Post by Bozur on Feb 28, 2005 16:46:43 GMT -5
THEATER REVIEW | 'THE CONTROVERSY OF VALLADOLID' MORE ON THIS SHOW
Putting a Religious Foot in the Mouth of Conquest
Sara Krulwich/The New York Times
Steven Skybell, left, and Gerry Bamman in "The Controversy of Valladolid," set in 16th-century Spain.
By CHARLES ISHERWOOD
Published: February 28, 2005
The dust-dry historical drama makes an unexpected return at the Public Theater, of all unlikely places, with "The Controversy of Valladolid," an academic exercise in forensics that has little more theatrical vitality than your average two hours of C-Span programming.
Written by Jean-Claude Carrière, the estimable French screenwriter and dramatist with a long résumé of literary and historical work, the play, in an English version by Richard Nelson and directed by David Jones, is essentially a fictionalized re-creation of an actual debate that took place in a monastery in 16th-century Spain. Valladolid was then the country's capital.
The topic: Whether the Indians under Spanish rule in the new world were to be classified as human beings, with full rights as Christians or at least potential Christians, or as a lesser species entitled to a more limited benefits package, theologically and politically speaking.
Despite the stiffness of the play's form, the production's arrival at the Public is not truly surprising. It deals with arcane matters, in theory, but it has clearly been mounted by the Public for reasons of current resonance, touching as it does on the morality of dominant world powers' imposing their ideologies, religious or otherwise, on other cultures, and the destructive effects thereof.
Arguing the pro-human case is Bartolomé de Las Casas (Gerry Bamman), a tenderhearted monk who has labored for years among the Indians and witnessed their brutal treatment by the Spanish conquerors. He opens the discussion with a 10-minute litany of these atrocities. Let's call him the Good Guy.
Opposing him, in favor of subhuman classification, is Sepulveda (Steven Skybell), wearing suspiciously sumptuous dark silks and an even more suspiciously satanic-looking beard. Sepulveda's "works of philosophy are known throughout Christendom." We'll call him the Bad Guy.
Presiding over the debate, and adjudicating the outcome for the all-powerful Roman Catholic Church, is the Pope's Legate, played with a benevolent smile by Josef Sommer. (Hint: beware benevolently smiling papal legates.)
A random sampling of arguments put forth by each side follows. Match the thought to the debater, please.
A) "As Columbus himself said, the first time he saw them: 'I cannot believe there are better men on earth.' "
B) "To speak of the Spaniards and these demons in the same breath, what an aberration. What madness."
C) "I promise you they suffer like us. They groan when they're hit."
D) "The Indians deserve what they've got, their sinning and worshiping false idols is a constant offense to the true God. The wars we conduct against them are just."
If you guessed that Good Guy was responsible for A and C, and Bad Guy put forth B and D, you have gained a general sense of the debate's opposing polemics. It has been framed in terms that are historically accurate, and rightly so, but by 21st-century standards they defy consistent intellectual engagement. The ideas adduced by Sepulveda to prove the inferiority of the Indians are risible or long disgraced, and the pseudo-scientific methods used by the Pope's Legate to decide the question are even more preposterous. When a cowering family of Indians are brought before him, he sends in a clown to see if these painted, feather-clad folk know a good joke when they see one. This inspires, naturally, snickers of disbelief and contempt from the audience.
These rigid dynamics may be intended to point up the distorted view of the natives held by both sides, but they are ponderous nonetheless. And as a result, Mr. Carrière's writing sheds little new light on the play's potentially resonant themes: for example, the ugly persistence of genocide in human history, the tendency of those in power to dehumanize their subjects and religion's role as a violently divisive force in history.
First written in 1992 for French television and then staged in 1999, the text predates the Iraq occupation. Nevertheless, some lines in Mr. Nelson's translation seem purposefully freighted with up-to-the-minute significance, as when the Legate wonders, "So when must we exercise and to what end this right we give ourselves to intervene in a strange place?"
"When to our eyes crimes are committed in other countries, under other laws, where other gods are worshiped," he also asks, "must we always intervene with our army?"
The only thing missing is a sign flashing "Please discuss."
But I'm not sure "The Controversy of Valladolid" truly bears much fruit for interesting debate. Is it a revelation to anyone that the Catholic Church has a shameful history of using theological argument to support the cruelties of Western colonization (and worse)? Is it really news that a church's zeal to save souls can become tangled with a country's taste for power or greed for gold? Will those who have never before contemplated the political ramifications of President Bush's religious affiliation be moved to do so for the first time?
Mr. Carrière is a learned and intelligent writer, and there surely are ironies of theological and philosophical argument to be ferreted out and dissected. Fans of the French theater, which has tended to favor rhetorical elegance over messier forms of drama (see Racine versus Shakespeare), may well bask in the play's stately, dialectical form. Mr. Jones's honorably sober staging does not embellish the proceedings with unnecessary flourishes, and his cast performs its untaxing duties with sincere commitment.
But even those who believe the play does meaningfully explore the unholy alliance between politics and religion may find the debate less than absorbing. And after two hours of listening to a handful of white men orating eloquently, it's hard to ignore a painful paradox: this drama about the philosophical roots of the marginalization of minorities in Western culture doesn't offer a single meaningful role for a minority actor. Please discuss.
Putting a Religious Foot in the Mouth of Conquest
Sara Krulwich/The New York Times
Steven Skybell, left, and Gerry Bamman in "The Controversy of Valladolid," set in 16th-century Spain.
By CHARLES ISHERWOOD
Published: February 28, 2005
The dust-dry historical drama makes an unexpected return at the Public Theater, of all unlikely places, with "The Controversy of Valladolid," an academic exercise in forensics that has little more theatrical vitality than your average two hours of C-Span programming.
Written by Jean-Claude Carrière, the estimable French screenwriter and dramatist with a long résumé of literary and historical work, the play, in an English version by Richard Nelson and directed by David Jones, is essentially a fictionalized re-creation of an actual debate that took place in a monastery in 16th-century Spain. Valladolid was then the country's capital.
The topic: Whether the Indians under Spanish rule in the new world were to be classified as human beings, with full rights as Christians or at least potential Christians, or as a lesser species entitled to a more limited benefits package, theologically and politically speaking.
Despite the stiffness of the play's form, the production's arrival at the Public is not truly surprising. It deals with arcane matters, in theory, but it has clearly been mounted by the Public for reasons of current resonance, touching as it does on the morality of dominant world powers' imposing their ideologies, religious or otherwise, on other cultures, and the destructive effects thereof.
Arguing the pro-human case is Bartolomé de Las Casas (Gerry Bamman), a tenderhearted monk who has labored for years among the Indians and witnessed their brutal treatment by the Spanish conquerors. He opens the discussion with a 10-minute litany of these atrocities. Let's call him the Good Guy.
Opposing him, in favor of subhuman classification, is Sepulveda (Steven Skybell), wearing suspiciously sumptuous dark silks and an even more suspiciously satanic-looking beard. Sepulveda's "works of philosophy are known throughout Christendom." We'll call him the Bad Guy.
Presiding over the debate, and adjudicating the outcome for the all-powerful Roman Catholic Church, is the Pope's Legate, played with a benevolent smile by Josef Sommer. (Hint: beware benevolently smiling papal legates.)
A random sampling of arguments put forth by each side follows. Match the thought to the debater, please.
A) "As Columbus himself said, the first time he saw them: 'I cannot believe there are better men on earth.' "
B) "To speak of the Spaniards and these demons in the same breath, what an aberration. What madness."
C) "I promise you they suffer like us. They groan when they're hit."
D) "The Indians deserve what they've got, their sinning and worshiping false idols is a constant offense to the true God. The wars we conduct against them are just."
If you guessed that Good Guy was responsible for A and C, and Bad Guy put forth B and D, you have gained a general sense of the debate's opposing polemics. It has been framed in terms that are historically accurate, and rightly so, but by 21st-century standards they defy consistent intellectual engagement. The ideas adduced by Sepulveda to prove the inferiority of the Indians are risible or long disgraced, and the pseudo-scientific methods used by the Pope's Legate to decide the question are even more preposterous. When a cowering family of Indians are brought before him, he sends in a clown to see if these painted, feather-clad folk know a good joke when they see one. This inspires, naturally, snickers of disbelief and contempt from the audience.
These rigid dynamics may be intended to point up the distorted view of the natives held by both sides, but they are ponderous nonetheless. And as a result, Mr. Carrière's writing sheds little new light on the play's potentially resonant themes: for example, the ugly persistence of genocide in human history, the tendency of those in power to dehumanize their subjects and religion's role as a violently divisive force in history.
First written in 1992 for French television and then staged in 1999, the text predates the Iraq occupation. Nevertheless, some lines in Mr. Nelson's translation seem purposefully freighted with up-to-the-minute significance, as when the Legate wonders, "So when must we exercise and to what end this right we give ourselves to intervene in a strange place?"
"When to our eyes crimes are committed in other countries, under other laws, where other gods are worshiped," he also asks, "must we always intervene with our army?"
The only thing missing is a sign flashing "Please discuss."
But I'm not sure "The Controversy of Valladolid" truly bears much fruit for interesting debate. Is it a revelation to anyone that the Catholic Church has a shameful history of using theological argument to support the cruelties of Western colonization (and worse)? Is it really news that a church's zeal to save souls can become tangled with a country's taste for power or greed for gold? Will those who have never before contemplated the political ramifications of President Bush's religious affiliation be moved to do so for the first time?
Mr. Carrière is a learned and intelligent writer, and there surely are ironies of theological and philosophical argument to be ferreted out and dissected. Fans of the French theater, which has tended to favor rhetorical elegance over messier forms of drama (see Racine versus Shakespeare), may well bask in the play's stately, dialectical form. Mr. Jones's honorably sober staging does not embellish the proceedings with unnecessary flourishes, and his cast performs its untaxing duties with sincere commitment.
But even those who believe the play does meaningfully explore the unholy alliance between politics and religion may find the debate less than absorbing. And after two hours of listening to a handful of white men orating eloquently, it's hard to ignore a painful paradox: this drama about the philosophical roots of the marginalization of minorities in Western culture doesn't offer a single meaningful role for a minority actor. Please discuss.