360° SERIES V I E W F I N D E R : FA C T S A N D P E R S P E C T I V E S O N T H E P L AY, P L AY W R I G H T, A N D P R O D U C T I O N
W W W . T FA N A . O R G
TA B L E O F CO N T E N T S The Play 3
Notes from the Artists
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Dialogues: "You Are Disturbing the System"
by Ayanna Thompson
The Playwrights 6
Dialogues: Prison Time, by Violaine Huisman
The Production 9
Interview: To Love and Repair, by Trial and Error
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Peter Brook in Conversation with Alisa Solomon
Creative Team
About Theatre For a New Audience 21 Leadership 22
Mission and Programs
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Major Supporters
Notes Front cover art by Milton Glaser, Inc. Photo credit: Simon Annand. This Viewfinder will be periodically updated with additional information. Last updated November 29, 2018
Credits The Prisoner 360° | Edited by Soriya K. Chum | Copy-edit and Layout by Peter James Cook Literary Advisor: Jonathan Kalb | Council of Scholars Chair: Ayanna Thompson | Designed by: Milton Glaser, Inc. Copyright 2018 by Theatre for a New Audience. All rights reserved. With the exception of classroom use by teachers and individual personal use, no part of this Viewfinder may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Some materials herein are written especially for our guide. Others are reprinted with permission of their authors or publishers.
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360° VIEWFINDER A NOTE FROM THE ARTISTS
Left: Peter Brook. Photo by Lionel Bonaventure. Right: Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Alvaro Garcia.
AN INTRODUCTION FROM PETER BROOK & MARIE-HÉLÈNE ESTIENNE What is a crime? What is a punishment? What can it do and for whom? These questions are so important. Many years ago, in Afghanistan, I was taken to see a young man who was part of a small religious brotherhood. He had committed an unspeakable crime and his master knew that in the atrocious conditions of prison life in this country, he could only be made more and more bitter and angry. He knew that the young man had real qualities hidden in him, so he persuaded the judge—it was possible there because the country still lived with its traditions—to give him a unique sentence, to spend his time not within the prison, but outside, facing it, resisting every temptation to leave and as he faced the prison he faced the prison within himself. Like a myth or a parable this story never left me and with my inseparable working partner, Marie-Hélène Estienne, we decided to find a way of telling this story through the theatre. Together, we can once again live the eternal questions—“What is Justice? Can we forgive ourselves, can punishment lead to redemption?” - Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne
THE PRISONER 3
DIALOGUES "YOU ARE DISTURBING THE SYSTEM" AYANNA THOMPSON
Above: Hiran Abeysekera in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Joan Marcus. Opposite: Kalieaswari Srinivasan in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Simon Annand.
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any decades ago, when Peter Brook first visited Afghanistan, he saw a man who was sentenced to sit facing a prison for thirty years. The experience haunted Brook, and he has returned to it over the years whenever he has pondered the nature of justice. The Prisoner presents in a minimalistic, stark, and “purified” staging (Brook’s term) a play that invites the audience to grapple with love and lust, beauty and pain, forgiveness and revenge, repair and justice, reconciliation and law, and freedom and imprisonment. Although the play explores the horrors of crime and punishment, The Prisoner eschews being political theatre and instead functions as a type of myth that bids a collective purge. As one character says, “A punishment is always harsh.... I’m not a moralist. I’m just telling you what I’m going through, every day.” The Prisoner is no moralistic play, and it presents 4
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the terms with which we must all wrestle in an unadorned fashion. Coming home one day, Mavuso finds his sister and father “in one another’s arms” and he bludgeons his father to death. Part of his rage stems from the outrage at witnessing the act of incest, but part also stems from his own love for his sister, Nadia. Their uncle, Ezekiel, says that Mavuso’s crime is “unspeakable,” but he also attempts to “open [Mavuso] to the qualities of [his] father.” While Mavuso is initially sentenced to 20 years in solitary confinement, Ezekiel works with the judge to devise an alternative form of punishment: Mavuso must sit facing a prison for decades until the prison within him is destroyed, and he is tell anyone who asks, “I am here to repair.” Is repair possible for the individual? In what
"YOU ARE DISTURBING THE SYSTEM" situations do we allow individuals to truly ponder why they act, or have acted, as they do? What role does self-reflection play in healing and growth? How exactly do justice and repair differ for the individual who has committed a crime? And does the answer to that question differ when we consider the victims of crimes? Moreover, how do we translate these ideas and ideals from the micro, individual, level to the macro, societal, one? If we place justice in the realm of the law, where does repair fall on the collective level? And if we value the concept of repair as much as the concept of justice, how best can we restructure our legal institutions to facilitate an individual’s repair? The Prisoner is a challenging piece of theatre because we currently live in an age, in the United States at least, that values— both literally and figuratively—punishment over rehabilitation. We are not used to thinking about the costs of not facilitating rehabilitation. But as Ezekiel argues, ignoring repair adds “suffering to suffering.” For him, both the individual and the society benefit when the criminal learns “to be free to leave and take [his] place in life.” I am especially challenged by The Prisoner when pondering how justice and repair function in relation to victims of crimes. While the play depicts and inhabits the world as myth, I found it difficult
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not to think about the realities of the #MeToo movement in relation to Nadia, Mavuso’s sister. She is presented as consenting to incest—Ezekiel says that he saw “love” between father and daughter, and Nadia is worried that she has “polluting… guilt”—but the realities of defining consent have been so thoroughly challenged and complicated recently that we must pause collectively to think about what repair might look like for victims of sex crimes. In The Prisoner Nadia goes off to medical school because she too must “work and learn how to repair,” but she returns saying that she has “put Mavuso out of [her] mind.” Is that self-repair? Where are the spaces in our world in which victims get to heal and repair? Where should they be ideally? And do those spaces intersect with the justice system, or do they reside extra-juridically? After many years facing the prison, Mavuso is confronted by the guards from inside of it. Naturally, they ask him questions about why he sits there, but they also reveal that his quiet stance disquiets the prisoners. One of the guards declares, “You are disturbing the system,” and The Prisoner implicitly asks the audience which systems we identify with, which systems we are implicated in, and which systems we want to destroy. There are personal, professional, social, and societal systems which we all tacitly help to maintain and uphold in our daily lives. The Prisoner invites us to sit, feel, and then ponder which systems we need to disturb. • AYANNA THOMPSON is Director of the Arizona Center for Medieval & Renaissance Studies (ACMRS) at Arizona State University. She is the author of Shakespeare in the Theatre: Peter Sellars (Arden Bloomsbury, 2018), Teaching Shakespeare with Purpose: A Student-Centred Approach (Arden Bloomsbury, 2016), Passing Strange: Shakespeare, Race, and Contemporary America (Oxford University Press, 2011), and Performing Race and Torture on the Early Modern Stage (Routledge, 2008). She wrote the new introduction for the revised Arden3 Othello (Arden, 2016), and is the editor of Weyward Macbeth: Intersections of Race and Performance (Palgrave, 2010) and Colorblind Shakespeare: New Perspectives on Race and Performance (Routledge, 2006). She is currently working on a collection of essays for Cambridge University Press on Shakespeare and race, and is collaborating with Curtis Perry on the Arden4 edition of Titus Andronicus. Professor Thompson is the 2018-19 President of the Shakespeare Association of America, and has served as a member of the Board of Directors for the Association of Marshall Scholars. She was one of Phi Beta Kappa’s Visiting Scholars for 2017-2018.
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DIALOGUES PRISON TIME VIOLAINE HUISMAN
Peter Brook. Photo by Colm Hogan.
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eter Brook first related the anecdote that opens The Prisoner in his memoir, Threads of Time (1998). On a journey across Afghanistan forty years earlier, he was encouraged by a dervish in Kabul to travel to a nearby village to meet a man who was serving a prison sentence by sitting in front of the prison, rather than within its walls. One can understand how such a vivid paradox would endure for so long in Brook’s imagination. But in his memoir—which he considered calling False Memories—Brook foregrounds a different moment. Before the dervish told him to visit the prisoner, the pair had a chat. In “what seemed to be an appropriately oriental metaphoric language,” Brook recalls, he asked the dervish about the sense one has that there is something else beyond the everyday world. Brook remembers telling the 6
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dervish about a house, giving special resonance to the phrase: “my House.” It is “crammed with a jumble of unnecessary objects,” he said. “Occasionally,” Brook told the dervish, “I seem to hear sounds. I don’t know where they come from, nor what they are—” The dervish, attentive and serious, interrupted him: Had he considered calling a plumber? As Brook pokes fun at his pompous allegory, the silliness of his Westerner's view of the East, he also imbues his memoir with a directness I recognize from his theatre. In works as metaphysical and profound as his epic stage interpretation of The Mahabharata or his streamlined version of Hamlet, Peter Brook has made a point of reminding audiences that theatre is also a practical art. His home in Paris, the Bouffes du Nord, of which the BAM Harvey Theater is the most exact
PRISON TIME replica, has no proscenium; audiences sit on hard wood benches along a few rows of bleachers; the back wall is almost always bare; he uses as few props as narratively possible. The theatre, his plays have expressed in myriad ways, is about human beings sitting in a room together. As Theatre for a New Audience presents The Prisoner, I have also been reminiscing about my 2016 visit to Rikers Island, the New York City prison complex, with Peter Brook, Marie-Hélène Estienne and the cast of Battlefield. I had organized a workshop at the Rose M. Singer center for women at Rikers Correctional facility in my former capacity as humanities director at BAM. Battlefield was in the Harvey Theater, Marie-Hélène Estienne had expressed interest in bringing their work to underserved populations, and I was in touch with the Stella Adler Acting Studio, which, through its outreach program, offers weekly theatre workshops to inmates. At the time, I didn’t know that The Prisoner was already on its way to becoming a play—it was perhaps serendipity that took us to a prison rather than a school. Estienne and Brook have also made a point, throughout their career, of showing their work to teenagers, trusting the authenticity of their judgment, taking them as seriously as the most revered critics worldwide.
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asked specific questions about the inmates they were about to meet: how many theatre workshops had they attended; what had they been told about this encounter. After being led through several long hallways, we found ourselves in a gymnasium with an improvised stage that inmates typically used to conduct cultural activities. Brook walked around slowly, with his cane, holding MarieHélène Estienne’s arm, whispered something in her ear. Just as quietly, as if imparting an important secret, he told the jail officials that this space wouldn’t do: its poor acoustics made it unusable. The officials, to my surprise, asked no further questions. They took his direction, and led us through another meandering maze of halls, to a new room labeled ‘Auditorium.’ Below: Hiran Abeysekera and Hervé Goffings in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Bottom: Hayley Carmichael and Hiran Abeysekera in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photos by Joan Marcus.
I found Rikers, in person, as intimidating as the idea I had of it. I had never visited a prison before taking our directors and actors there. Crossing the steep bridge, which hides the island from view, I noticed LaGuardia’s runway to our right, the barracks ahead, barbwire, chain link fences, windowless buildings tagged with the corrections department motto: SEMPER AUDAX. We had traded our IDs for badges, and walked through several metal detectors. As we finally entered the jail, we passed a gate, which was shut behind us. To say that Brook and Estienne were unflustered does not capture it. They were understandably concerned about how much walking Peter Brook would have to do: he was then 91 years old. They THE PRISONER 7
PRISON TIME Peter Brook opened the encounter with the inmates by stating—his emphatic diction making every word hover in the air—the importance of hearing one another. I watched from the back of the room, noticing how his chalk-white complexion and luminous blue eyes stood out before the twentyfive women inmates in their khaki scrubs. Three of his actors performed scenes from Battlefield, parables on justice and freedom excerpted from The Mahabharata, accompanied by a percussionist. Following the presentation, Brook conducted a conversation with the women, intently listening to their stories, responding with precision, reframing some of their anecdotes in theatrical terms. Then he watched them perform their own play—portrayals of their personal tragedies, in which they referred to themselves as “freaks.” He joined them in dance, as they invited him to, helping him to his feet. Holding hands with them,
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he rocked from side to side on his unsteady legs, his face beaming. That extraordinary outing struck me as a fitting prelude to The Prisoner as I watched the play in rehearsals in Paris last spring. Not only because it showed Brook’s commitment to the human condition, as a subject of investigation, but also because it illustrated, in an elemental way, his belief in his art form’s essential mission: to share human experiences. • VIOLAINE HUISMAN is a writer, translator and curator. Her multidisciplinary arts festivals have included events at BAM, St Ann's Warehouse, Brooklyn Museum, Metrograph and other cultural institutions around New York City. She has translated Ben Lerner's Hatred of Poetry and The Polish Rider into French. Her first novel, Fugitive parce que reine came out with Gallimard last January and was awarded the Prix Marie Claire and the Prix Françoise Sagan. It is forthcoming in the US with Scribner. With Jamie Dowd, she co-founded The Floor, a hybrid movement studio and residency space in downtown Brooklyn.
Hiran Abeysekera with directors Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Joan Marcus.
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INTERVIEW TO LOVE AND REPAIR, BY TRIAL AND ERROR PETER BROOK IN CONVERSATION WITH ALISA SOLOMON
Left: Peter Brook. Right: Hiran Abeysekera in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photos by Simon Annand.
Alisa Solomon, a member of Theatre for a New Audience's Council of Scholars, spoke with Peter Brook as he prepared to bring THE PRISONER to TFANA. ALISA SOLOMON Let’s start with the anecdote that begins The Prisoner, which is based on an experience you had more than 60 years ago. You describe it in your memoir, Threads of Time. It took place in Afghanistan. What do you remember about that experience? PETER BROOK What I remember is very, very clear.
It was an unexpected event and it has never left me. I had never heard of a man being sentenced to sit for a long time—thirty years—in front of a prison instead of going inside, because we all know all through history, and today more than ever in United States, in Europe, in all the countries of Asia and Africa, prisons are terrifying places where on the whole people come out worse than when they went in. But here was a man who was
given this extraordinary sentence, which depended only on his willpower, and recognizing that he deserved and needed something that we could call punishment, but not to be destroyed by it, but to be rehabilitated, redeemed, recreated by the effort of facing himself. We can all face ourselves for a few minutes, but to spend years and years just eking out of the soil the small things that you need to keep alive to eat, but otherwise sitting facing the prison, facing your own prison inside yourself. This was so powerful. The man sat there, he looked up, and looked at me with a look in his eyes of an inner strength I’ve never seen before or after. When I sat with him, I didn’t want, thank God, to put indiscreet questions like a journalist. I didn’t want to say to him, “Why are you here? What was your crime? What have you done?” No, I just respected him, his silence, and his strength, and I got up and left. THE PRISONER 9
INTERVIEW: PETER BROOK As I had to leave the country quite soon afterwards, I never heard what his crime was or why he was there, or how it ended. When I told my partner, Marie-Hélène Estienne, about this, which must have been at least thirty years ago, she was haunted by it as well. We’ve come back to it many times, considering making it into a film. We found that the absolute naturalistic nature of a film took away from the fact that at the same time, this haunts one like a legend, like a myth, like a Greek tragedy. We thought: No, this is theater. We had to develop the story, so we give it a background. We hint at the crime, and we hint at the whole process. We tried desperately to avoid doing anything that you could call a didactic play, where you have theories debated about what is the prison system, how prisoners should be treated. ALISA SOLOMON You said you didn’t know the crime
committed by the man you saw in Afghanistan, but in The Prisoner, you give the protagonist—you name
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him Mavuso—the crime of patricide. He kills his father after finding him in bed with his sister, Nadia. And in the early version of the script, Mavuso wanted to have a sexual relationship with his sister, too. Why did you give him this crime? PETER BROOK Everything in the work that I do with
Marie-Hélène is always in movement. We never work for our first night. We work to continue working with a group of actors, and with the audience to develop something until the last night. Our aim is the last night. And here [with The Prisoner], we’ve developed and changed a lot. It is not true to say anymore that Mavuso has lust and lechery in him. He had a very complex relationship with a father, who we see was a very, very outstanding man. And like so many sons all through history, he loves his father and is jealous of him, and can’t bear the father giving him often good advice, because he wants to feel that he’s as good and better than the father, so that [is a] very deep thing that everybody
Hiran Abeysekera and Kalieaswari Srinivasan in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Simon Annand.
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INTERVIEW: PETER BROOK
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can recognize: that between sons or daughters and their fathers, there is a very marvelous and yet difficult relationship. So he discovers this sitting in front of the prison, when he asks himself, I knew that my father loved me. How is it?
by being in bed with him, she of course did it.
And he discovers these shades and shades of violence in him. And it’s like us all. We have no idea how violent we could be if the situation suddenly provoked it. And here, he’s suddenly found his father in bed making love to his own sister, whom he loves deeply.
We have themes of today, which we never thought of when we started the play, of young girls—and young boys—being seduced, used as sexual objects, sold as sex objects. That has nothing to do with our play.
But he [Mavuso] doesn’t want to have a sexual relation. He is not a lecher. The play is not about lust. It’s about love. And this is what is so important to see. That there is love, and how we can lose sight of it or betray love. The father clearly loved his daughter and when the mother died, the daughter was about 16 then. She was old enough to know what she was doing. And she filled the loneliness, the unhappiness of this person that she so loved, and felt that if she could comfort him
sister, Nadia—there’s no way in your sense of the world view of their community, that she has been violated by her father? Or in her own view?
But this was love. And the father for her had love. And we’ve eliminated any thought of there being a sexual relation with the brother.
ALISA SOLOMON So, for the daughter—Mavuso’s
PETER BROOK No, no. She loved her father. That’s
why we don’t set it in Europe or in the United States, or in South America. We set it in some slightly in the past, far-away country. In many, many societies, incest is not considered a sin and offense. It is not for us for one moment to consider that we are here in a play to judge.
Kalieaswari Srinivasan and Hervé Goffings in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Joan Marcus.
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INTERVIEW: PETER BROOK ALISA SOLOMON That’s what Mavuso’s uncle,
Ezekiel, says about why he never intervened, though he knew that his brother, Mavuso’s father, was sleeping with Nadia. It’s a difficult idea in this context. PETER BROOK He [Ezekiel] said, it’s not my role to
judge. I know that I deeply loved all three of them. Particularly, I loved my brother. And it’s not for me to go to him as a judge. I can’t judge someone else, but I can respect total love. Ezekiel says, we feel that behind it is the greatest thing in human life, love. Whatever the religion or nonreligion we have, whatever it’s named, recognizes what love enfolds, englobes, shines through it, is light. Love and light in the sense that light into darkness, love into this mystery of human beings, of why human beings exist. Why we’re here. Hervé Goffings in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Joan Marcus.
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The theater is not a place for judgment. It’s a place to live, sometimes with the greatest pain, the suffering that love, true love, can bring. And in this way, from the Greek tragedies through to Romeo and Juliet, the pain and the splendor, the two are inseparable. The beauty, the splendor, and the pain that is there when true love shines into our life. ALISA SOLOMON By virtue of the play being a
legend, or I might even say, a parable, the tale has a universal aspect to it. It is a human story in “a faraway land,” not a specific location. I wonder if there’s any risk in the universal. That is, are there particular urgencies in places where the play originates or where it is performed that can be crowded out by the universal? I’m thinking, for example, about the crisis of mass incarceration in the United States and our criminal justice system, which is, among other things, profoundly racist. Is that something that ends up disregarded if we move to the more abstract or universal qualities of the story? PETER BROOK Not abstract. Nothing that is living
can be called abstract. This is something I’ve felt from my very, very first play, a time when I started working in films and in the theater, and did a play about the seeds of human conflict, which was Lord of the Flies. Of how beautifully educated young boys could suddenly find themselves on a desert island and in no time start fighting, and in the end killing one another. It’s the same story all through history. And this story, to me, is universal. People sometimes say to me when they see a play or hear of a play I’m doing, “Do you think you can change the world or change people?” I howl with horror. I’m not there to give lessons. The last play we did was Battlefield. At the end of the play, the audience would sit in silence for a long moment, something that I have only known when I did the play about the war in Vietnam, [a play called] U.S., where at the end, the people were so touched. That’s why I made the title. In London, people are very complacent. They’re saying, “Oh, that’s an American problem.” And I 12
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INTERVIEW: PETER BROOK said, “But the U.S. is also us. You can’t get away from it. We are responsible for it.” The same thing with Battlefield. A family that’s torn apart—that can happen so easily. It’s not, again, for us to preach, moralize, or make theories about, but just to feel it. The audience would sit, as at U.S., for a long, long moment, not wanting to applaud. Just sitting in front of something, and for me, if an audience, a few people, can actually feel that there is something that they carry away in them—not as ideas— something deep has been touched. Nearly half a century ago, before I started work in the Bouffes du Nord in Paris, we did three years of traveling with what we called the International Centre for Theatre Research, and the International Centre was something unknown at the time. I felt so passionately that it’s intolerable to see everywhere—as again today—boundaries, boundaries, frontiers.
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I thought, we can’t change that, but we can, on a tiny scale, our tiny scale, we can do what was unheard of. Bringing actors from different countries, from different backgrounds, with different languages, with different religions, and see that if they have a common aim for a short time, a story that they want to tell and they all share, then an audience can see, a woman can play a man, a man can play a woman, but above all, somebody of dark skin can play someone whose brother or father is what you call white-skin. In this play [The Prisoner], we’ve got actors from so many backgrounds—from Sri Lanka, India, Africa, England—but they’re touched by the same story, so it [their different national backgrounds] doesn’t arise. You don’t even think of it. And we don’t make a point of saying look, you know, in the same way, as has always been in all our improvisations, always, the woman has played a man’s part; an elderly woman has played a tiny child. This is all part of what the role of the theater is and the role of acting.
Omar Silva and Hiran Abeysekera in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Simon Annand.
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INTERVIEW: PETER BROOK We are telling a story, and you use your instrument to make this at the very moment, as alive as possible to the imagination of the people watching. ALISA SOLOMON The engagement of the audience’s
imagination, has, of course, been a primary investigation for you for so many years. PETER BROOK Theater is there not to explain, or to
describe; the theater is there to suggest and evoke, so that it’s in the continuation of all our work over so many years to find ways of purifying what’s called the staging. It’s not enough to have nothing on the stage, but everything that is there is just to help to evoke the imagination. We’re working together with the imagination of the audience, and we make just a suggestion that helps the audience to develop everything within themselves. And so far, in the experience of playing the play, in our theater and in many places on tour, we have found that everywhere, the simplicity of it is the only way of telling this story, so that it leaves something with each person to wonder about. To wonder about, not so much in legal terms—what is the prison system?—but much more deeply. What is the prison in ourselves? Because we know that we are all trapped within ourselves, with our own thoughts, our own feelings, and here people come away deeply touched. ALISA SOLOMON When Mavuso sits facing the
prison, he is looking directly at the spectators, at the audience. He could be facing the side or upstage. We could be looking at the prison with him if he were facing upstage, but you choose to have him look directly at the audience. Could you talk about that choice? PETER BROOK One doesn’t make choices. These
things arise naturally. It seemed that this was absolutely natural for us to be really close to him, for him to be looking out front where his face is in close-up. So, that was natural, for a long period [for him to be] looking ahead. But we discovered that it was felt by the audience—and it touches them deeply—that their imagination matches that he’s looking at a wall. And another part of them, 14
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a deeper imagination, feels that he is looking at themselves. And at the very last moments of the play, when the prison has been destroyed, Mavuso gets up and says, I must go inside it just to see what was happening all these years in that building. And he explores it, and it’s a completely empty ruin. But he goes, and he looks and sees where the different cells were, where they ate, where they met, and above all, the cells where those condemned to death would sit for their last hours. But as he does this, he walks and it is tremendously strong, because he is looking, of course, out front. I don’t want this to be in any way a moral attempt to ask the audience to do something. This is the most natural thing for him to be walking sideways across the stage, looking out front. As it says in the play, when you leave here, you’ll know when you are free to leave because you’ll go back into life, but the prison will always be in you. Hiran Abeysekera in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Simon Annand.
INTERVIEW: PETER BROOK And when someone comes to him, a man who has become his close friend, the stranger from the village, he says, “Well, what can you do now that your prison has been destroyed?” And he says, “No, it hasn’t been destroyed, not for me.” There you are. ALISA SOLOMON It’s parallel, I think, to an
important line about midway through the play, when he’s asked, what are you doing here and he says, I’m here to repair. And he’s asked, what does that mean? And he declines to answer. PETER BROOK If we allowed him to make a big
monologue, we’d be doing what we want to avoid most of all, which is something sententious, pretentious, teaching. No, no, no. All of this the audience needs to feel, and repair is through real work. If we say to repent, to express remorse, you’re going into the whole world of ethical, religious, moralistic teaching. But here, the word “repair” is very simple. When we know that
ALISA SOLOMON
something is broken down, you’ve got to repair it. And here he has done something that is in itself terrible, and he’s really destroyed something not only in other people, but in himself. What can he do? Not repent. Not to ask for forgiveness. He can try bit by bit to repair. ALISA SOLOMON Do you think that it’s possible? Does
he achieve repair? Can the redemption be achieved? PETER BROOK That is not for me to say. I’m not
a wise old sage. I can only say that this question is a living one, and it’s with me as much as it is with you. That is something that we can discover for ourselves. I have one [process], the only great process that I know, which is on every level, trial and error. And the error is part of what incites us to start again. ALISA SOLOMON The characters of course have
names in this play. Ezekiel is one that stands out to me. It calls to mind the Hebrew prophet who
THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Simon Annand.
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INTERVIEW: PETER BROOK is recognized by Judaism, Christianity, Russian Orthodoxy, Islam, as a prophet who foretells of a destruction and a rebirth, in his case, of Jerusalem. I’m wondering if you chose this name because it carries the echoes of this idea of redemption. PETER BROOK I’m sorry to interrupt you, but this
is what I’m trying to say for the last half an hour. We are not giving cues to a moral judgment. When Marie-Hélène was just writing the first scenes— and I’d leave her then, when we’ve talked about it, just to work in her own intuitive way—this name presented itself. We never wanted it to symbolize this or that. And Mavuso was somebody that we knew in South Africa during our journeys in the past and the name stayed with us. And that is the way those names just suddenly come to the surface. We don’t try to think of symbolism and of hidden meanings that the authors are putting into it. No, it seemed a name that isn’t typed as belonging to a
ALISA SOLOMON
particular culture, but it’s a powerful name. Please don’t think that we’re in any way having a sort of little winks with symbolism. ALISA SOLOMON And yet, anyone of course
projects associations onto the work that is – PETER BROOK Of course. That is our prison. We
can’t help it. ALISA SOLOMON Why do you call that a prison? PETER BROOK I have said, it goes on inside us.
So, sometimes it’s everything that goes on inside us that we can’t help. It can either be something marvelous or something that we get so attached to that we can’t get away from it. These are the two sides of everything that goes on. Either we get glued to it, and attached to it, and we’ll make tremendous speeches saying, this is right because we got glued to it, or for a moment it’s there and
Hiran Abeysekera in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Joan Marcus.
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INTERVIEW: PETER BROOK it’s come, and then it just frees itself. That whole process is something unknown and yet wonderful. Otherwise, we wouldn’t survive. ALISA SOLOMON This makes me think about the
moment in the play when the guards tell Mavuso he has to leave because he’s disturbing the system. What are the systems he’s disturbing? PETER BROOK Everyone in their job is part of a
system. And here, the people who become wardens in prison, they’re trying to do their job as best they can. And here is somebody about whom the prisoners looking out of the window are saying, “Why am I not out? Why is he free?” All they see is a free man who gets up in the morning, looks at the sunrise, collects, finds a little pit where he brings out his water, finds a little food that he makes. If you are sitting inside a cell and looking out and you see somebody like yourself, perhaps with a crime even greater than your own, they
ALISA SOLOMON
spend all their time talking about him. “What do you think? Did he commit a crime?” “Oh, yes, I think he did a very bad crime.” “Oh, no, no, no. I think that he’s just a friend of the judge, and the judge said go and spend your summer holiday sitting there.” You know, all those things, and they’re very disturbing to the system. Because the prison system depends on the people just doing what they’re told.
We played recently outside London in a prison. And we’ve played Battlefield in New York in Rikers Island women’s prison. It’s been an overwhelming experience, which we feel was very valuable for the prisoners and enormously valuable to ourselves. On Rikers Island, with Battlefield, one of the characters says very early on, what is justice? And that simple line—if you could’ve felt the way in that all-women audience, the way that vibrates and throbs. What is justice? At once, they wanted to know what the play was then going to tell them Hiran Abeysekera and Omar Silva in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook right from the beginning. and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Simon Annand.
In the prison outside London, these are all people with long, long sentences. About halfway through, I brought it to a stop, and I said this is enough. Now, come forward, all of you, and let’s sit together and share impressions, talking together, sharing their own senses of redemption, of remorse, of guilt, and something wonderful happens. And yet, they all recognize that they have really committed something that couldn’t be wiped off lightly. And they spoke freely with the actors, and we felt something had really happened, and we felt, that is the only reason why one can get involved in this form called theater, for those rare experiences where you see that the audience and the players and the content are all one. ALISA SOLOMON In Tip of the Tongue, you wrote that
“theater exists so that the unsaid can breathe and a quality of life can be sensed, which gives a motive to the endless struggle.” There’s so much packed into that idea. Including: the question of what the struggle is. But also about the unsaid and the role of silence. There is a lot of silence in The Prisoner. T H E P R I S O N E R 17
INTERVIEW: PETER BROOK PETER BROOK Well, as Hamlet says, the rest is
silence. I come back to that. We can’t live all the time in silence. But we do see that silence always has a fine meaning. We find this in music. There is something finer than the everyday that we can be brought to, and that is why this thing called art has always existed. Today people cross the world to live at some of the great, old temples that are in Greece or in India. There’s something in the proportions of these buildings. You have the same when you go into a cathedral, a beautiful cathedral, in Istanbul, a great mosque—we call that a sense of awe. A marvelous word, which nobody can explain, but it’s when something is so deeply touched that for a moment, you could say it cuts out the crap. The shit is blown away. And we are there, our mouth half open. These are precious moments. Again, we can’t impose them on ourselves or on others. That’s why in The Prisoner there is no music. And we have this in so many different experiences around. But above all, in front of nature, in front of certain forests, certainly when it’s hushed. One goes into a forest, and it’s like going into a cathedral. One draws breath with wonder. ALISA SOLOMON Can you create that on the stage? PETER BROOK No. If you try to do that, you’re
cutting your own throat before you start. What you can do is, you can work step by step. As I said, through attempting, trying, recognizing your error. Never saying at the end of today, we’ve got somewhere. Whatever seems good today, you know must be re-questioned tomorrow. And in that long, long process, things fall away. You can’t willfully create silence. But if gradually, the unnecessary falls away, then you are left with something that you are discovering for the first time. You can’t take a broom and brush away the unnecessary, but by a long, sincere period of working together, searching together with a group who all find that as we work together, we are closer, and we love one another bit by bit. 18
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ALISA SOLOMON
And things appear. And things appear because what I would call very simple rubbish, is just swept away. When Ezekiel says, what we need is to be purged, that, to me, has a lot of meaning. A purge is a way of inner cleaning. ALISA SOLOMON Is this idea of purge another
word for catharsis? You have written that anyone who enters a theater should leave feeling better than when they came in. PETER BROOK Look at the situation we’re in today:
we can’t not go into the theater carrying all the despair, all the bleak, black miseries that we carry in us. So many plays, I must say—not to criticize my fellows—encourage our anger. What are called political plays are there to make one furious and angry and frustrated. No! We go into the theater with all that and for one moment, it can be the same thing as being cleaned. We go to a concert of Bach beautifully played. We can go and see a beautiful exhibition of wondrous shapes or colors. And we go to the theater and what we hope is that something in us, as the play goes on, we’re being touched by it, and if that can happen, when we get up, we carry away something that is not desperate. We go in with despair and get to leave with hope. This is enormous—it sounds so pretentious—but I can say, that that is something: that we can hope. • This interview has been edited and condensed. ALISA SOLOMON is a professor at Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism, where she directs the MA concentration in Arts & Culture. A longtime theater critic, political journalist, and dramaturg (most recently for Anna Deavere Smith’s Notes from the Field), she is the author of Re-Dressing the Canon: Essays on Theater and Gender (winner of the George Jean Nathan Award for Dramatic Criticism) and of Wonder of Wonders: A Cultural History of Fiddler on the Roof, an “editor’s choice” in the New York Times Book Review and winner of the Jewish Journal Book Prize, the George Freedley Memorial Award (Theatre Library Association), and the Kurt Weill Prize. Alisa was a theater critic and staff writer at the Village Voice (1983 – 2004), and has written for the New York Times, Nation, newyorker.com, The Forward, Theater, and other publications.
THE PRODUC TION CREATIVE TEAM (Actor). Born in Sri Lanka in 1986, he studied at the school of Nalanda Vidyalaya where he was taught drama for the first time. In 2007, he met Willi Richards, former artistic director, who led several theater venues in England and programs for the BBC. They first collaborated on a trilingual version of Romeo and Juliette, in Sri Lanka. Richards gave Hiran the opportunity to join a drama school in England. He graduated from RADA in 2011. HIRAN ABEYSEKERA
(Actor) is co-founder of Told By An Idiot and has both devised and performed in many of their productions. Other theatre includes: Crave (Barbican), Cymbeline (Kneehigh), The Dispute (RSC), Bliss (Royal Court), Zumanity (Cirque de Soleil), Street of Crocodiles (Complicite), Theatre of Blood (RNT/ Improbable). In 2009, she first collaborated with Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne in Fragments by Samuel Beckett. Film/ television includes: Tale of Tales Dir: Matteo Garrone (2015), Kiss me First (C4), Chewing Gum (C4), The Witness for the Prosecution (BBC, 2016). HAYLEY CARMICHAEL
THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Simon Annand.
(Actor) is a French actor, singer and dancer. He went on to graduate with an MA in Musical Theatre at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. Born in Mali, he grew up in a white family living in Africa and then moved with them to France. The extraordinary tale of his adoption was made into a one-man show titled HERVÉ. Highlights of his theatre roles include Caliban in Shakespeare's La Tempête, Horse in The Full Monty, Poncho in Oscar Hammerstein’s musical Carmen Jones. HERVÉ GOFFINGS
(Actor). Omar Enrique Silva Martínez studied Theater and Acting at Centro Universitario de Teatro (CUT) in UNAM and is a member Tribu Teatro. His work in theatre includes El Coro (winner of the 24th International Festival of University Theater) at the Theater Show of Mexico City, International Theater Day, Mexico and the International Festival of Dramatic Art Colleges in Rabat, Marruecos. Omar Silva is a guitarist and composer for acoustic ensemble R.I.P. Rapunzel. OMAR SILVA
(Actor) has worked with different theatre groups in southern India and France. Her work in theatre includes performances for Indianostrum Theatre at Theatre du Soleil, Paris; and Biryani as part of the Perth Winter Arts Festival. Film includes Dheepan (Palme d’Or winner) at Cannes. She has also directed street plays in public spaces. She has been a regular performer at Short and Sweet theatre festival in Chennai, where her work has included Statue, Never Give Up. KALIEASWARI SRINIVASAN
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THE PRODUCTION
CREATIVE TEAM
PHILIPPE VIALATTE (Lighting Designer) started at the Théâtre des
Bouffes du Nord in 1985 as a light operator on Le Mahabharata and assisted on the light design for Woza Albert and La Tempête, all directed by Peter Brook. Since 1993, he has designed the lights for Peter Brook’s plays in the Theatre des Bouffes du Nord. (Director) was born in London in 1925. Throughout his career, he distinguished himself in various genres: theater, opera, cinema and writing. He directed his first play there in 1943. He then went on to direct over 70 productions in London, Paris and New York. In 1971, he founded with Micheline Rozan the International Centre for Theatre Research in Paris and in 1974, opened its permanent base in the Bouffes du Nord Theatre. Lately, he directed The Suit (2012), The Valley of Astonishment (2014) and Battlefield (2015) – many of these performing both in French and English. PETER BROOK
MARIE-HÉLÈNE ESTIENNE (Director) joined the CICT in 1976
– and since then has never left – from press secretary to Peter Brook's assistant, she has worked on many shows including casting the pieces. In time, she became Peter Brook's collaborator, adapting texts, writing alone or with him and finally participating in the staging of the shows. Their recent work includes The Suit, The Valley of Astonishment and The Prisoner. (Production Stage Manager). TFANA: Pericles, Ruzante!, King Lear, Much Ado About Nothing, The Taming of the Shrew, The Merchant of Venice (National Tour) Off-Broadway: My Name’s Not Indian Joe, Tchaikovsky: Lonely Heart (ERC), One Thousand Nights and One Day (Prospect), Bulldozer (AGT), The View Upstairs (InvisibleWall), A Dog Story (Davenport), Abyss, Ludic Proxy (PlayCo) Regional: Peerless, Clybourne Park, Kiss Me,Kate!, On The Town (Barrington Stage Company), 33 Variations (La Jolla Playhouse). MFA Rutgers TLMF Jer. 29:11 MARJORIE ANN WOOD
BLAKE ZIDELL & ASSOCIATES (Press Representative) is a Brooklyn-
based public relations firm representing artists, companies and institutions spanning a variety of disciplines. Clients include include St. Ann’s Warehouse, Soho Rep, The Kitchen, Ars Nova, BRIC, P.S.122, Abrons Arts Center, Taylor Mac, LAByrinth Theater Company, StoryCorps, Irish Arts Center, Café Carlyle, Peak Performances, Batsheva Dance Company, The Playwrights Realm, Stephen Petronio Company, The Play Company, and FIAF’s Crossing the Line Festival.
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Omar Silva in THE PRISONER by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne. Photo by Joan Marcus.
THEATRE FOR A NEW AUDIENCE LEADERSHIP JEFFREY HOROWITZ (Founding Artistic Director) began his career in theatre as an actor and appeared
on Broadway, Off Broadway, and in regional theatre. In 1979, he founded Theatre for a New Audience. Horowitz has served on the Panel of the New York State Council on the Arts, on the Board of Directors of Theatre Communications Group, the Advisory Board of The Shakespeare Society and the Artistic Directorate of London’s Globe Theatre. He received the John Houseman Award in 2003 and The Breukelein Institute’s 2004 Gaudium Award. (Managing Director) joined Theatre for a New Audience in 2003. She spent the previous ten years devoted to fundraising for the 92nd Street Y and the Brooklyn Museum. Ryan began her career in classical music artist management and has also served as company manager for Chautauqua Opera, managing director for the Opera Ensemble of New York, and general manager of Eugene Opera. She is a 2014 Brooklyn Women of Distinction honoree from Community Newspaper Group. DOROTHY RYAN
MICHAEL PAGE (General Manager) joined Theater for a New Audience in 2013, where he has managed
over 20 productions at the Polonsky Shakespeare Center. Prior to TFANA Michael was the general manager of the Tony Award-winning Vineyard Theatre and managing director of Off-Broadway's Barrow Street Theatre where he managed the US premiere of Nina Raine’s Tribes and David Cromer’s landmark production of Our Town, among many others. Michael sits on the Board of Directors for the League of Resident Theatres (LORT), is active with the Off-Broadway League, and is on the adjunct faculty at CUNY/Brooklyn College’s Department of Theater.
Polonsky Shakespeare Center. Photo by David Sundberg/Esto.
Samuel H. Scripps Mainstage. Photo by Francis Dzikowski/OTTO.
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ABOUT THEATRE FOR A NEW AUDIENCE About Theatre for a New Audience Founded in 1979 by Jeffrey Horowitz, the mission of Theatre for a New Audience is to develop and vitalize the performance and study of Shakespeare and classic drama. Theatre for a New Audience produces for audiences Off-Broadway and has also toured nationally, internationally and to Broadway. We are quidded in our work by five core values: a reverence for language, a spirit of adventure, a commitment to diversity, a dedication to learning, and a spirit of service. These values inform what we do with artists, how we interact with audiences, and how we manage our organization. Theatre for a New Audience Education Programs
S TA F F
Founding Artistic Director Jeffrey Horowitz Managing Director Dorothy Ryan General Manager Michael Page Director of Institutional Advancement James J. Lynes Finance Director Mary Sormeley Education Director Kathleen Dorman Director of Marketing & Communications Jennifer Lam Associate Producer / Director of the Studio Nidia Medina Associate General Manager Kiana Carrington Theatre Manager Steven Gaultney Production Manager Joshua Kohler Box Office & Subscriptions Manager Allison Byrum Facilities Manager Jordan Asinofsky Development Manager Jena Yarley Marketing Manager Torrence Browne Literary & Humanities Manager / Assistant to the Artistic Director Soriya Chum Assistant General Manager Molly Burdick Development Associate Richard Brighi Finance Associate Michelle Esposito Education Associate Philip Calabro Facilities Associate Rashawn Caldwell House Manager Coral Cohen Press Representative Blake Zidell & Associates Resident Literary Advisor Jonathan Kalb Resident Casting Director Jack Doulin Resident Director of Voice Andrew Wade
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Theatre for a New Audience is an award-winning company recognized for artistic excellence. Our education programs introduce students to Shakespeare and other classics with the same artistic integrity that we apply to our productions. Through our unique and exciting methodology, students engage in hands-on learning that involves all aspects of literacy set in the context of theatre education. Our residencies are structured to address City and State Learning Standards both in English language Arts and the Arts, the New York City DOE’s Curriculum Blueprint for Teaching and Learning in Theater, and the Common Core Learning Standards for English Language Arts. Begun in 1984, our programs have served more than 130,000 students, ages 9 through 18, in New York City Public Schools city-wide. A Home in Brooklyn: Polonsky Shakespeare Center Theatre for a New Audience’s home, Polonsky Shakespeare Center, is a centerpiece of the Brooklyn Cultural District. Designed by celebrated architect Hugh Hardy, Polonsky Shakespeare Center is the first theatre in New York designed and built expressly for classic drama since Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont in the 1960s. The 27,500 square-foot facility is a unique performance space in New York. The 299-seat Samuel H. Scripps Mainstage, inspired by the Cottesloe at London’s National Theatre, combines an Elizabethan courtyard theatre with modern theatre technology that allows the stage and seating to be arranged in seven configurations. The new facility also includes the Theodore C. Rogers Studio (a 50-seat rehearsal/ performance studio), and theatrical support spaces. The City of New York-developed Arts Plaza, designed by landscape architect Ken Smith, creates a natural gathering place around the building. In Addition, Polonsky Shakespeare Center is also one of the few sustainable (green) theatre in the country, with an anticipated LEED-NC Silver rating from the United States Green Building Council. Now with a home of its own, Theatre for a New Audience is contributing to the continued renaissance of Downtown Brooklyn. In addition to its season of plays, the Theatre has expanded its Humanities offerings to include lectures, seminars, workshops, and other activities for artists, scholars, and the general public. When not in use by the Theatre, its new facility is available for rental, bringing much needed affordable performing and rehearsal space to the community.
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BOARD OF DIRECTORS
Chairman: Robert E. Buckholz Vice Chairman Kathleen C. Walsh President Jeffrey Horowitz Founding Artistic Director Vice President and Secretary Dorothy Ryan Managing Director Executive Committee Robert E. Buckholz Jeffrey Horowitz John J. Kerr, Jr. Seymour H. Lesser Larry M. Loeb Audrey Heffernan Meyer Kathleen C. Walsh Monica Gerard-Sharp Wambold Members John Berendt* Sally Brody William H. Burgess, III Zoë Caldwell* Ben Campbell Robert Caro* Connie Christensen Dr. Sharon Dunn* Dana Ivey* Catherine Maciariello* Caroline Niemczyk Rachel Polonsky Barbara Rifkind Theodore C. Rogers Philip R. Rotner Dorothy Ryan Mark Rylance* Daryl D. Smith Susan Stockel Michael Stranahan John Turturro* Josh Weisberg Frederick Wiseman* *Artistic Council
THEATRE FOR A NEW AUDIENCE
MA JOR SUPPORTERS
Even with capacity audiences, ticket sales account for a small portion of our operating costs. The Theatre expresses its deepest thanks to the following Foundations, Corporations Government Agencies and Individuals for their generous support of the Theatre’s Humanities, Education, and Outreach programs.
The 360° Series: Viewfinders has been made possible in part by a major grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities: Exploring the Human Endeavor. Any views, findings, conclusions or recommendations expressed in this Viewfinder do not necessarily represent those of the National Endowment for the Humanities. A Challenge Grant from the NEH established a Humanities endowment fund at Theatre for a New Audience to support these programs in perpetuity. Leading matching gifts to the NEH grant were provided by Joan and Robert Arnow, Norman and Elaine Brodsky, The Durst Organization, Perry and Marty Granoff, Stephanie and Tim Ingrassia, John J. Kerr & Nora Wren Kerr, Litowitz Foundation, Inc., Robert and Wendy MacDonald, Sandy and Stephen Perlbinder, The Prospect Hill Foundation, Inc., Theodore C. Rogers, and from purchasers in the Theatre’s Seat for Shakespeare Campaign, 2013 – 2015. Theatre for a New Audience’s Humanities, Education, and Outreach programs are supported, in part, by The Elayne P. Bernstein Education Fund. For more information on naming a seat or making a gift to the Education or Humanities endowments, please contact James Lynes, Director of Institutional Advancement, at 212-229-2819 x29, or by email at jlynes@tfana.org. Theatre for a New Audience’s productions and education programs receive support from the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Andrew Cuomo and the New York State Legislature; and from the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs in partnership with the City Council.
Additional support for these programs is provided by the generosity of the following Foundations and Corporations through either their general operating support or direct support of the Theatre’s arts in education programs: PRINCIPAL BENEFACTORS
New York City Department of Cultural Affairs National Endowment for the Humanities The SHS Foundation The Shubert Foundation, Inc. The Thompson Family Foundation The Winston Foundation LEADING BENEFACTORS
Bloomberg LP Deloitte The Harold and Mimi Steinberg Charitable Trust MAJOR BENEFACTORS
The Achelis and Bodman Foundation Sidney E. Frank Foundation Hearst Kramer Levin Naftalis & Frankel LLP Latham & Watkins LLP National Endowment for the Arts New York State Council on the Arts The Fan Fox & Leslie R. Samuels Foundation Troy Chemical Corporation SUSTAINING BENEFACTORS
A'lani Kailani Blue Lotus White Star Foundation The Howard Bayne Fund Consolidated Edison Company of New York, Inc. Coydog Foundation
Debevoise & Plimpton LLP Jean and Louis Dreyfus Foundation, Inc. Geen Family Foundation Gibson, Dunn & Crutcher LLP Joseph and Sally Handleman Foundation Trust A The DuBose and Dorothy Heyward Memorial Fund The J.M. Kaplan Fund King & Spalding LLP Kirkland & Ellis LLP The Gladys Krieble Delmas Foundation Loeb & Loeb LLP Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison The Round Table of Cultural Seminars, Ltd. May and Samuel Rudin Foundation Inc. Select Equity Group, Inc. Sidley Austin LLP Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom LLP
Litowitz Foundation, Inc. Morgan, Lewis & Bockius LLP Council Member Laurie A. Cumbo, NY City Council Discretionary Funding Orrick, Herrington & Sutcliffe LLP Richenthal Foundation The Starry Night Fund Michael Tuch Foundation, Inc. Wells Fargo Bank The White Cedar Fund
PRODUCERS CIRCLE— THE ARTISTIC DIRECTOR’S SOCIETY
Actors’ Equity Association Bloomberg Philanthropies Bressler, Amery & Ross EMM Wealth Management Kinder Morgan Foundation Mannheim LLC The Grace R. and Alan D. Marcus Foundation The Randolph Foundation The Bernard and Anne Spitzer Charitable Trust
Akin Gump Strauss Hauer & Feld, LLP Axe-Houghton Foundation The Ettinger Foundation The Claire Friedlander Family Foundation McDermott Will & Emery Hughes Hubbard & Reed LLP Ingram Yuzek Gainen Carroll & Bertolotti, LLP
PRODUCERS CIRCLE—EXECUTIVE
The Barbara Bell Cumming Charitable Trust The Norman D, and Judith H. Cohen Foundation DeWitt Stern Group, Inc. Marta Heflin Foundation Irving Harris Foundation Lucille Lortel Foundation PRODUCERS CIRCLE—ASSOCIATE
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W W W . T FA N A . O R G