The Thaumaturgy Department

(It's dramaturgy, not thaumaturgy.)

Gavin
CENTERSTAGE
Baltimore
Maryland
USA

thaumaturg
Main Entry: thau·ma·turg
Pronunciation: \ˈthȯ-mə-ˌtərj\
Function: noun
Etymology: French, from New Latin thaumaturgus, from Greek thaumatourgos working miracles, from thaumat-, thauma miracle + ergon work — more at Theater, Work

2013-2014 Season:
Animal Crackers
Dance of the Holy Ghosts
A Civil War Christmas
Stones in His Pockets
Twelfth Night
Vanya Sonya Masha and Spike
Wild with Happy
Play Labs

The official blog of the Dramaturgy Department at Baltimore's CENTERSTAGE. For posts related to our current and upcoming shows, click the links to the right. Alternatively, you could begin at the beginning, and explore our posts in chronological order.

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Children are not deceived by fairy-tales; they are often and gravely deceived by school-stories. Adults are not deceived by science-fiction; they can be deceived by the stories in the women’s magazines. C. S. Lewis on fantasy vs. fact, a timeless and timely reminder of the role of critical thinking in making sense of the stories we’re told. (via explore-blog)

(Source: , via egoetschius)



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To the fairy tale onslaught hitting television (the series “Once Upon a Time” and “Grimm”), movies (“Mirror Mirror,” the coming “Snow White and the Huntsman”) and theater (the Delacorte Theater’s revival of “Into the Woods” this summer) add “The Ash Girl” ‘The Ash Girl,’ at Connelly Theater - NYTimes.com


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Hello, Little Girl:
Wolf, meet Red…
Into the Woods (by CENTERSTAGE_MD)

Hello, Little Girl:

Wolf, meet Red…

Into the Woods (by CENTERSTAGE_MD)



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Where is my grandmother?
There’s nobody here but we two, my darling.
Now a great howling rose up around them, near, very near, as close as the kitchen garden, the howling of a multitude of wolves; she knew the worst wolves are hairy on the inside and she shivered, in spite of the scarlet shawl she pulled more closely round herself as if it could protect her although it was as red as the blood she must spill.
Who has come to sing us carols, she said. Those are the voices of my brothers, darling; I love the company of wolves. Look out of the window and you’ll see them.
Snow half-caked the lattice and she opened it to look into the garden. It was a white night of moon and snow; the blizzard whirled round the gaunt, grey beasts who squatted on their haunches among the rows of winter cabbage, pointing their sharp snouts to the moon and howling as if their hearts would break. Ten wolves; twenty wolves – so many wolves she could not count them, howling in concert as if demented or deranged. Their eyes reflected the light from the kitchen and shone like a hundred candles.
It is very cold, poor things, she said; no wonder they howl so.
She closed the window on the wolves’ threnody and took off her scarlet shawl, the colour of sacrifices, the colour of her menses, and, since her fear did her no good, she ceased to be afraid.
~Angela Carter, The Company of Wolves

Where is my grandmother?

There’s nobody here but we two, my darling.

Now a great howling rose up around them, near, very near, as close as the kitchen garden, the howling of a multitude of wolves; she knew the worst wolves are hairy on the inside and she shivered, in spite of the scarlet shawl she pulled more closely round herself as if it could protect her although it was as red as the blood she must spill.

Who has come to sing us carols, she said. Those are the voices of my brothers, darling; I love the company of wolves. Look out of the window and you’ll see them.

Snow half-caked the lattice and she opened it to look into the garden. It was a white night of moon and snow; the blizzard whirled round the gaunt, grey beasts who squatted on their haunches among the rows of winter cabbage, pointing their sharp snouts to the moon and howling as if their hearts would break. Ten wolves; twenty wolves – so many wolves she could not count them, howling in concert as if demented or deranged. Their eyes reflected the light from the kitchen and shone like a hundred candles.

It is very cold, poor things, she said; no wonder they howl so.

She closed the window on the wolves’ threnody and took off her scarlet shawl, the colour of sacrifices, the colour of her menses, and, since her fear did her no good, she ceased to be afraid.

~Angela Carter, The Company of Wolves



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Germanic Myths, Legends, and Sagas Germanic Myths, Legends, and Sagas


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The best fairy tales and fairy-tale films deal with the human condition and survival. One of the reasons that we keep returning to fairy tales after we have heard, read, or seen them since our childhood is that they touch on vital and relevant issues in our daily struggles and endeavors to control our destinies. Jack Zipes, from an online interview about his work on folk and fairy tales, here: LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD GOES TO COLLEGE: an interview with Jack Zipes


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The fractured fairy tales that comprise Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods are initially a frothy frolic, becoming dark in the second act. As children, we were satisfied when the wolf was vanquished, the princess was united with her prince, and the tenacious boy outwitted—or outran—the giant. But happily ever after, Sondheim reminds us, is not part of the human condition. Martha Thomas previews Into the Woods in the latest Urbanite at Old Tales Made New | Theater | Urbanite Baltimore Magazine


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