A) Oscar Wilde: Okay, so it’s a terribly obvious one, but just THINK of the options. Would you like to don the floppy hat and swish about in a cape? Curl your hair and casually smoke among scandalized ladies? I personally vote for going with the bowl cut, but I suppose that just might not happen…
B) Lady Bracknell, Wagner-style: You know… I’ll leave the details of this one up to you. Suffice to say that it’ll be terrifying. Quite possibly the msot frightening costume possibility on the market.
C) The Marquess of Queensbury: Your main priority is to be a supreme arsehole, and to muck things up for others as best you can. Don’t dress like a slob, but don’t spend too much time lingering over details of clothing; that’s for sondomites like that blasted Wilde. You’re a bully, and you’re proud of it. Bonus points for every libel suit sparked.
D) Lady Dumbleton: Dye your hair quite gold and pass the crumpets: you’re living entirely for pleasure now! For extra kicks, carry around an urn with your husband’s ashes; you may neve have cared much for the git, but it’ll make for an exquisite conversation piece.
E) A Giant Letter: Any letter, any letter of your choice. For even more fun, co-ordinate with friends and spell out any word you like.
F) Detective Fix: Spend the evening seeking one Phileas Fogg, and chasing down any other perfectly innocent-looking person you might see on the street. You don’t need any particular reason; only good old English instinct, what? Do expect to get into a few fistfights, and don’t expect to win… You’re kind of wussy. But that’s okay, because you’ll have that criminal behind bars, yet! You’re sure of it.
May edit to add more later. For now, hey, that’s a start. Clearly, you’re prepared to take on ANY Halloween event.
Since Drew has taken us down the proverbial Rabbit Hole of Méliès films, that provides an interesting intersection for another set of crossover associations with Cyrano de Bergerac: the fabulous, fabular, fabulating Baron Munchausen (or Munchhausen). Both of them longtime favorites of mine, and I’ve always thought the two had much in common as quasi-mythic literary inspirations from real-life originals who were in some respects even more incredible than their fictional manifestations. Both share qualities as tellers of tall-tales, mad monarchs of mendacity, believers in the fantastic, proponents of panache, and (if traditional illustrations like these are to be credited), proud possessors of profile-enhancing probosci. Not to mention both being, at least in imagination, lunar travelers.
Like Don Quixote and others of a small fraternity, they both challenge the omnipotent imperium of Fact, and prod the world of Empiricism that’s been working on purifying itself for centuries. They also challenge our imagination in wildly and eminently theatrical ways, so it’s no surprise that they have lent themselves to adaptation on stage and on screen.
The earliest [Baron Munchausen film] that is still viewed today [is] Georges Méliès’ Baron Munchausen’s Dream [made in 1911]. In fact the film is a titular adaptation only, narratively owing far more to Edwin S. Porter’s The Dream of a Rarebit Fiend (1906), which in turn is adapted from Winsor McCay’s turn-of-the-century comic strip, Dreams of the Rarebit Fiend. This palimpsest of cultural detritus with a topping, or titling, of Munchausen is typical of a number of the adaptations. Indeed, this is one reason why it is beneficial to view the films chronologically; as much as the Munchausen films are bound to their time and place of origin they are also self-propagating and reflexive to earlier versions.
As a part of this researching-for-Cyrano business, I’ve been pulling together the beginning traces of a glossary. Or something like that. What this means, then, is a lot of basic background, information of the foundation sort, and then the chasing of references major and minute, as picked out of the text. Some of the research-chasing is book-based (books treating the history of France abound, just now), some of it’s web-based, checking one sources against five or ten or fifteen others. All of it can lead down overgrown sidetrails and rabbit-holes and, hey, that’s half the fun of it; never know where the search is going to lead.
Alas and alas, all of this information doesn’t make the final cut of the glossary, or of… Well, of anything seen outside of this so-foggy land known as Dramaturgy. Random facts are shuffled aside, more extensive explanations are trimmed… And all of this is useful, perhaps necessary, because glossaries do seem to be a bit more effective in user-friendly form. Which tends to mean, ah, no fifty-page glossaries (in most cases, thank you).
What of that other information? We-ell, we have it, or someone around here has it, so there’s some personal amusement and enjoyment to be had. Since this thing called tumblr exists, however, figure we could stand to share some of the bits and pieces that come up in the fast-paced thrill of the glossary hunt. This may also give some sense of the veritable web of information (network of groundhog tunnels of information?) that grows out of a single play, the myriad ways in which a play connects to other works and information.
Hence, glossary adventures. Random information (that may or may not make the final cut) whilst searching. And for the first edition of glossary adventures, got just a few for you…
-According to available account, Cyrano de Bergerac actually did take on a hundred men, killing several and driving away the rest. And in general, he seems to’ve been no stranger to daring deeds. Whether this was heroism, the mark of an hot-blooded and intemperate nature, or compensation for his nose (or whatever cause you might consider) is up for debate.
-Mt. Everest is known as Sagarmatha in Nepali and Chomolungma in Tibetan. The mountain wasn’t called “Everest” until 1865, when it was named after Sir George Everest, a Brit and India’s Surveyor general (prior to that, the English designation had been Peak 15).
-Louis XIV came into the monarchy at the age of four. Oh, and this would’ve been the time of absolutism in France… More on that to come, perhaps, but for the moment just gvie a big “hello!” to Richelieu and friends.
-Homing pigeons have long been used to transport messages, prove their use to this day, and were used by the military as recently as the Vietnam War (I’ve restrained myself from looking further than that for the moment, but feel free to have a go, yourself; the internet is populated with heaps upon heaps of pigeons sites).
-Cyrano references and makes use of the 1640 Siege of Arras. The factual Cyrano de Bergerac did indeed fight at Arras, and was wounded as a result.
That’ll do for now, any rate. Presumably, these’ll eventually range from the very basic to the “ohhhh-kay” obscure, but I suppose we’ll see about that. Expect further such adventures… Whenever I feel like tossing something on here, really.
Edit to note… In the original post, I’d typed “Whether this was heroism, the amrk of an hot-blooded and intemperate nature, or compensation for his nose (or whatever cause you might consider) is up for debate.” Okay, well, “amrk” has been changed to “mark.”
This may not stop me from use “amrk” as a word from this point onward. Just for the record. Some typos are meant to be. (And, really, don’t ask me what that means. Just don’t. Mostly because I don’t bloody know.)
That’s right, Michael McMillan’s The Front Room arrived today. Can we get a resounding “whoo”? WHOO!
A little bit of context? That might be helpful, sure. In February, CENTERSTAGE will be presenting Kwame Kwei-Armah’s Let There Be Love, which takes place in the 1980 London home of a West Indian migrant. We’ve started to do a bit of poking around the play’s background, and turned out that the props department was interested in images of and information regarding West Indian homes and their decorations. Excellent, fantastic; gave us an excuse to start sifting through images and burrowing around the web, which is always interesting in its own right (and no telling what might be found).
This time, Gavin stumbled over what might be called a “WHOA MAGICAL AWESOME” find when he came across the book in an article referencing the work and the Geffrey Museum’s exhibition on the West Indian front room (oh, and when you have a moment, check out the exhibit’s quite nifty website here). Could it be? Could such a tremendously suitable—good Lord, it’s exactly what we’re looking for—book exist?
Yes. Yes, indeed, and it’s even more beautiful in the, er… Well, not quite in the flesh, but you see my meaning. Fantastic photographs from the period, and the book isn’t just a collection of images: it contains detailed explanations, captions, all manner of useful information. Sections include “The top ten things in the Front Room,” wherein several pages are dedicated to the radiogram (more on that to come in the future, no doubt; suffice to say for the moment that Let There Be Love features prominently a radiogram), and the entire book appears to be scattered with recollections from a host of people.
This book is fantastic. Let it be known, and expect to hear of it again. If you’ve any means of doing so, get your hands on a copy, if only for a little while. Well worth the time (hey, it’ll please the eyes, AND you’ll learn something, maybe a whole lot of somethings). Major book win. And now I’m off to disappear into the book of awesome for a while. WHOO.
Save us all… ‘tis what it declares, an article on the history of etiquette guides. Yeah-YEAH.
Hey, it was all over Earnest. It isn’t exactly absent from 80 Days (particularly so far as etiquette is used to keep society in line with the expectations of the Phileas Fogg-types). And it plays somewhere into the background of Cyrano. One of those historically inescapable facets of life.
Industrious box office assistant and periodic theater blogger Emily Hope Dobkin offered us these reflections on seeing the current CENTERSTAGE production of Wilde’s Importance of Being Earnest. We’re thrilled to share her thoughts.
It is quite clear that Oscar Wilde’s words have gone beyond the parameter of the stage, as several notable quotations have been splashed upon the walls here at CENTERSTAGE. Quotes have been mounted and layered over more quotes throughout the theatre’s first floor level, including the elevators and, yes, even bathroom stalls. However, enter the Pearlstone Theater, and one will see there is just one word, and one word only; EARNEST. These white block letters comprise the foundation of the set for Irene Lewis’s production of The Importance of Being Earnest.
At first glance, I was skeptical that these letters would be entirely appropriate for this show; but, after viewing the play, I was pleasantly surprised: they proved to be quite suitable and adequately utilized. As Wilde plays with the concept of earnestness, satirizing Victorian England and its moral codes, the set seemed to complement these concepts, as the actors themselves literally play on that word: they sit, they stand, recline, lean, sigh, laugh, dance, and climb upon the letters that spell “EARNEST.”
This set is perhaps what makes this current production beam with an extra radiance; the raspberry-red painted backdrop allows the white block letters to genuinely pop out. Other surprising set elements prove to be smart and effective as well, such as the split portrait of Wilde himself. I found that this portrait enforced the concept of duality, as both Jack and Algernon attempt to maintain double identities. In addition, the bright rose that overhangs from the ceiling in the garden scene almost seems to suggest the innocence of young Cecily—an innocence further exaggerated by that bright bow in her hair. I found all of the costumes emphasized Wilde’s words, as they were both brilliant and clever. Gwendolen’s enormous white lace sleeves accented by bright red lipstick; Cecily’s short flower dress with green tights and high stiletto heels; and Algernon’s white pants and white patent shoes (with no socks) all add a flair, yet do not detract from Wilde’s witty words that define this classic piece.
Overall though, it is those block letters, that word “Earnest,” that really stuck with me after viewing the performance; so simple, yet so prominent. By definition, earnest refers to both the quality of being serious and the quality of being sincere. Similarly, the male name (Ernest) is derived from the Germanic eornost meaning “serious” or “truth” (funny how Cecily is studying German…). The audience hears both Gwendolen and Cecily roll that name off the tip of their tongues with such passion, such devotion, and such rapture. Both Gwendolen and Cecily are so taken with that name, Ernest. Unlike Juliet, who once said of her Romeo “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose /By any other name, could smell as sweet..”, Gwendolen and Cecily believe something much different of their Romeo, as they firmly insist that the name bears much significance. As Jack professes his love to Gwendolen, she remarks that
my ideal has always been to love some one of the name of Ernest. There is something in that name that inspires absolute confidence. The moment Algernon first mentioned to me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love you.
Later, she adds, “It is a divine name. It has a music of its own. It produces vibrations.” And she concludes, “The only really safe name is Ernest” Likewise, Cecily exclaims, “it had always been a girlish dream of mine to love some one whose name was Ernest. There is something in that name that seems to inspire absolute confidence. I pity any poor married woman whose husband is not called Ernest.” We can thank Mr. Wilde for this dialogue, for it further encourages the audience to seriously ponder the idea of earnestness and all the irony it brings to those two men who call themselves Ernest but who are far from being earnest. That word alone serves as the play’s satire, as the plot revolves around characters maintaining false identities to escape unwelcome social responsibilities
I have realized that our production is a play on play-on-words, in which we watch the characters physically play on that one word Oscar Wilde makes of much importance. Simply put; I cannot think of a wittier way to welcome patrons and friends to the CENTERSTAGE 2009-2010 season than with The Importance of Being Earnest.
This is just to fantabulous to resist. Here, straight from the official NASA website, is Cyrano as early practitioner of science-fiction and imaginative theorist of space travel. An aspect of his persona that Rostand made use of, delightfully, in his play—and which of course links our hero to the works of Jules Verne (and his many literary progeny), whose Around the World in 80 Days is much on our minds as we get ready for first rehearsal in about 10 days.
This is what NASA has to say about lunar travel ala Bergerac:
Less interested in the scientific fundamentals of rocketry, many writers of popular literature and science fiction discovered one of the most vital elements in the formula for space travel, a fertile imagination. Under the impression that the sun “draws up” dewdrops, Cyrano de Bergerac suggested fancifully that one might fly by trapping dew in bottles, strapping the bottles to oneself, and standing in sunlight.
The other evening we were delighted to have join us the author of our current production, the always youthful Mr. Oscar Wilde. He had the following to say about the production, in retrospect.
Upon finding myself this past Friday traveling on the occasion of my 155th birthday (I know, to count looks so calculating, but the world does insist on correctness at present), imagine my utter delight when I learned that a theatre in Baltimore—oh, scintillating New World metropolis—would be presenting that delicious dramatic construct, that scrumptious theatrical je ne sais quoi, that accidental swan-song, The Importance of Being Earnest. As I am rather close to the author—having known him all my comparatively brief life—I thought I might do worse than drop by. After all, I very much enjoyed my prior visit to the hinterlands of America, and was ever-so well received by the gracious natives of that curious and wonderfully barbaric young nation. Why not, then, add Baltimore to my itinerary? After all, as I noted on a prior occasion, “Baltimore is amusing for a week” (while Washington is like “a suburban vestry,” Philadelphia “dreadfully provincial,” and New York fine for dining but “one could not dwell there.”
Hence, chers amis and dear readers, I found myself in the soi-disant Charm City, a-twitter with eager interest as the house lights dimmed and the limelight illumined the first notes of this evergreen masterpiece.
I held out originally for a separate US premiere of this play, knowing too well that we are two countries separated by a common language (an observation Georgie Shaw was only too happy to steal from me and make his own); my wisdom was rewarded then, and my conviction renewed on this occasion, by the difference in approach evident. Where I would expect a slavishly faithful rendition of the parlors and drawing rooms too-familiar from my glorious youth, instead this production took marvelous liberties of invention. Instead of the dreary and oppressive colors or the excessive indulgence in bric-a-brac that paralyzed the households of bygone days, here was something more in line with my own teachings on the House Beautiful—an actual Aesthetic experience. Vibrant fuchsia, zebra skins in positively Biblical starkness of black and white, even a complete suite of furniture en rose caressed my eyes. I nearly danced in dithyrambs of delight.
Music, too, formed a charming component of the evening, from the pianoforte dabblings of Algernon (also featured on a most inventive woodwind later) to the pleasant warbling of a favorite parlor song (“Come into the Garden, Maud,” lamentably by Tennyson rather than one of my own poetic opus, but an apt choice nevertheless).
There were some young people in attendance, which is always tres charmant and adds a dose of gaiety to any evening—though I noted once again of American youth, as I had before, that “the chief secret of their charm is that they never talk seriously except about amusements, and can talk brilliantly upon any subject, provided that they know nothing about it.” I felt myself in the best of company. On further reflection, that perception may have been in part an effect of the liberal use I made of the fine vintages on offer at the bar, imbibing beyond what was perhaps judicious as I was favored with the opportunity to take my drink to my seat. Who dares cry out that Americans are still uncivilised? Fie.
What, though, of the incidentals of the evening, the performance of the play itself? Well, allow me to note that the script was, as ever, flawless, and the audience did a creditable job of playing its part—appreciating the voluminous wit with apt and astute gales of laughter. The actors rose to the occasion, pronouncing all the words in the correct order and not insisting on making too much sense of any of it. They were utterly charming, one and all, even discovering unanticipated depths of sincerity I never would have dared dream might find their way into this of all pieces. I was really quite moved and touched withal, to see the endeavor and to witness its success.
And the performance of Mr. Laurence O’Dwyer (a fellow Celt, I note with glee) in the so-desirable role of Lady Bracknell? Well, nothing would induce me to reveal the original inspiration for that most-glorious portrait, but I must say Mr. O’Dwyer did her more than justice, in a rousingly fresh, sincere, and authoritative interpretation. I could desire no more, nor hope for any less.
-Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde
Ok—full disclosure. Our Director of Communications and Marketing asked us to create a “review” as if by Oscar, and so that is what we did. And this was it. We’d sure welcome anyone else who has seen the production or not to take a stab. Or comment on this effort. Go for it.
This April, CENTERSTAGE will be presenting a reading of Israeli playwright Motti Lerner's recent political thriller, Benedictus. It tells of secret negotiations among Israel, Iran, and the US—hosted by the Vatican, no less—aimed at averting nuclear disaster. It is striking how frequently and consistently this topic, and Motti’s take on it, proves eerily topical.
This is nothing new for the fearlessly provocative writer, whose prior plays include stories of homosexual yeshiva students, Jewish settlers bent on destruction, and the “secret” history of Saul/St. Paul. His play inspired by the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, The Murder of Isaac, had its US premiere at CENTERSTAGE in 2005.
“It is said that this nose brought death upon more than ten persons; that one could not look upon it, but he must unsheathe; if one looked away, it was worse; and as for speaking of Noses, that was a subject which Cyrano reserved for himself, to do it fitting honor.”—Curtis Hidden Page (in “Cyrano Bergerac,” found in the 1899 Doubleday and McClure edition of Cyrano de Bergerac’s A Voyage to the Moon)
For the record… Whether speaking of the factual individual or the fictional character popularized by Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac is often (I’d say “almost always,” but really, what do I know? “almost always,” according to what I’ve read thus far) described with some variant of the word “swashbuckler.” Or his tale is a swashbuckling tale. So much swash. So many buckles. And all for Cyrano.
I almost want to keep a running tally…
But yes. We’ve got Cyrano coming in January; a bit off in the distance, perhaps, but it’s never too early to start prepping, non? As adaptation by Jo Roets (from, of course, Rostand’s famed play), Cyrano will be performed by three actors (on to play Cyrano, two to play, oh, everyone else) in under an hour. Thing is, the adaptation doesn’t weaken the original. It’s less flowery, sure, but the tightening seems to work quite well in this case. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again… The adaptation suits Cyrano, who is himself less a man of frippery, more prone to direction action, and with a sense of the romantic that never washes out his more intrepid side.
In any case. Apparently, Cyrano goes in for the swashbuckling.
Let us all swashbuckle.
Swashbuckle, swashbuckle, swashbuckle.
Actually, whilst I’m inanely repeating the word, let’s take a look at some very basic definition and etymology links, shall we? I’m not usually one for cutting/pasting like this, so please do forgive me… Just trying to not spend the next several hours mulling this one over.
According to the online Merriam-Webster: a swaggering or daring soldier or adventurer
From the Online Etymology Dictionary: 1560, “blustering, swaggering fighting man” (earlier simply swash, 1549), from swash “fall of a blow” (see swash) + buckler
Swashbuckling (adj.) is attested from 1693."shield." The original sense seems to have been "one who makes menacing noises by striking his or an opponent’s shield."
And I’m not going to chase this any further right now. Partly because, again, I could be at it all night (which isn’t such a bad thing, really), mostly because it’s time to read about the swashbuckler. WHOO.
Jules Verne may have been one of the first authors to popularize tales of extraordinary travel, but he wasn’t the first to explore the idea. Indeed, it seems likely that so long as humans have been able to dream, they have perused distant horizons and chased wild possibilities. Consider, for instance, The Odyssey, in which the title character gets by with a little help from the gods, with encounters of mythic proportions. For the present, consider a short sampling of other fantastical journeys:
Yes, that Cyrano de Bergerac, the Cyrano immortalized in Rostand’s play. The true Cyrano de Bergerac was just as fantastic as his fictional counterpart, proving time and again to be a real-life swashbuckler with a literary flair (among many other literary contributions, Cyrano wrote a sort of companion novel about the sun’s society). In Society and Government of the Moon, Cyrano utilized space travel and an active imagination to present a utopian society informed as much by Cyrano’s own whims as by the time’s philosophy. Consider, for instance, the fact that large noses are lauded in the Utopian moon society: “…we have observed, that a great Nose is the mark of a Witty, Courteous, Affable, Generous and Liberal man.” Anyone sporting an insufficient schnoz would be gelded in order to prevent further such specimens; Cyrano seems to have been a bit wishful, here.
The famed account of Lemuel Gulliver is both a biting satire (characteristic of Swift’s work) and a truly fantastic romp. Phileas Fogg may have traveled around the world, but Gulliver managed to visit regions not to be found on any map or even in the minds of man. Gulliver’s voyage takes him from (among other stops) the nation of the famously tiny Lilliputians, to an island suspended in the sky, to a land inhabited by cultivated horses and the crude Yahoos. Each society is strange but also somehow familiar, and by the tale’s end, Gulliver has forsaken the ways of his old life to pattern himself after the intellectual equines.
Much like Phileas Fogg, Raspe’s Munchausen is a world-wide traveler. Yet Munchausen is another of the more fanciful adventurers: while Fogg is bound by practicality (every mode of transportation used in the book was available at the time), Munchausen defies all logic and law by traveling in the most fantastic of manners to America to Turkey to Africa, even to the moon (first by climbing a bean sprout, then via ship lifted through the air). Bidding adieu to logic, Munchausen also travels by fish and eagle, and is propelled out of a cannon. The tale is often known through Terry Gilliam’s successful and highly imaginative 1988 film version.
On April 13, 1844, an article in the New York Sun announced that the manned airship Victoria had crossed the Atlantic Ocean, a feat up to that point unaccomplished. The article detailed the particulars of the balloon itself and included segments from a journal kept by one of the fliers. Its extraordinary tale reportedly brought crowds clamoring for copies of the paper, and scores of people bought into a tale that was, in fact, a hoax. Edgar Allan Poe had penned and submitted the fake article, a thoroughly-researched working of his singular fancy. The affair was later designated “The Great Balloon Hoax,” and it would not be until 1919 that an airship managed to cross the Atlantic, from Europe to the U.S. (All right, so this one’s a bit of a cheat; it isn’t the most extraordinary of voyages, perhaps, but as it’s Poe’s bicentennial, we can throw him a nod.)
In honor of the approaching opening night of The Importance of Being Earnest, a little pop culture moment from back in the day, Monty Python’s daffy sketch about Oscar Wilde (along with J.M. Whistler and G.B. Shaw—surely the wittiest cocktail party imaginable). I particularly like that the sketch unblinkingly alludes to the story that, in response to a finely couched witticism by Mr. Whistler, Wilde noted that he wished he’d said it. Whistler (twitting Wilde for, among other things, the perception at least that his off-the-cuff aphorisms were carefully prepared in advance) was said to have wryly replied, “You will, Oscar; you will.” I sure hope that happened.
Phileas Fogg traveled around the world. Phileas Fogg went to Paris. But no one knows what happened there. It is a great mystery. So great and terrible a mystery, in fact, that scholars who have dared to touch it with a ten-foot spoon has vanished without a trace.
Don’t go to Paris.
Don’t ask about Paris.
When you toddle off to sleep at night, check under the bed to make sure Paris isn’t hiding there.
We tell you as a warning. other places around the world are lots of fun. Yokohama has clowns. They’re pretty cool. They have noses. Noses are also pretty cool. And India has elephants. Elephants like peanuts, especially if they are salted (it keeps the slugs off). America has charming yokels what shoot at buffalo. That’s fun. So go to Yokohama. Go to India. Go to the United States.
But don’t go to Paris.
Skip Paris and go directly to the Suez Canal.
This is the most invaluable advice you will ever receive.
This post has been brought to you by a brain absent from logic. Please to be noting that Paris is a FINE place—a magnificent place, if you ask Oscar Wilde (like Jack’s elusive brother, Ernest, Wilde was buried in Paris)—and that we here in dramaturgy do not wish to besmirch the name “Paris.”
However. Do take a look at the works of Jules Verne, including 80 Days. Note the number of times that characters are actually seen in France. His characters travel all over, Verne was a Frenchman, but where is France in his so-extensive writing?
Ask Verne’s publisher (well, okay, he isn’t alive anymore, but you get the idea). Apparently, Hetzel wasn’t so keen on allowing Verne to write scenes set in France. And sure, you could argue that Hetzel was attempting to avoid controversy (believe ye olde William Butcher suggests as much). But that might make too much sense.
Clearly, the reason is because Hetzel was afraid of Paris, thought that it was scary, and was only trying to protect Verne and the reading public. Clearly.
It’s Baltimore’s own E. A. Poe meets Jules Verne (yes, Mr. 80 Days), from Kate Beaton’s “Hark! A Vagrant.” Check it out. (She’s got a couple of OscarWilde strips, as well.)
How about imagining your own encounter between Verne and your favorite historical/literary figure? Draw it, or write some dialogue, or whatever strikes your fancy, and send/share it with us. We’ll post it here!
On top of prepping Wilde’s Importance of Being Earnest right now, we’re also gearing up to bring in the Lookingglass production of Around the World in 80 Days. Drew, who’s dramaturging that one, found this wonderful bit of theater history—quite the synthesis of talents (Verne, Welles, Porter). Takes you on quite the whirl around the globe and through the story.