ARTicles vol. 2 i.4b: Reaching for the Moon

This spring’s production of The Miser will be a collaborative effort between the A.R.T., the Theatre de la Jeune Lune, and the Actors Theatre of Louisville. Director Dominique Serrand, a native of France, is co-founder and one of five artistic directors of Jeune Lune, a theatre company based in Minneapolis since 1985. Founded by graduates of the renowned Lecoq School of Physical Theater Training in Paris, Jeune Lune has grown into a company that embraces many theatrical traditions – circus, commedia dell’arte, vaudeville – that emphasize the body. Jeune Lune’s exuberant physicality awakens the dormant energy of classic texts, resulting in energized productions that reexamine the old through the lens of the new – socially, historically, and politically. Jeune Lune’s credo – taken from a poem by Bertolt Brecht – reflects their caring commitment to the past and an enduring vow towards the future: “As the people say, at the moon’s change of phases / The new moon holds for one night long / The old moon in its arms.” Barbara Whitney sat down with Mr. Serrand to discuss his theatre company and his thoughts about The Miser. Barbara Whitney: What inspires you? Dominique Serrand: Different generations as well as the times in which we live inspire me. Meeting people along this theatrical journey – designers, actors, artists. Also, each production brings its own novelty and discovery. Every piece of work informs the next one and moves us forward. I’m very inspired by the idea of a congress of artists with different voices working together. That’s what Patrice Chereau did during his years at Nanterre. He gathered a group of directors, designers, and actors together to produce shows that they wanted to do. But they had to find a way of sharing each other’s work. They created a gigantic set for one production. It was the next director’s task to find a way for his production to live in that space. And so on, different productions on the same set. It was very exciting. I did that for Tartuffe. The show toured quite a bit and we stayed with it for a long time. I kept the set but put sandbags all over it to turn Così fan tutte into a war piece. So, strangely enough, the memories of Tartuffe created my production of Così fan tutte. B.W.: How does Jeune Lune choose plays? D.S.: The muscles of the company have always been in its attentiveness to what happens in the outside world and finding pieces that resonate. We don’t do a play unless we can marry it to what’s going on in the world. We always ask ourselves, “Why do this particular piece at this particular time?” I’ve always wanted to do Tartuffe. But I couldn’t find a reason for it. But when I saw the 1994 assault by Congress against artists I said, “That’s it. Now that play’s calling me.” This reactionary movement surrounding the “decency standards” that started in the 1990s after Mapplethorpe’s death is so similar to what happened to Molière and what happens in pre-fascist regimes. [Tartuffe, at the time of its premiere, sparked outrage in the Church. In 1664, Louis XIV banned it from public performance.] Our original impulse often reflects a collective response to something about which we feel a kind of social desperation. B.W.: It sounds rigorous. D.S.: It’s an exhausting search. We’re constantly questioning our own work. Then these questions have to translate to an act onstage. It’s not about getting people asking questions around a table. You argue on your feet with the work that you do. We’re a very emotional group. We see where these emotions lead us. We have a sense of celebration, even if the material explores something dark. B.W.: Jeune Lune seems to focus on classical playwrights or ensemble-created productions. Where do contemporary playwrights fit in? D.S.: Encounters with playwrights have always been difficult. If we were to be Molière’s company we would be missing Molière. I think it’s that way for most companies. We’re searching for our playwright. Part of the challenge is that my generation grew up on the work of Théâtre des Nations, Peter Brook, and Ariane Mnouchkine, which was all about the collective creation of work, the group up together on its feet. Now, playwrights write at home. Plays are written in isolation. This lack of encounter leads to a dislocation between the ensemble and the author. As an artistic director, I’m always attempting to bring forward new playwrights and new plays. We’ve done a few. But it’s an unresolved journey. Looking for that partnership excites me, finding who will be our voice. B.W.: You’ve spoken of your need to wait for the right time to do a particular project. How does The Miser fit into this? D.S.: Look at the economy and the effect it’s had on people for the past two years. I constantly hear the economy is not doing well. Well, it’s not doing well for most of us. But it’s doing very well for some of us. And when I see this constant destruction of our social structures – health, labor, education – in the name of this economy, then this play called to me. B.W.: What are some of the other parallels you see between the state of the economy and The Miser? D.S.: We’ve been living through some mean years. Not because of September 11th but because of how September 11th has been used against us. The Miser is a mean play. All about money and meanness. Harpagon is the perfect emblem for the times we live in. B.W.: How do you see the effects of Harpagon’s behavior? D.S.: Every character has been hurt or stained by the environment Harpagon’s created. Nobody escapes unscathed. By the end of the play there is no innocence left. I’m looking at it from the point of view of a society that has lost its innocence. By that I mean, the reason Harpagon lives is because people let him live. Yet I’m trying not to do it too cynically. B.W.: How do you perceive the comedy of it? D.S.: I won’t be approaching The Miser as a farce. It’s supposedly a comedy, but it’s comedy based on tragedy. There is an emptiness in the play – a loss of courage, a loss of hope. Molière, of course, knows how to articulate tragedy in the form of comedy. I think it’s great if we can laugh at it. However, I think it would be wrong to approach it by saying it should be funny. It becomes funny if the tragedy is well played. I think it’s good if we get into a tragic situation and then invite the audience to find the ridiculous in that tragedy. Barbara Whitney is a second-year dramaturgy student at the A.R.T./MXAT Institute for Advanced Theatre Training.