Subtitles in a play? This was a new one.

They managed it with large screens along the sides of the stage to display English translations of the actors’ dialogues. With that aid, the audience in Bangalore could follow the Korean play without hiccups.

When I hear my friends rave about Neenaanaadrenaaneenena? or Mysooru Mallige, I wish for a bridge across the language gap – and my mind harks back to The Tale of Haruk.

Why is subtitling, adopted so ardently in films, virtually unheard of in theatre? Someone from the Other Side of theatre would be better qualified to answer that but I can think of a few reasons.

In film, the visuals and subtitles lie within the same frame of reference – a single screen. In theatre, it can be tricky to have subtitles legible from a distance and yet not obstruct the scene of action. To read subtitles with a play, the audience will have to shift focus from the stage to the subtitles and back, over and over – not the most conducive for undisturbed viewing.

Film also has the advantage of constancy. Subtitle it once and it is done forever. But theatre changes every time you view it. To achieve a high level of synch in a live performance is no mean task, harder still in plays that rely on improvisation.

These challenges did not weigh heavily on The Tale Of Haruk – it was not a dialogue-intensive play and the little there was of speech, was succinct and simple.

Does this mean that subtitling and full-blown live drama cannot mix?

It sure can, and it is being experimented with.

ScienceDaily.com talks of a Spanish university that has developed a software for live subtitling to enable the hearing impaired to enjoy theatre. All the accessibility elements – titles, sign language video and audio description – are pre-recorded and manually synchronized by a technician during the show. The technician need not even be present at the venue but can follow the play anywhere via VoIP, and broadcast the elements over various channels. What’s more, says the article:

…because of the high degree of compatibility of the chosen formats, the play’s audience can simultaneously consult them from different devices: mobile phone, PC tablet, PDA, etc.

Read more about the tool UC3MTitling here: New System for Live Subtitles Debuts in Spanish Theater.  [Thanks Sreekanth for sharing this link.]

EndGadget.com describes a device with multi-lingual support for live subtitling, which was being trialed at the Shaftesbury in central Londonium in 2009.

… it combines a simple WiFi-enabled device with an LED-backlit screen and a dude in the background who feeds live subtitles over the air. The pleasure of said dude’s services will be a steep £6 ($10), which you might scoff at now, but imagine yourself attending a show in Tokyo or Beijing and suddenly the price becomes a lot more justifiable.

No updates on how far these trials were successful. Read the full article here: .AirScript translator beams live theater subtitles over the air.

What do you say, theatre practitioners in India? Given our plethora of languages, real-time translation of performances has sure scope and need. The question is – is it practicable?

The phrase interestingly has its roots in theatre.

The story is that seventeenth century British dramatist John Dennis used a new method of creating the sound of thunder for his production Appius and Virginia (1709). It isn’t clear from the texts available today what this method was, some sources say it was rattling a tin sheet on the backstage, others say it was rolling metal balls in bowls of wood.

Whatever it was, the play Appius and Virginia flopped and Drury Lane Theatre, London, which was running the play, stopped further shows of it. Playwright John Dennis was miffed – he had a high opinion of his work.

Soon afterwards he went to Drury Lane Theatre for the performance of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. He found them using his own new method of creating thunder.

Enraged, John Dennis exclaimed:

That is my thunder, by God;
the villains will play my thunder, but not my play.

The exact words are in doubt, some sources say he said:

Damn them! They will not let my play run,
but they steal my thunder.

Or words to that effect. And so the idiom "stealing one’s thunder" was born.

Jane Austen’s readers unfamiliar with the play Lovers’ Vows find these questions exceedingly mystifying. A reading of this play along with Mansfield Park gives us some answers, and also telling insights into societal attitudes towards theatre in 19th century England.

When one character tries to convince another that the absent patriarch will not mind their theatrical pursuits as he had encouraged them to act in their childhood, the other responds:

It was a very different thing. You must see the difference yourself. My father wished us, as school-boys, to speak well, but he would never wish his grown up daughters to be acting plays. His sense of decorum is strict.

That the author agrees with that position is clear – the virtuous heroine of Mansfield Park refuses to act, even as the rest of the young party take on the "depraved" play and try all they can to coax her into it.

There is also an allusion to the difficult conditions of actors in those times when the young clergyman-to-be objects to the home theatrical. He likes "good hardened real acting", he says, but has no patience for

the raw efforts of those who have not been bred to the trade – a set of gentlemen and ladies, who have all the disadvantages of education and decorum to struggle through.

Mansfield Park devotes eight full chapters to the preparations and aftermath of its dramatic performance. There is an allegorical parallel between Lovers’ Vows and the novel but interestingly, the choice of play is not the chief concern of Mansfield Park. Of prime importance is how this play is being enacted – or more specifically, who gets paired with whom? Script modification is planned in order to make an uneasy pairing work. A part opposite the attractive Mary Crawford is so tempting to the hero that he quickly chucks his moral "no theatre for us" stand and obliges to act.

The same politics of casting haunts Jane Eyre‘s (1847) tryst with theatricals when the house-party enacts an elaborate game of charades. It is worth noting that in both Jane Eyre and Mansfield Park, the heroine is a passive spectator of the play, timid and quiet, just as she is morally superior and socially beneath the rest of the party.

"Miss Ingram is mine, of course," says the hero when picking the cast for his team. Jane watches in silent chagrin as the hero and Miss Ingram assume the parts of groom and bride in the first act, and hears him rib her later:

Well, whatever I am, remember you are my wife; we were married an hour since, in the presence of all these witnesses.

Cut to the present, shift a continent – what do we find? When it comes to plays within novels, characters’ motivations are much the same. In Srividya Natrajan’s No Onions Nor Garlic (2006), a bizarre adaptation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream is being staged at Chennai University. One part of the novel deals with the Hindutva-spin given to the adaptation, but the more comic angle is of four "despo" students who run to the library to find out how many female leads the play offers, so that they may audition to get paired with them. Their hopes soar on seeing the promising names Hermina, Helenia and Titania in the script and decide to enlist.

No luck awaits these poor men, alas – they get cast as the fairies.

The theme was left to the contesting troupes to choose. They came up with plays about the exploitation of the poor, widow remarriage, the plight of Kashmiris and other such noble thought-provoking causes. Sad soliloquies were delivered, impassioned tirades launched. No play was complete without copious shedding of tears.

Not to take away from the efforts of the young men and women who put these plays together (I’m sure some of them will make a big name for themselves in professional theatre) but it must be asked: why was there no play that could let us relax and smile, and reach for no high moral purpose? Is it that to be considered worthy of winning, it was necessary to be grave?

The answer seems to be Yes. It is a contest, the team has only limited time to make a mark. If all else is equivalent, won’t a serious play be rated over a "light" one? In all probability, it will.

And why just in theatre? Who sweeps away the trophies for Best Leading Actor in films? The guy who plays the schizophrenic, not the guy who plays the buffoon. Which book bags the Booker? The one that dwells on pain and injustice, not the one that narrates a simple romance. Which projects win the best marks in a CompSc course? The ones that describe robots to cure cancer (so what if there is no working robot), not the one that makes a live game of UNIX Solitaire [real story ].

Does a work of art ask to be treated lightly, because its theme is light?

A compendium of such inspired moments from plays I’ve watched in 2010.

• Ravi Credit: A couple visits Ravi’s shop, asks for something on credit. A quiet plea, a hesitant yes. All seems harmless and above board but before you know it the scene has snowballed into a synchronized scream. A flock of villagers whirl in and strip the shop bare to the refrain of "Ravi credit" as Ravi looks on, bewildered. [Miss Meena]

• For her sake, not mine: All is not hunky dory in the friendship of Elling and Kjell Bjarne ever since Kjell Bjarne has been smitten by A Woman. On a group trip, the friends have a tiff before bed-time. Elling can barely sleep when, to his joy, Kjell Bjarne comes knocking. His joy has a short life – Kjell Bjarne has not returned to make up for the quarrel. In that fleeting moment, Elling reflects the quick turn of emotions, as if a light switch has been turned off. [Elling]

• Draupadi sings: An octogenarian male wearing billowing skirts and passing off as Draupadi sounds like the stuff of lowbrow comedy. It is anything but. In this Gondhal performance, any giggles this spectacle may have brought about are silenced when Draupadi begins to sing. Lokshahir Vitthal’s sonorous voice treads the octave as only the gifted can. And Draupadi comes to life. [Lokmahabharat]

• Space Traveller says Yo!: One actor, 30 seconds, 7 roles. Happens in One Small Step. Each of those seven characters introduces himself with a different voice, expression and attitude. There is no pause while this happens, the audience holds its breath to take in the fast-paced transitions. The seventh character in line says the single word – Yo!– and the audience bursts into applause. [One Small Step]

• Manjula freezes: Manjula Sharma wraps up her well-rehearsed interview at the TV studio, pleased with the satisfaction of a task successfully done. The cameras stop rolling. She picks up her bag about to leave, when something incredible makes her stop in her tracks. [Broken Images]

1. Evam @evam_entd

Twitter account of theatre group Evam. Apart from posting announcements about their plays, they also organize special contests for followers. The prizes in the past have ranged from free tickets to a role in their play.

[Evam once RT-ed a not-so-positive review of their play from DramaDose, which I was very impressed with. How often do we see such sporting acceptance of criticism?]

2. Tahatto @tahatto 

Twitter account of the theatre group Tahatto. They create suspense and buzz around their play launches, seek feedback and interact with followers. They are also quite active during events such as World Theatre Day.
 

3. Yours Truly Theatre @yt_theatre

Twitter account of the theatre group Yours Truly. They write of their upcoming plays and theatre workshop schedules, link to reviews and announcements about contests such as Complete The Story. High praise from followers gets a sure RT.

4. Dramanon @Dramanon

Twitter account of theatre group Dramanon, usually dormant on twitter till a play of theirs is about to be launched. I like their press-release style of informing followers about their plays, steering wisely clear of hyperbole.

5. mhp @mostlyharmless

Twitter account of a Chennai-based theatre group Mostly Harmless.

6. The Blue Mug @thebluemugplay

Follow the schedule and news about The Blue Mug play with this account.

7. Version One Dot Oh @VODOTheatre

Twitter account of theatre group Version One Dot Oh! Inactive since May’10 but keep an eye on it just in case they revive in future. When they were around, they didn’t just post their own play updates but also read and RTed other interesting tweets, not necessarily about theatre.

8. Ranga Shankara @rangashankara

The official twitter account of Ranga Shankara, theatre facility in Bangalore. They tweet about the day’s shows, special events such as their Theatre Fest and other theatre-related trivia.

Unlike other organization-managed twitter accounts, this one comes across as pleasantly human and, most commendably, interested in more than self-promotion. Their hash tag #theatrequote is a case in point.

Tip: You could directly follow the DramaDose twitter list theatre-groups, which includes the groups mentioned above and more. Recommendations for addition are welcome.

Saving a write-up on the play for later, this is just a note about an odd coincidence. In the play, Blanche Dubois says of her sister’s brutish husband Stanley:

He’s just not the sort that goes
for jasmine perfume!

FM radio was on while I was reading this. Guess what played at that very instant:

… Chameli Genda sab raas hain
(Banda ye bindaas hai [2.22])

[which roughly translates to: He likes jasmine and marigold.]

So, Bachchan’s character from Aks doesn’t share tastes with Stanley.

If the propensities of protagonists have any role in deciding hit/flop status, then whoever adapts A Streetcar Named Desire for an Indian audience can take heart from this conclusion.