Thornton Wilder’s tragedy, Our Town, was
unique at the time of its initial performance in 1938 because the techniques he
had incorporated into the play were seemingly experimental: minor scenery, some
furniture, few props.1 Action that
normally would require the use of props—preparing breakfast, for example—is mimed
by the players. Wilder’s approach was
risky, considering many theatrical productions in the 1930’s focused on
costumes, sets and music—that is, were lavish performances. The
Great Waltz (1934) had 180 performers who wore a total of 500
costumes. An innovative hydraulic system
moved the massive sets, and a 53-piece orchestra closed the spectacle with
Strauss’ The Blue Danube. Billy Rose’s $340,000 budget for Jumbo (1935) prevented the production
from being profitable. Hellzapoppin'
(1938) was similar to a circus—entertaining the audience via comedians,
impersonators, singers, dancers, a magician, musicians, dwarfs, clowns, and
pigeons.
Wilder’s
techniques suggest that his sentiments about the state of theater in the 1930’s
were similar to Antonin Artaud’s in The Theater and Its Double:
An idea of the theater has been lost.
[…] At the point of
deterioration which our sensibility has reached, it is certain that
we need above all a theater that wakens us up: nerves and heart.
[…] In the anguished, catastrophic period we live in, we feel an
urgent need for a theater which events do not exceed, whose
resonance is deep within us, dominating the instability of the
times.
deterioration which our sensibility has reached, it is certain that
we need above all a theater that wakens us up: nerves and heart.
[…] In the anguished, catastrophic period we live in, we feel an
urgent need for a theater which events do not exceed, whose
resonance is deep within us, dominating the instability of the
times.
Our long habit of seeking diversion
has made us forget the idea
of a serious theater, which, overturning all our preconceptions,
inspires us with the fiery magnetism of its images and acts upon
us like a spiritual therapeutics whose touch can never be
forgotten.2
of a serious theater, which, overturning all our preconceptions,
inspires us with the fiery magnetism of its images and acts upon
us like a spiritual therapeutics whose touch can never be
forgotten.2
The
therapeutic value of theater is not a new concept. In Poetics
(350 B.C.E.), Aristotle predicates his idea of tragedy on the social benefits
of poetry, the tragic effect being analogous to the treatment of emotions. “A tragedy, then, is the imitation of an
action that is serious and also, as having magnitude, complete in itself; in
language with pleasurable accessories, each kind brought in separately in the
parts of the work; in a dramatic, not in a narrative form; with incidents arousing
pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its catharsis of such emotions” (6.1449b.24).3 Through the influence of dramatic action on
the spectator’s imagination, according to
Aristotle, the morbidity that besets him/her would intensify to the point of
crisis and then abate by way of an emotional outburst that might include
tears. The spectator would leave the
theater mentally healthy, purged of his/her anxieties.
The
tragic plot is designed to affect an audience, and to be properly effective,
the action needs to be of appropriate magnitude. In Poetics
Aristotle suggests a simple precept: “Plot must be of some length, but of a
length to be taken in by the memory” (7.1451a.5). With respect to the duration of the incidents
represented on the stage, however, the suggestion is more precise. “Tragedy,” Aristotle states, “endeavours to
keep as far as possible within a single circuit of the sun, or something near that”
(5.1449b.14). Aristotle does
not extensively discuss the supposed unity of time. It seems the restriction of the action to the
events in a single day had more to do with the concentration of the action than
with doubts about the ability of the audience to accord the passage of time on
the stage with the passage of time in the auditorium. Aristotle does not require the imitation of
action to be exact, nor did the Greek poets have any such idea. It was the sixteenth-century humanists, such
as the critic Lodovico Castelvetro, who invented the unities.
For
example, Aeschylus’ Agamemnon (458
B.C.E.) takes place over an indefinite period of time. The watchman sees the beacon on the
mountaintop presumably soon after the sack of Troy, and it would take several
days for Agamemnon’s ship to cross the Aegean, but it is convenient to have the
interval covered by a choral song that lasts minutes. Likewise, the action of Our Town spans longer than a single day (1901 – 1913), including
temporal shifts forward and backward.
But one easily could argue that the action of Our Town occurs in one day; the drama begins “just before dawn” (4)
and ends at “night” (112).
Aristotle
mentions nothing in the Poetics about
the unity of place. Greek theater in the
fifth century was not well adapted to facilitate frequent changes of scene, but
it is likely that, by the time of Sophocles (496 – 406 B.C.E.), painted screens
oriented the audience. The existent tragedies
do not require a multiplicity of scenes, and when there is a scenic change, little
effort is necessary to shift the action from place to place. The seventeenth-century French poets adopted
unity of place to enhance the difficulty of their art. Although they developed a style of classical
drama that was successful—Pierre Corneille’s Le Cid (1636), for example—it was divergent from the style of Greek
tragedy. Wilder adheres to unity of
place in Our Town: “The entire play
takes place in Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire” (2).
Aeschylus’
Troy existed, but Wilder’s Grover’s Corners is fictional: is that consequential?
No, according to Aristotle, because art
is mimetic. “Tragedy is essentially an
imitation not of persons but of action and life, of happiness and misery. All human happiness or misery takes the form
of action; the end for which we live is a certain kind of activity, not a
quality” (6.1450a.16). Tragedy
imitates nature and edifies to the extent that it imitates life, life’s essential
and universal essence. Tragedy is the
imitation of an action, a phenomenon. Unlike
history, it represents not what is said to have occurred, but what might or
should have happened in order to provoke pity and fear, which is the intent of
tragedy.
The
tragic effect was achieved by limiting the scope of the action. Aristotle defines unity of action in terms of
the relation of a whole to its parts: “Now a whole is that which has beginning,
middle, and end” (7.1450b.26). His formulation involves the principle of
logical sequence which the Poetics affirms
throughout as essential to a well-constructed plot. Moreover, a series of incidents
firmly linked in the order of cause and consequence would not only have unity,
but would prevent the inclusion of extraneous incidents:
The truth is that, just as in the other imitative arts one imitation
is always of one thing, so in poetry the story, as an imitation of
action, must represent one action, a complete whole, with its
several incidents so closely connected that the transposal or
withdrawal of any one of them will disjoin and dislocate the
whole. For that which makes no perceptible difference by its
presence or absence is no real part of the whole. (8.1451a.30)
is always of one thing, so in poetry the story, as an imitation of
action, must represent one action, a complete whole, with its
several incidents so closely connected that the transposal or
withdrawal of any one of them will disjoin and dislocate the
whole. For that which makes no perceptible difference by its
presence or absence is no real part of the whole. (8.1451a.30)
Aristotle’s
principle of composition has been quoted as often as it has been violated. An adherence to his precept would result in a
narrative structure that is rare, but not impossible, to find. The three-act structure of Our Town (“Daily Life,” “Love and
Marriage,” “Death”) unifies the action, and Our
Town focuses on one story with no subplots to complicate things.
The
focus of Greek tragedy was more extensive than what is in the current canon; Aristotle
mentions many tragedies of which there are no vestiges. Of the plays that have been preserved, those
that deal with domestic horrors appear to have been especially effective. According to Aristotle, “Though the poets
began by accepting any tragic story that came to hand, in these days the finest
tragedies are always on the story of some few houses, on that of Alcmeon,
Oedipus, Orestes, Meleager, Thyestes, Telephus, or any others that may have
been involved, as either agents or sufferers, in some deed of horror” (13.1453a.19). The connections among relatives, friends and
associates were important in ancient Greece and Rome, and the action in Aeschylus’
Agamemnon certainly aroused deep
emotions in fifth-century spectators.
Since Shakespeare, however, we have been tending to think of the tragic
element in terms of the reluctant hero’s inner conflict and the social
pressures that determine his/her behavior.
Wilder
shifts the focus back to domestic issues.
The characters frequently exhibit their love toward each other. In the first act, familial love and
friendship predominate. Evening falls on
Grover’s Corners, and the Congregational Church’s choir, under the direction of
Simon Stimson, begins to rehearse.
George and Emily discuss algebra.
Dr. Gibbs and George speak about responsibilities and allowances. Mrs. Soames and Mrs. Webb gossip about Simon
Stimson’s alcoholism. Mrs. Gibbs and Dr.
Gibbs talk and walk with their arms linked.
The constable makes his rounds to ensure all is well. Mr. Webb talks to his daughter, Emily, who is
enjoying the moonlight at her bedroom window. And the Stage Manager calls an end to a
typical day in Grover’s Corners. In the
second act, romantic love blossoms into marriage after George and Emily
overcome their doubts and fears. In the
third act, selfless, spiritual love is shown.
George does not utter a word, but when he throws himself onto Emily’s
grave, his deed speaks loudly.
In
Greek tragedy, when one expects the chorus to utter wisdom, it usually provides
formal precepts and trite maxims—chiding excess, counseling moderation, and
brooding on the folly of pride and the dangers of hubris. The chorus, as an actor in the tragedy, is seldom
in a position to generalize
philosophically on the significance of the action. To infer the meaning of a tragedy—assuming it
has a meaning—one must look, not at what is said, but to what is done. Thus, one discovers that tragedy is seldom
informative. Often it is ambiguous.
The
Stage Manager in Our Town is similar
to the chorus in Agamemnon. Aeschylus’ chorus is aware of both the
principals and the spectators. At times
it separates the audience from the action to concentrate attention on itself,
and occasionally the chorus unites the two dramatically and emotionally. It is a participant in the action, an actor,
and it is a mirror, something that brings into proper proportion the action. Aristotle states that “The Chorus too should
be regarded as one of the actors; it should be an integral part of the whole,
and take a share in the action” (18.1456a.25). Wilder’s Stage Manager is a neutral
character, an actor both inside and outside the play. He addresses the audience on the present, the
past, and the future. Temporal limits
bind him, yet the Stage Manager is both beyond and outside time. He comments on the action and tells the audience
about events that occur offstage. In Act
II the Stage Manager informs the audience that the title of the act is “Love
and Marriage.” George attempts to see
Emily, but Mrs. Webb does not allow him to see his bride. The Stage Manager interrupts to present a
scene from the past, the time when George and Emily became aware of their love
for each other. The Stage Manager asks
Dr. and Mrs. Gibbs to explain to the audience how the parents reacted to the
engagement. While the actors arrange
chairs to be pews for the wedding scene, the Stage Manager talks to the
audience about the importance of marriage.
The wedding begins with the Stage Manager as the clergyman.
Our Town begins at dawn
with the birth of twins in a nearby town and ends at night with the death of
Emily Webb Gibbs in childbirth. As one
life ends, another begins. Throughout
the play the Stage Manager directs the audience’s attention to the repetition
of the cycle of life. In his opening
monologue, he announces that the names on the tombstones in the graveyard are
the “same names as are around here now” (6).
At the beginning of Act II, the Stage Manager affirms that the sun has
“come up over a thousand times” (47).
And in the third act, he mentions both: “lots of sun and moon and stars”
and “Over there—are the old stones” (86).
Some
critics consider Thornton Wilder a religious writer and Our Town a religious play.
But, excepting the Congregational Church and the wedding scene, there is
nothing explicit about God or heaven.
The Stage Manager contemplates the word eternal at the beginning of Act III:
Now there are some things we all know, but we don’t take’m out
and look at’m very often. We all know that something is
eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth,
and it ain’t even the stars … everybody knows in their bones
that something is eternal, and that something has to do with
human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been
telling us that for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised
how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something was
down deep that’s eternal about every human being. (87 – 88)
and look at’m very often. We all know that something is
eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth,
and it ain’t even the stars … everybody knows in their bones
that something is eternal, and that something has to do with
human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been
telling us that for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised
how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something was
down deep that’s eternal about every human being. (87 – 88)
Aristotle
does not discuss, nor did he need to discuss, in the Poetics the religious or the moral or the political objectives of
the poet/dramatist. Aristotle’s theater
is not a forum for the exchange of ideas.
A tragedy is neither an allegory nor an exemplum nor a vehicle for the
expression of opinions. From Aristotle’s standpoint tragedy is
designed to move, not to teach. Similar
to Agamemnon, Our Town concludes with no resolution. The moral issue is left open.
Grover’s
Corners is ruled by laws and customs that the inhabitants heed, but it is
laughable to conclude that the imitation of banality was Wilder’s objective. The Stage Manager is assiduous in his effort
to discern patterns, but the play truly defies rationalization, and the Stage
Manager suggests that the meaning is explicable only in regard to the eternal
thing which resides in each of us. God
only knows what that is.
_______________________________________________________
1Thornton Wilder, Our Town (New York: Perennial-Harper,
2003).
2Antonin Artaud, The Theater and Its Double, trans. by Mary
Caroline Richards (New York: Evergreen-Grove Press, 1958) 84 – 85.
3Aristotle, On Poetics, trans. by Ingram Bywater, in
Great Books of the Western World:
Aristotle II, Vol. 9 (Chicago: Encylcopædia Britannica, 1952) 681 –
699.