need onstage were the puppets and some furniture and the required props. But how were we going to finance it?   At that stage, Gertie's Feathers had become our most successful children's theatre production. It could pack out the Baxter Upstairs Theatre for the whole of the winter holidays. The Baxter regularly booked this slot for us and we decided to revive Gertie so we could spend production time on Easter Rising. We would play ostriches during the day for three weeks and open the new piece in the evenings of the last week.   Rehearsals went ahead and slowly the four main characters began to emerge. Esther patiently dealt with the four of us, three of whom were learning to work string puppets for the first time. Fortunately, they were short stringed and so more stable, and walked beside the manipulators who were completely visible to the audience.   Then, as always seems to happen, we hit the crunch. Time was running out. Advance publicity was proving very difficult. In desperation I went down to The Argus with the figure of the Little Man, the wounded activist in the piece, and placed it on the desk of the editor of the cultural section of the paper, Derek Wilson. I explained what it was that we were attempting but he was completely unmoved. Couldn't wait for me to leave. We didn't get a story.    Gertie had to open, so we shifted rehearsals into the evening and the tiredness factor kicked in. Then our two leading ladies got cold feet. They began to feel that their reputations as actresses were about to be compromised. Walking besides these little puppets, making them drink out of little glasses like dolls. Niels' weird pentatonic music played on an old battery driven electronic keyboard which he jammed with matches to get his strange sounds, like wind. Puppets for adults. We were stepping into territory where we didn't belong.    One stroke of luck was that POWA (People Opposed to Women Abuse) agreed to use our premier as a fund raiser, so at least our opening night was sold out. But it also meant that there would be people in the audience that we would know. Basil bought a bottle of sparkling wine to celebrate the end of a very long journey. It seemed that we would be drinking it alone.    But the first audience loved it. As the two women lit their lamp in the evening and talked about the new future that was opening up and Niels' pulsing music swelled and the theatre lights faded to black, a warm glow spread through the audience.    Suddenly there wasn't enough wine. Suddenly nobody from the cast was going straight home after the show. By the end of the week the theatre was full on word-of-mouth alone.   When we opened on the fringe at the Grahamstown Festival a week later, there was already a groundswell of interest and in a short time we were sold out. People were prepared to sit anywhere in our little theatre in a windswept corner of the Monument. Even where they couldn't see the stage.   Mannie Manim saw the show. So did Barney Simon. We were invited to perform at the Wits Theatre in Johannesburg.   For years I had fantasized about attending the International Festival held every three years in Charlevile-Mezzieres, France. As members of such a small profession there were very few peers to rub shoulders with in South Africa. Puppeteers I knew, who had attended the festival, spoke glowingly of the range of work that could be experienced there. As it is run by UNIMA, the International Puppetry organization of which we were members, literally any company which could get there from around the world would be put on the program.   But this was 1985. In South Africa, a state of emergency had been declared by the Botha Government and the Cultural Boycott called for by the ANC was firmly in place. We were in a dilemma. We now had a piece about South Africa which directly addressed the political struggle and we weren't allowed to show it abroad.   We decided to go.   A cryptic invitation from France spurred us into a fund raising drive. We needed five return airfares - four for the performers and one for Caroline doing lights. Niels was going to live in Europe and would pay his own way. Gary Freidman had attended the school in Charleville and knew someone who could organise accommodation. Friends and family helped and so did a generous grant from the Cape Tercentenary Foundation.    The festival promised us lights and screens. So, after the Johannesburg season, we stripped the production down to its barest essentials, packed them into suitcases and got on the plane. The only thing we didn't know was where we were going to perform, how many times and where we were going to stay.   The world in 1985 was still divided along cold war lines. Both Eastern bloc and Western bloc countries belonged to UNIMA, which was supported by UNESCO. And UNIMA'S constitution said every member country could attend any UNIMA event despite political affiliations. Technically, there were no problems in our attending the festival, but unbeknown to us, the organisers were facing a walkout from the Eastern bloc countries because we were on the program.    On arrival, we found Easter Rising had been allocated one performance, on the first day of the festival, so that we would be long gone before the big Eastern European companies pitched. Our venue was an obscure little municipal hall, far off the beaten track. Our accommodation, a large long attic in a 15th century building within earshot of the bells of the main square. Someone had access to it because they were using a room at one end for a photographic darkroom. There was a tiny hot water heater that ran into the developing trays, so that was the bathroom. Downstairs in a sort of wooden cupboard in the wall was the long drop. We sensed at night when it was dark and quiet that this was also home to large rats.   Our pariah status at the festival only dawned on us slowly. In the beginning there was excitement simply in having finally got there. The attic soon became home with sleeping bags on the old oak floor. While Basil and I had to make an overnight trip to Paris to return a hired mini-bus, the girls met some guys from Reunion and the jol began. Then Odette went with one of them to a workshop session given by Peter Schumann of the Bread and Puppet Theatre. On finding out where she came from, he booted her out.   So the set-up went ahead under a pall of gloom. It was decided that, given the situation, no more than twenty chairs would be necessary. Having a lot of empty seats would look even more embarrassing. A Belgian Puppet Company who were next in the venue asked if they could set up their grandstand system ahead of time, we said sure. The twenty seats looked even more forlorn in front of the crowd they were expecting.   Our little stage had only one entrance from Stage Left, so from there, for the half-hour we would have to wait in our entrance positions behind the screens when the house doors were opened, we could see one another but of course we couldn't see out. At fifteen minutes before the performance the hall was still quiet and Odette, across the stage, began to weep. But there was no way to cross the floor to comfort her. At ten minutes before start of our performance Caroline came backstage on our side and began getting out some more chairs. Fearing that sightlines on the flat floor would not be good, I whispered to her that people should just sit on the grandstand. She whispered that the grandstand was full.   The performance went up late, when the last available chair had been found, and, Episodes of an Easter Rising opened and closed to a capacity audience.   Cameras flashed from the beginning and continued throughout the performance whenever something new happened . At the end, the applause and the cheering was overwhelming.    Suddenly all the newspapers wanted to talk. Liberation interviewed us up in the attic and asked if it wasn't dangerous for us to return home. People said there had to be more performances.    This was no longer possible as Mignon had by then made plans to be in England. But now the whole festival was open to us, unhindered by performances of our own.. We saw master shadow puppeteers from mainland China, expressionist wooden rod figures from Poland, the Boerwinkels from Holland, Eric Bass from the USA and three fabulous productions by the Drak Company from Czechoslovakia, one of which was their celebrated Midsummer Night's Dream.   After the shows at night the last party was always up in the attic. Many people stayed over.

In brief | Credits | BACK TO EASTER

Written by David Lytton Directed by Esther van Ryswyk Puppeteers: Odette Leate, Mignon Lee-Warden, Basil Jones, Adrian Kohler Puppets designed and made by Adrian Kohler Assistant puppet maker:Niels Erlank Set design: Adrian Kohler Puppet furniture construction: Jaco van Ryswyk Music written and played by Niels Erlank Costumes: Caroline Littlewort Production: The Baxter Theatre

In brief | History of the production | BACK TO EASTER

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