grand_guignol13 DeleteThis @hotmail.com (woolrich) wrote in message news:<2b4c9e85.0403082147.5a581a DeleteThis @posting.google.com>...
> Peter: (snip)
> you realize how fortunate you were, don't you? It would only be
> open until sometime in 1962, less than 2 years after your evening
> attendance. How I envy you! Did you also know that no live performance
> films of the Guignol have survived? You have the cliched "unique
> experience" firmly imprinted in your memory now. Could you do a favor
> for me? Describe the theatre itself--the building, the interior, the
> seating, anything else you can recall. Was it a fairly small place (as
> I thought) or somewhat larger? Had it already begun to become a little
> ragged around the edges, I mean, slightly seedy? Who were the actors
> and actresses? If you can't recall their actual names, then just
> describe them.
Do you know, for the first time, I realise how my Father must have
felt when I demanded details of all those Silent Films he'd seen in
his boyhood and youth -he kept pleeding I'm not sure I remember it
'that well'! And 'you're obsessed with detail!'
Okay, not forgetting we're talking forty-four years ago, I'll do the
best I can. For most of that year (1960) and in to the following year,
I was resident in various places in France and Belgium (actually
mainly Paris and Antwerp).
I've already mentioned my first contact with the theatre or rather its
productions via magazine articles and my intense curiosity (how'd they
get those effects on stage?).
So my impressions of that night…a narrow cobbled street with tall
buildings wedged together at the end of which stands the theatre with
an impossible arched doorway. It's evening and the darkness seems to
soak into the circles of yellowish light cast by the few street lamps.
With two companions, tickets are purchased (how much was it? Can't
remember!) and entry gained. Was the theatre small? Yes, but shadows
hung everywhere giving an impression of concealed space in the dimly
lit auditorium. Overhead a vaulted ceiling and two huge angels looming
over the pit. And the smell - sort of musty, incense like, unusual but
hard to define. Not a smell I recognised, nor one I've since
encountered.
At the time I wondered if it was the smell of all that ‘stage' blood
mixed with stale tobacco smoke, and the sweat of fear given off by
generations of thrill seekers – all of this and perhaps more
permeating the very fabric of the theatre?
Was it seedy?
My memories of Montmartre at that time were of cobbled streets, poorly
lit, tall decaying buildings and bars with open-air toilets in cobbled
yards that left much to be desired. Women of a certain type were often
to be found around the Rue Pigalle. Thus the area could be described
as sleazy.
And so I suppose the theatre itself was a little seedy – certainly old
and worn and a little threadbare. Lots of wood panelling and cast iron
latticework on the boxes, I seem to remember – you could look out but
not easily see in. And carved figures high up above the boxes where
the smoke of countless Gauloise cigarettes drifted.
The audience was small, occupying less than half the available
seating, I suspect, bench seating it was, low, uncomfortable. And the
stage, too, seemed small, and cramped, and cluttered with all the
mundane day-to-day props required for each scene (once the curtain had
risen).
So far so good.
So, what did I see – and who were the actors and actresses?
Well, sadly time and tide has taken its toll of memory to an extent.
However, while I'm not be able to identify all the actors and titles,
I can recall much of the action (so to speak).
Truth to tell, somewhere I have a playbill or at least some other
souvenir from that evening, but I'm not sure where! I'm a terrible
hoarder. Programs for theatres and films, ticket stubs (I have even
kept a prepayment card for public toilets in Verona – much to the
amusement of certain members of my family), yes I've kept them all.
However, I'll do my best to ‘dig' it out, perhaps for a future post?
Anyhow the entertainment consisted of four ‘plays' the first of which
was (if memory doesn't deceive) very short indeed. Now, please be
aware, at that time, my French was, well, hesitant – thus I could
order drinks, a meal, hold a slow conversation. But I found it very
difficult to follow long fast bursts of Parisian French – especially
when it contained ‘slang'. As a result elements were ‘over my head',
so to speak.
The short piece acted as a sort of ‘prologue' to what was to follow.
We then witnessed two plays both on the theme of betrayal and revenge,
with a third play interposed between them, which can only be described
as a ‘farce', I guess.
The ‘farce' contained a range of characters, male and female, each
attempting infidelity in a number of strained and artificial
circumstances. There was much ‘accidental' nudity – the quick flash
(female only). Much laughter – but I was lost!
The preceding play had indeed been Grand Guignol. But a tad
disappointing – lots of psychology followed by so - so bloodletting
(but in fairness a blood curdling vitriol throwing). The final play
did have an effect on me – and my companions!!
Here the loutish villain / victim (possibly the same gentleman from
the ‘prologue') a thin, tall individual with a pointy chin dressed all
in black, with black swept back hair, pays a call on his
mother-in-law. She teases him. Jokingly refers to another woman as his
mistress. I should mention she is ironing clothes (perhaps for her
daughter? I can't remember, but I think it's the daughter and louts
apartment). Mother-in-law is a not unattractive lady with golden
shoulder length hair.
So to cut a long story short (or a short play even shorter), Mr Lout
makes a pass at Mrs Mother-in law, and she seems to respond, allows
him to touch her most intimately and brushes her lips across his
cheek.
GOOD GOD! Silently screams the audience. All eyes are on that damn
steam iron! Something's going to happen – but no.
MOL pours Mr Lout a glass of wine. He drinks it, makes boast of his
prowess between the sheets. He glances round for ‘un paquet de bleues'
(the phrase for cigarettes has stayed with me over the years – then I
was a smoker, now not). MOL laughs and tells him she can take his mind
of the smokes.
But Mr Lout starts to sway and falls back on to the sofa.
MOL it seems is responsible for this ‘Vacherie'. A dirty trick
concocted with her daughter who now appears from behind some curtains.
All her suspicions are confirmed. Her man is no good.
MOL has drugged him of course. It is a muscle relaxant of somekind she
explains. He can still fell, but not move or fight back.
What follows, well, how much has imagination embellished the reality
of that evening? Wifey advances with big old steam iron lifted from
the stove, MOL produces a pair of silvery shears.
The thing with theatre and in particular this theatre was immediacy –
and it has to be said, resonance! I have never heard such an ululation
as that issuing from the closed up throat of this man – my skin
crawled!
The audience, of course, could not see clearly because of the two
women positioned as they were on the small stage. But I feel it safe
to say a face got steam pressed, a tongue was cut free – and as far as
Mr Lout's peccadilloes, well, judging by the blood and gore, it was a
case of an ‘eye for an eye' so to speak.
The play ended with general agreement that Mr Lout would need nursing
forever, but that MOL and daughter should pay a call on his mistress
to wish her a happy birthday – with a special surprise present!
As to what that should be, well, don't go there.
Such was my experience all those years ago. Sadly the following year
the Organisation Armee Secrete (OAS) protesting French moves to allow
independence to Algeria tried to blow up De Gaulle. A series of bloody
terrorist attacks shock France and the world. They may also have been
the final nail in the coffin of Grand Guignol.
This has been a bit of a long post – perhaps too long.
And I'm not sure I've captured the air of nervous anticipation, like a
sweaty twitchety exhalation from the seated audience (hey, and all
seated close together for mutual support!), pre the curtain rising.
As was recently pointed out to me elsewhere such evidence as this is
anecdotal. It's certainly based on memories of events almost half a
century ago. Any faults in it are mine. Any virtues belong to Grand
Guignol and the Theatre of Fear!
Kind regards.
Peter
PS
I'll find that damn playbill if I can.
We're in a bit of a state at home just now 'cause the builders are
doing some work for me on the house, so its not a good time. But
hopefully week after next thing's'll be back to normal and I'll seek
it out for you.<!-- ~MESSAGE_AFTER~ -->
>> Stay informed about: GRAND-GUIGNOL 
FAQ
Profile
Private Messages
Log in
