Sleeping Beauty: The Cycle
Now, our story seems to show
That a century or so,
Late or early, matters not;
True love comes by fairy-lot.
- Charles Perrault, The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood
Whether you read a pop-up book before bed as a child or watched the live-action Maleficent adaptation, you probably know the story of Sleeping Beauty pretty well. It’s a classic fairytale, written and rewritten over centuries. The story's meaning changes every time it's told — it all depends on who tells it.
If you’ve seen the opening scene of our upcoming musical, you're probably familiar with this idea…
On the 5th and 6th of June, we’ll bring to the stage a fresh reworking of this tale. There are so many people pouring their hearts into this project: staying in music meetings until 5am, rehearsing in the bicycle garage after campus is already closed, reworking choreographies dozens of times, hand-stitching costumes from thrifted cloth… It's really turning out incredible! Everyone is working hard to create something beautiful, and we’re very excited to share it all with you.
But when this was still a draft on an empty Google Docs, I had no idea where this story would go. As a writer, it’s always difficult to figure out where to start. How do you come up with something fun and original, from a really basic and linear fairytale that everyone already knows?
Obviously, the Disney movie version of the fairytale was fresh on my mind, but research is a big part of the process. Rather than choosing one “true” version of the story, the musical pulls from multiple historical and artistic sources. There are a lot of small details in the original drafts that are all references to previous retellings of this story!
Join me in a deep dive into the versions of Sleeping Beauty that inspired the musical!
1. Perceforest
Perceforest, or Le Roman de Perceforest, is an anonymous romance, written in Old French around the 1340s. It is a massive epic, spanning about 8 volumes. With interludes of songs and poetry, it's one of the foundational texts of Arthurian legends. It serves as the prologue to King Arthur’s tales, often retelling historical events, local folklore, and (most importantly for us) tales of love.
One of the most famous episodes in Perceforest is considered the earliest substantial ancestor of our fairytale. At the time it was written, France and Britain were in constant territorial fighting — with the start of the Hundred Years’ War — and there were regions under heavy dispute. One of these regions gave name to the princess of this story: Princess Zellandine.
Yes, she was the beautiful princess of Zeeland, a region that is now a notable province of the Netherlands. This story technically took place right here, centuries ago!
Which… now that I write it down… might explain why so many versions of Sleeping Beauty make her sleep for one hundred years…
In the original version of this tale, the royals of Zeeland celebrate the princess’s birth, and invite all the local goddesses — loosely inspired by Greco-Roman mythology. One of those gods, the deity of Destiny, was not offered enough silverware, and cursed Zellandine to prick her finger on a splinter of flax and fall into eternal sleep.
Years later, Zellandine falls in love with a knight called Troylus, and they almost get married before she pricks her finger while spinning and suddenly collapses. In an attempt to find an explanation and a way to save the princess, he goes to the temple of two of the goddesses that attended the party: Venus, goddess of love and desire; and Lucina, goddess of light and protection, often associated with Juno.
What they tell Troylus to do is a much, much less innocent version of the classic smooch we know today. Surprisingly, the way it's written is actually very respectful for the time. To quote:
“No man should breach a girl’s privacy without her leave, and he certainly shouldn’t touch her while she sleeps!”
Yeah! Go, Troylus!
Still, because this is the 14th century, the sleeping princess eventually gives birth to a child — yes, while still asleep. The baby bites her finger, removing the flax thorn that was stuck to her fingertips and waking her up from her curse. Eventually, Zellandine and Troylus run away together and properly marry, though neither ever really recover from these events.
Since this is the first popularized version of our fairytale, it is also the core inspiration for the naming choices throughout the musical!
The title of the story, Perceforest, is the main inspiration for the romantic lead of our musical: Prince Percy! The knight's original name also makes an appearance, inspiring the prince's kingdom: Illinius. It comes directly from the ancient Greek city of Ilium, also known as Troy.
The fact that this story originally takes place in Zeeland inspired the name of our princess’s kingdom: Martera — translated quite literally from Portuguese as the “sea” “land”.
Finally, the two main goddesses who blessed our princess are the direct inspirations for the famous pink and blue fairies that reappear in many versions. Venus and Lucina gave us the names of our wonderful fairies, Vera and Lucilia!
Also, as a general worldbuilding fun fact, fairies all come from garden and forest plants, granting them different abilities. Our two fairy godmothers are specifically flax fairies — the same plant that gave the thorn from the spinning wheel. They are aesthetically inspired by two of the main types of flax flowers: Scarlet flax and Lilac flax.
2. Sun, Moon, and Talia
This one is… interesting. I won't lie, a part of me would rather not talk about this one. It's the reason why this article took so long to write. (Sorry, writing committee…)
Sun, Moon, and Talia is a short story written by Giambattista Basile, published posthumously in 1634. It was the first full attempt to adapt the fairytale, but it was very much not for kids.
After the birth of a great Lord's daughter, Talia, many prophets and astrologers were asked to foretell her future. They read her horoscope (okay, sure…) and brought a dreadful warning to the family: she would be put in danger by a thorn of flax. There were no gifts or evil faeries or wizards to curse the girl: only destiny itself.
Her father declares no flax be brought into his lands, and destroys all things made of flax in their home. Still, years later, Talia finds an old lady spinning at a wheel, making blankets out of the golden flax threads. As soon as she tries to spin herself, she pricks her finger and falls asleep. Her father leaves her to sleep in one of their country estates.
Years later, an old king is hunting in the countryside and finds the house. When he sees her, he tries to wake her up, but she doesn't stir. Then, of course, he obviously does the only logical thing to do: gets her pregnant and immediately leaves. Wow. I love old fairytales.
Again, she gives birth in her sleep to two children, a boy and a girl, who bite the flax off her finger. When she wakes up, she names the kids Sun and Moon and starts raising them in the country house.
When the king comes back, finding her awake and with children, he starts visiting her frequently. Oddly enough, they fall in love with each other (eww) and have a surprisingly healthy and respectful relationship from that point forward (aww?)
However… The king was already married. Because of course he was. This is the version of the story that introduces the “Evil Ogre Queen” plotline that reappears in many darker versions of the story.
The queen notices how her husband is absent and has been saying “Talia” in his sleep. She forces their secretary to tell them all the details of what happened — and when she finds out, she forges a letter saying that the king wants to bring his children to the castle.
Now, by this point, you'd think she is completely justified here, right? Your husband assaults a stranger, cheats on you with her, and has a second family? Awful stuff.
What isn't really great is that, upon meeting Sun and Moon in the castle, she immediately orders the kitchen chefs to kill them, cook them, and turn them into pies so she can eat them in front of the king. That part is less good.
The kitchen staff obviously does not do that, and hides away the children. They give her a random lamb pie as a replacement, and she fully believes them.
After that, she summons Talia to the castle and asks for a bonfire to be made in the yard so she could be burned alive.
She addressed her thus, "Welcome, Madam Busybody! You are a fine piece of goods, you will weed, who are enjoying my husband. So you are the lump of filth, the cruel b****, that has caused my head to spin? Change your ways, for you are welcome in purgatory, where I will compensate you for all the damage you have done to me."
Wow, okay… Talia obviously freaks out, letting the king overhear and rush to save her. He pushes the queen into the flames, who burns to death. The kids run out of hiding and meet the king and Talia, and they live happily ever after…
Yay???
Evidently, there is not a lot from this story we are using. The musical is family-friendly, and this is very much not. There will be no non-consensual pregnancies and no baby-eating wives. However, a few small elements are kept.
For starters, this story popularized the Sleeping Beauty imagery of the spinning wheels on fire, used in later versions. It mixes the beginning declaration of the lord and the final burning of the queen. It also introduced the visual of the old lady spinning golden threads, which is some of my favorite imagery overall.
This story also expands a bit on the king's court, seeing the type of leadership they hold and the wars they often fought in. It also introduced their personal secretary as a notable character. This will come back later.
The king and queen — often retold as the prince's parents instead — have a tumultuous relationship in many versions of the story. People really don't like the jealous queen when she starts monologuing, and many say that this plotline is directly inspired by the Greek tragedy of Medea and Jason's children. This gives us the name of Queen Mara, as it is similar to the tragic Greek figure and means “bitterness”.
And for the record, King Colin’s name simply means “victory of the people.” What exactly does that imply… I guess you'll have to wait and see!
3. The Sleeping Beauty In The Wood
This version of this fairytale is one of the most in-depth and detailed adaptations of the story. Charles Perrault wrote La Belle Au Bois Dormant in his collection of books, Histoires ou contes du temps passé, published in 1697.
In this version, there were 7 fairies invited to the party, and they were offered golden tableware. There was one fairy who was not summoned — an ancient, forgotten thing, thought to be vanished in a distant mountain — who appeared without invitation.
After many fae give their blessings to the baby, the forgotten one walks forward and curses the baby to pierce her hand on a spindle and die from the open wound. However, the last of the good fairies offers her own gift, professing that the princess would be woken up by a king’s son. The kingdom bans spinning wheels, burning them all in a pyre.
Years later, on the princess’s birthday, she climbs up to the attic, finding an old lady with the last spinning wheel of the kingdom. When she pricks her finger on a needle, she is the only one to fall asleep! The king and queen, in desperation, claim they would prefer to wait a lifetime than never see her again, and call the last good fairy from many kingdoms far. She appears in a chariot driven by dragons and agrees to magically put the kingdom to sleep, so the princess would not be so alone when she inevitably wakes.
Around the castle, a vast forest of thorn bushes and towering trees magically grows. The wilderness becomes so dense that nobody can enter, and over time, rumors spread about the enchanted castle hidden away.
A distant prince, 100 years later, doesn’t know what rumors to believe, so he decides to check himself. As soon as the prince nears the castle, the thorns and trees part by themselves, allowing him passage.
Finally, he reaches the princess’s chamber and sees her lying on a magnificent bed, still perfectly beautiful. In Perrault’s version, the princess awakens essentially because the “destined time” has arrived and the prince is present; there is no actual “true love’s kiss” here! Everyone wakes up; they laugh and dance and plan their wedding!
Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end here.
The prince and princess have two children: a daughter named Morning and a son named Day. He hides this marriage from his family — he has a rough relationship with them, for he knows his mother is secretly part ogre and craves human flesh… Yep.
Eventually, after his father dies, the prince becomes the new king. He is forced to fight an old ongoing war with the neighboring kingdom of Contallabute, and unfortunately has to place his mother in charge of the kingdom. Wanting to keep power, as she was never given the chance to rule before, she proceeds to plot to eat the princess and her children — just like in Sun, Moon, and Talia.
She speaks to her personal servant about the request:
"I will have it so," replied the queen (and this she spoke in the tone of an ogress who had a strong desire to eat fresh meat), "and will eat her with a sauce, Robbert."
Do I find it odd that their one servant gets an official name, but none of the royals do? Yes. But I also find it funny. This is, of course, the main inspiration for our beloved butler in the musical, Robb! The kingdom of Contallabute also gets a notable mention, so keep an eye out for that.
For a while, the ogre queen believes she has eaten all three victims, but Robbert keeps the princess and children hidden together in his house so they can secretly reunite. Eventually, she overhears the children speaking and discovers she has been deceived. Furious, she prepares a gigantic pit filled with snakes, toads, vipers, and other monstrous creatures. She orders the princess, the children, and the servant to be thrown into the fire.
Just as the execution is about to happen, the new king unexpectedly returns from war and shames his mother. Seeing her crimes exposed, the ogress throws herself into the pit in embarrassment, dying by her own hand. The king reunites with his wife and children, and the tale ends with the royal family restored and the kingdom safe again.
I really love this version of the story, but it’s also so silly to me. It’s the foundation of the Sleeping Beauty we know today, but it also has so many random details that never go anywhere. We get the names of three separate neighboring kingdoms. We get to know about the forgotten fairy and get a lot of details about what cutlery the royals use. We also have dragons, apparently.
But do we get the princess’s name? No. Because who needs to know that?
4. The Little Brier-Rose
Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, also known as the Brothers Grimm, published their own version of this tale in 1828 as part of their Children's and Household Tales collection. This version is probably the most well-known, so I won't get into that much detail, besides the differences from the previous versions.
The king and queen wanted a child for ages, but never had one. It was only when the queen was taking a bath in magic waters that a frog (???) leaped up and blessed them with the promise of a daughter.
At their party to celebrate the princess’s birth, they wanted to invite the 13 Wise Women of the kingdom. However, they only had 12 golden plates for dinner… so they just… didn't invite one of them. She was understandably upset, and cursed the princess with her eternal sleep by pricking her finger on a needle on her birthday.
This time, when she inevitably pricks her finger on a needle, the whole kingdom immediately falls asleep too. For 100 years, they are all frozen in time.
The lost legend of the Little Brier-Rose spreads to neighboring kingdoms, though nobody really knows what exactly happened. Many princes and suitors tried to save the princess, but the forest always kept changing, and nobody made it out unscathed. Rumors spread, and one nearby prince gets curious to find out the truth of what became of the overgrown kingdom.
As he approached, the forest opened itself to him, turning into beautiful flowers. He easily finds his way through, finding the sleeping princess, and gasps at her beauty. He kisses her awake, and with her, the whole kingdom rises to celebrate their wedding!
This version is actually really cute!! No doubt as to why it's the most popular. I personally love the emphasis on the magical properties of the enchanted forest, physically taking over the kingdom and blocking off the suitors. The fact that the legend of the princess became lost to time is very interesting, and doesn't appear in many adaptations — but I definitely wanted to include it in the musical, somehow.
Also, of course, this story finally gives us the name for our lead: the Brier-Rose, Princess Rosalind!
5. The Sleeping Beauty Ballet
This ballet consists of a prologue and three acts with music by Pyotr Tchaikovsky, first performed in 1889. While this version of the story isn’t used much for the musical, it’s still a great inspiration to shout out.
The prologue shows the first birthday scene, with the blessing and the witch’s curse. Act 1 focuses on the princess being courted by suitors, before pricking her finger and collapsing. The Lilac fairy appears to put the kingdom to sleep, and let the forest take over.
Act 2 now follows the prince, 100 years later, hunting in the forest and seeking the princess. He has visions of her, finding out he’s her true love. He tries to find her, asking for the Lilac’s fairy help, and manages to kiss the princess awake! Act 3 simply follows their wedding, and it’s a beautiful dance.
The songs of this ballet were the main musical inspirations for the Disney movie, all taken from the stage version. The wicked enchantress Carabosse is also a very clear inspiration for the Maleficent figure of the recent movies.
Also, this story actually gives us character names, for once: Princess Aurora, Prince Florimund, King Florestan, and the enchantress Carabosse.
Unfortunately, for copyright reasons, we can’t really use any of these names. Luckily, we can at least keep the title of the Lilac fairy for our own Lucilia, but the rest had to change.
King Florestan became our incredible King Arden — a name that also means "great forest." The queen’s name, Queen Nathalia, is also connected, as the name (very coincidentally) means "birthday"!
Sleeping Beauty: The Musical!
With such different versions of this story, there are a lot of ways Sleeping Beauty can be brought to the big stage. In the end, different aspects of each version were adapted into the plot and into the small creative choices of the script.
Also! Keep an eye out for the names of the stories' authors… A little birdie told me they might appear directly in the musical!
But what about the curse, you ask? Will we have the fate of the stars, a betrayed fairy, an old god, an evil witch, an ogre queen… a frog… who knows? I guess you’ll just have to come and see!
I hope you enjoyed this very long deep-dive into this story’s inspirations. I’m beyond thrilled to see this project, a story I saw once upon a dream, become reality. There’s a lot of thought put into this, and we're all very excited to be able to share it with you. <3
(Reminder: Get your tickets here! Time is running out!!)
Written by Ana Clara Martins, actress, songwriter, and Head Writer in Sleeping Beauty: The Musical, as well as a dedicated Writing & Marketing Committee member!
You can find Ana Clara on Instagram: @anaa.logy
The Cost of Applause
Applause may be free, but in modern theatre, entry itself has become a privilege. When a single Theatre ticket sometimes costs more than a week of groceries for some households, we have to ask: Who is Theatre really for?
The Price of Entry
If Late-Stage Capitalism has changed how theatre is made, it has also changed who gets to watch it.
Theatre has long presented itself as a democratic art form: immediate, communal, and open to all. Unlike film, it exists only in the moment it is shared between performers and audience. And yet, access to that shared moment is determined not by interest, curiosity or cultural value, but by disposable income.
In 2025, the average Broadway ticket price reached approximately $129 per seat, a record high for the industry. In London, the average most expensive West End ticket climbed to £162, while some premium seats exceeded £300. These figures are not anomalies; they reflect a broader transformation of theatre from public-facing cultural practice into premium commodity.
What was once imagined as an evening’s accessible entertainment is increasingly priced like luxury consumption. The first act of exclusion happens before the curtain rises; at the box office.
The Economics Behind the Curtain
The rising cost of Theatre is often justified as economic necessity. Producers point to increasing rents, venue maintenance, staffing expenses, licensing fees, insurance costs and inflationary pressure across every level of production. These pressures are real, and often severe.
Yet there is a contradiction within this logic: even as ticket prices rise, workers are still paid unfairly. Actors have to juggle multiple jobs, stage managers burn through overtime. Expensive tickets do not create fair artistic ecosystems, they only serve to prolong an inevitable collapse.
Dynamic pricing has only intensified this contradiction. A model has been implemented that adjusts ticket prices according to demand, allowing highly anticipated productions to charge dramatically inflated rates. Theatre only continues to behave in the logic of speculative markets: the more desirable art becomes, the less accessible it is.
Capitalism has not only entered theatre, it now rigs the pricing models.
The Audience That Gets Left Behind
When prices rise, exclusion follows.
Young audiences, working-class people and students are often the first to disappear from auditoriums. Those without financial flexibility can’t gamble on tickets more expensive than a week of groceries. Programs are implemented to combat this: Rush programs and Lotteries, but they remain exceptions rather than solutions.
And exclusion has grand cultural consequences. If only audiences with deep pockets can afford to regularly view performances, theatre will begin to reflect narrower social realities, both in who is watching and in what gets programmed. Riskier and community-driven theatre will become harder to sustain when organizations rely on wealthier and commercially-safe productions.
A theatre’s audience is shaped by economic filtering, it now becomes the opposite of public; a market segment.
What Happens When Theatre Loses Its Public?
Theatre depends on more than revenue. It depends on cultural relevance.
When audiences are butted out due to pricing of tickets, theatre risks losing the very thing that distinguishes it from luxury entertainment. It stops to be a common cultural meeting ground and becomes a gated experience, available primarily to those with the means to purchase access.
This isn’t simply an issue of affordability anymore. It is a question on what theatre is for. If theatre now only belongs to those with deep pockets, then its claim to be a public art form begins to collapse.
Applause may be free. But if fewer and fewer people can afford to offer it, the sound grows quieter, and the art form poorer because of it.
Written by Joy Roelandschap, a dedicated Writing Committee member!
You can find Joy on Instagram: joy_mjdr
Matilda the Musical - Lost in Adaptation
For my first article as our local musical fanatic, I wanted to showcase one of my personal favourites and explain how and why it works, by comparing Matilda the Musical on stage with the recent 2022 movie musical adaptation. This will be a spoiler-free review, going over some of the adaptation choices, regarding adaptation for intended audiences, and one of the biggest flaws that snuck in during the adaptation process.
Who is it for?
The original book by Roald Dahl was intended for kids, to see a little girl who loves reading, overcomes difficult situations, and wants things to be just. Putting her in a very unjust environment that gets resolved by the end, through compassion and a little smart problem-solving (and telekinesis). By this point, so many adults grew up on it, or at least the 1996 movie with Danny DeVito, that it’s become a staple even outside of those who read the book.
The stage musical adapted the book freshly, picking scenes that are iconic and mixing it with commentary on how kids are often treated, while creating a genuinely impactful story about child self-empowerment and adults still having to deal with difficult situations that can make them feel small. The vibes are immaculate and Matilda’s family, the Wormwoods, are ridiculous enough to bring a brighter atmosphere and add some adult humour, to balance out the frankly terrifying headmistress, the Trunchbull. A colourful and fun performance with a beautiful set, that can make kids and adults laugh and cry, which makes it a perfect family experience.
Then there is the movie musical. I don’t enjoy bashing things, and it did do some things well, like the singers being pretty decent, or some of the imagery during the song Quiet or Revolting Children, but oh does the adaptation struggle with who it is for. Opening with the words “To change the world it needs a little genius” is already a choice (TM), but I guess you can whittle the idea down from compassion and community to one special person fixing it all, even if it weakens the story’s moral. They cut essentially all of the adult commentary and jokes, reduced the Wormwood’s screentime and plot that added a lot of needed light-heartedness to balance out the school storyline, and weakened the connection between Matilda and her teacher Miss Honey by cutting a good chunk of her story. It feels like they wanted to make this a children’s movie and forgot what children are halfway through, making Matilda a hero protagonist with superpowers, rather than a little girl who is clever and can levitate a glass of water or some chalk. It’s a fine movie on its own, but you are missing so much, and it is a pretty poor adaptation.
I had to pause at certain points during the movie and just take in how the framing, combined with Netflix lighting, sometimes makes Matilda feel like a horror movie monster, with an exchange about the Trunchbull going verbatim
“I'm not scared of her!”
“You should be. She's dangerous.”
”So am I.”
Girl, you are five years old.
The Plot Thinnens
Let's first have a moment of silence for the characters we lost: Matilda’s brother and Mrs Wormwood’s part Italian dance partner Rudolpho. Admittedly Matilda’s brother in the stage version doesn’t add very much other than vague comic relief that gets uncomfortable when you realize that the joke is that he is portrayed as mentally disabled. I cannot fathom what led to this choice in the musical, and while getting rid of him gets rid of the unfunny joke, it does also take away from the Wormwood family dynamic. Matilda’s mom having a very loud hobby in dancing, while Matilda prefers the quiet, was a great way to show the differences between the family members when they aren’t actively interacting, especially when contrasted with Matilda’s favourite teacher, Miss Honey, visiting the same library as her.
Both of these got cut for the movie, and it made me wonder what else they cut.
The answer is: Lots of things! But this is where I run into constraints regarding spoilers. I don’t want you sitting here having me compare things you might not even know, so I’ll stick to some basic examples for now and promise that the same thing happens all over the place.
Using some early scenes that were famously in the older versions, Matilda messing with hair oil and putting glue in a hat, were both responses to things that Mr Wormwood did on stage in the musical. He’s a liar, boasting that everyone trusts people with good hair, so she ruined his hair for him, making the outside match the inside, mixing chemicals that were explicitly meant to be kept out of reach of children. That direct line from point A to B was missing, just like Matilda putting glue in his hat was a response to him telling her to glue a book to hers originally. It was robbed of context in the adaptation.
And that, my friends, is the key issue I have with the scripting of the adaptation. They kept all the big moments (important to specifically Matilda, other character moments often got cut completely), but it feels like they didn’t even know why the moments happened in the first place. The basic rules of setup and follow-through were thoroughly ignored. Chekhov would be disappointed.
There were only so many things I could say about this adaptation without ever touching on spoilers, and that 100% includes the music. So now go and listen to the stage musical, or look it up somewhere (TM) and get ready for a full spoiler music analysis in part two!
(Editor note: Part 2 of this article, with spoilers included, will come out soon!)
Written by Nic Treczoks, a dedicated Writing Committee member!
You can find Nic on Instagram: @nic_has_a_nac
Ibsen's First Steps
God was born small and crawling. Legendary Norwegian Henrik Ibsen, the second most performed playwright of all time after Shakespeare, went through at least 5 messy, derivative plays before he made something remotely worth considering. Or, at least that’s how the Great Narrative goes.
“Love’s Comedy,” Ibsen’s 8th play, is where the real fun starts. It’s the story of two guys who pursue two girls, one each. Falk and Lind, chasing Svanhild (named after a princess of legend) and Anna, respectively. Lind and Anna settle, all holy. Falk and Svanhild’s tryst unfolds differently. Falk’s a poet, an activist and… he’s looking for a muse. Svanhild marvels at his artistry a little, measures herself up. Measures him up, too. No, she tells Falk, I won’t be your muse, you can do your writing thing on your own. It’s liberation, really, abandoning the historic archetype relegation mechanism of all those artist types that wouldn’t just objectify you, they’d Generalize you, Mythify you, mutilate your personhood for the sake of metaphor. Enter: rich business guy. He tells Falk and Svanhild: your love will not last. The pair talk, really talk.
And decide he’s right. Crazy in love and utterly rational. Svanhild’s future is comfortable and miserable, by painstakingly conscious choice. Falk’s future is all about being out on his own, probably still doing his thing, pen and ink and tears and paper.
“Love’s Comedy” is widely considered to be Ibsen’s first real masterpiece. After it came “the Pretenders” (ignore that one), and then what is in my opinion the GOAT sequence of published plays. “A Doll’s House,” “Ghosts,” “Enemy of the People,” “Wild Duck,” “Romersholm,” “Hedda Gabler”. They’re all there.
So what was the darling protofeminist playwright’s deal before this historic run? Did he suck? Was “Love’s Comedy” a monumental pivot, a Beatles’ “Rubber Soul” moment?
When I started reading Ibsen’s stuff in order, it was from purely a completist impulse. I like diversity in my reading diet; I read, besides for fun, to expand my worldview and challenge my tastes. One day it hit me that maybe I was unfocused. Maybe I needed to really immerse myself in one particular author. Ibsen’s early works ended up serving both purposes. They gave me more focused insight into the Norwegian’s obsessions and quirks. They also proved challenging and taste-expanding.
It isn’t easy reading clunkily translated 19th century verse. It takes some time getting into a setting of 16th century Norway and its geopolitical conflict with Denmark. Most of Ibsen’s early plays are exactly like that – historical dramas with plots of nobles, feasts and poison. These are odd (in lieu of what I’d usually be reading; in terms of early 19th century play thematics they were probably not odd at all, maybe even crushingly standard) lyrical tragedies, more akin to awkward attempts at greek epics than the nuanced psychological drama of the later plays.
There’s some things Ibsen shed as he grew more refined. One striking element is a blatant Norwegian nationalism. In “Lady Inger,” he even tweaks historical events to stoke that anti-Denmark, pro-Norway sentiment. Norway comes out of the big battles stewing in the background of Lady Inger’s conflicted solitude as the noble, warrior force fighting the evil Danes and Swedes. It’s weirdly black and white. I think it’s sometimes alright to use less nuanced framing in campaigning for independence, and maybe that was his goal here. What’s even weirder, though, is that it just makes things up to play up the nationalism. It would have been alright if it was a wholly fabricated conflict, or perhaps if the setting was more fictionalized, but here Ibsen takes a real historical timeline (the Scandinavian Kalmar Union and the last attempts to maintain Norwegian independence within it) and changes its sequencing and choreography. A bit of alternate history that isn’t telegraphed or contextualized; in other words, historical revisionism.
It’s actually “Love’s Comedy”, again, that marks his first public reexamination of the straight nationalism of his early work. In edits to the text, he changed some words that were explicitly Norwegian to make the work more accessible to a Danish audience. This sparked a lot of hate from the more hardcore Norwegian nationalists that believed in the sacred purity of an essential Norwegian language.
Another thing he let go was verse. This he stayed with for longer, though, and his last verse play ended up being Peer Gynt, which is also coincidentally a thematic examination of various kinds of Norwegian nationalism. A lot of his early plays are in verse, and some are in prose, with random stanzas thrown in for no apparent reason.
“Love’s comedy” is in verse, and so is “Peer Gynt”. Verse seems to work for him in a few cases. Still, a more careful but unbounded approach to form is partly what makes Ibsen’s later plays so fantastic.
It’s not like he completely pivoted, though. Some of the cool things he does in his later plays are in the earlier ones too. Most notably, his obsession with strong women. In “Lady Inger”, the eponymous Lady Inger is deeply isolated as a noblewoman, simultaneously ostracized and pulling all the weight in a markedly patriarchal society. That theme of the isolation and confinement of women under patriarchy would go on to be reinterpreted in some of his best plays – “A Doll’s House,” a real classic, and “Hedda Gabbler,” that just got a lesbian movie adaptation starring Tessa Thompson as Hedda Gabler herself.
So what makes the later plays so much better? Nuance, for one. Critically facing his own nationalism and examining it in his plays. Writing as public therapy. Rearrangement, for another. His obsessions with patriarchy, class conflict, activist identity, heavy-handed symbolism, muses – these were all there in the earlier plays, it’s just that through revision, reconfiguration, playing with order and weight, he found how to make what was on his mind as impactful as possible on the page.
Reading Henrik Ibsen’s early work was sort of inspirational. And not because the plays were so interesting and idea-sowing. It’s precisely because they’re kind of stilted and obvious, these first awkward fruits of an undeniable tree, that they give me a sort of license to just play around. To feel what I’m interested in and create a silly, needlessly grandiose story out of it.
Written by Yan Nesterenko, a dedicated Writing Committee member!
You can find Yan on Instagram: @n_strenkyn
Theatre in Late-Stage Capitalism
Theater has always been a fragile art form. It requires lots of time, effort and a bunch of people willing to believe in a story together. In a world increasingly built for convenience and profit, that might be exactly why it still matters.
Written by Joy Roelandschap, a dedicated Writing Committee member!
You can find Joy on Instagram: joy_mjdr
The Fifty Shades of Grey in “The Gradient”
"There is probably no genre more realistic than satire. If novel is a mirror carried along a high road, like Stendhal claimed, satire is a stone thrown at it to show you what’s hidden behind. And while it is depressing to admire your face in a shattered mirror, and it might bring you seven years of bad luck, it sometimes is just high time we stop staring at that piece of reality that is conveniently framed into what we feel comfortable examining. “The Gradient” is a stone that flies smoothly, almost deceitfully, and shatters your comfort zone slowly, piece by piece. It leaves you frustrated and uncomfortable. Wishing someone would hang that mirror back up there. Or a generic photograph that comes together with an IKEA frame. And it does all that in such a satisfying manner that you almost fail to notice.
Realism Behind VR Glasses
The feeling of frustration is not caused by the plot itself (however unbearable some characters are), as much as by the disappointing realisation that we’ve just witnessed the reality in which we find ourselves on a daily basis. The way the play was constructed enhanced this impression. It sometimes felt like we were spectating a regular conversation in an office, especially whenever Tess and Louis appeared on the scene together. Witnessing the development of their friendship gave me a sense of comfort, and was like an anchor of safety in the emotionally wrecking journey of the therapy sessions, Natalia’s disturbing speeches, and all the corporate crap. It was just necessary to shutter that seemingly working relationship, and Del Rosso did it with outstanding artistry. By making Tess do every mistake she worked on fixing in others.
“I know a thousand Jacksons” says Tess, and everyone in the audience puts an expression of solidarity on their face. We all know Jackson, we’ve met him hundreds of times. How does he manage to get away every single time then? How is he still a successful CEO of a tech company; someone’s boyfriend, husband, or a father; someone’s friend or a neighbour? And if we all feel about him the way Tess does, how does he succeed? The play doesn’t give us a hopeful outlook or a moral lesson. It almost feels like despite the main character’s powerful display of female rage, which is something I’d love to see more of in popular media, it is Jackson’s monologue that is the triumph. We can firmly believe that we deserve better than him, and that we are so much more than he could ever be, but somehow he still manages to figure out any algorithm that prevents him from getting what he wants. He knows exactly what values to put into equations that lead to a fast track to anything he lays his eyes on. This is what frustrates in that story.
The Clockwork Pink
If Jackson actually learnt about empathy, active listening, consent, and what makes a good apology, can we say he improved? Even if he doesn’t believe in it and uses this knowledge merely as a tool, he still shows desirable behaviours. And behaviour is the most objective way of measuring one’s psyche. Can we programme a good person? Is that concept ethically correct?
Tess’s burning enthusiasm about The Gradient quickly evaporates in order to leave space for the growing disagreement and doubt. She realises that math and science will only take you so far, but it is were conflicting interests of stakeholders, power plays, and human flaws come together that the real innovation takes place. The numbers don’t lie, unlike the patients. Natalia, just like her new employee, believed in the algorithm, but what makes her different from Tess is that she did not try to change the game and learnt to play by its rules instead. She certainly excelled in that art. She is actually a mirrored image of Jackson. She makes the algorithm, he is the one to crack it. He plays her game, but it was never hers to begin with. Tess wanted to kill them both, but they were the ones to kill her.
One of the most important monologues of Jackson was the one about a stir fry of sorry’s, however foolish it might have seemed. What he actually did was to accidentally (or perhaps very cunningly) reveal what The Gradient really is about – mass producing apologies and thoughtless patterns of behaviours. It is nothing more or less than cooking a big, greasy stir fry that will satisfy you for a day, and then give you a terrible food poisoning the day after. Even though the therapy was tailored to each individual, at the end of the day it was the same process for everyone. It was demonstrated in a spectacular way through having one actor play all Tess’s patients, and rapidly switch between them without any additional cues other than the different mannerisms, speech patterns, and body language. It was an impressive, attention-grabbing move that ultimately lead the audience to notice how little room for different shades of people The Gradient had to offer.
Some of the men, however, seemed to have actually realised their flaws. Their egotistical façade was broken through. But what is the next step? They did not work through their issues that let them to become insecure, self-absorbed, and so far detached from their own emotionality. Continuing their journey in a meaningful way after the release was, as Natalia said, a minority that reaches the media attention. For the rest of the wicked, all there was left was to leave a positive comment for the facility and go on with their lives with some more clearance, and a lot more confusion.
Crime and Punishment
I have hopefully showed by now that The Gradient talks about much more than sexual assault. It does, however, talk about sexual assault as well, and that topic should never be summarised with merely a meaningful moment of silence. We should speak about it, loud and clear, with confidence. I know it feels just right that the (female!) CEO of a facility that rehabilitates people charged with sexual misconduct is a prime example of victim blaming, but If there is one action to take after having watched the play, it is to make sure this is not what actually awaits us in the not-so-distant future.
“She remembers it every day. She thinks about it every time she has sex”.
Jackson, after hearing that, says: “I’m sure she’s moved on”. I, in my hopeful naivety, want to believe that he denies the truth because otherwise he could never look himself in the eyes again. That he tells Tess what his ex-girlfriend should hear because he would literally burn under her hollow look. That he was so happy and relieved after because the weight of his guilt has slightly lifted off his shoulders. That the image of a woman that accepts her fate instead of enjoying her first sexual experience is so engraved in his mind he can’t sleep at night. That this is the reason he was looking at his generic picture on the wall for hours. That’s the least Jackson’s ex-girlfriend and all the other women deserve. That those who shaped our understanding of sex as something to be ashamed of and to endure like a duty, at least feel bad about themselves. If not all the time, then at least half of the time. Or sometimes. We want to believe that them saying “I’m sorry you overreacted” or calling us a slut is the only way they can express that feeling. “I’m relieved”, says Jackson after hearing that the woman whose security he took away is doing fine. And yes, she is fine despite him, not without him. Relief is not meant for her.
The expression on Jackson’s face changed after Tess’s final outburst. Is it a look of remorse? Was he actually touched and at least felt bad for a moment? Would her words leave a mark on him? His response, if not prevented by the supervisor, could be a start to a dialogue. The only genuine and impactful dialogue in his therapeutic process, if not in the whole play. It takes courage to face your emotions and shout them out in someone’s face. Jackson’s ex-girlfriend would probably not have that courage. Luckily, Tess decided to not merely listen an apology not meant for her, but to also give a response in another woman’s name. Sadly, the algorithm did not teach him how to receive it and take something away from it.
Let Him Who Is Without Sin Cast The First Stone
The biggest question the play raises is “how are YOU fucked up?”. It is not just a funny gag or a way to engage the audience. It really is the essence of “The Gradient”. Nobody is black or white. We all are in the grey area, in one way or another. Natalia addressing us, the audience, is not a wink. It’s a slap in the face. And we take it with a laugh, but really we should cry. We applaud ourselves for not being rapists, but really we should whip our own backs for everything we are instead. Liars. Cheaters. Narcissists. Slaves of our own emotions. Jealous. Angry. Greedy. Full of self-pity.
What would be your score on empathy? How about introspection or potential for growth? We can only hope we’d get fast-tracked. We say we want to change the world, like Tess, but we have one true reason behind, just like she did – to achieve something; to feel fulfilled; better than everyone else. And what is a better way to feel good about yourself than to watch a play about evil people struggle to become any less insufferable? But we cannot just turn a blind eye on how the world has changed Tess. How it turned her from an ambitious, prosperous woman who talks to mice into someone capable of violence, struggling to maintain her own relationships, misinterpreting her coworker’s signals and failing to take responsibility for it. Her moral collapse is a more disheartening view than any of the men she gave therapy to. What is the worst part of it all, is that her biggest sin was not giving up in the fight against the senseless rules of the system governing The Gradient. Against the reality. She could have instead kept stacking clay until it falls, and then begin again. This is the only sin, however, that allows you to take the first stone and cast it. Cast it at a mirror that hangs in front of your face and shutter it to see what shade of grey you are."
Review written by Julia Kubiak, a dedicated Activities Committee member who organised this thrilling excursion to watch "The Gradient" by Homerostheater for WILDe's Members!
You can find Julia on instagram: @toreisvogel
