Mother Courage Reflections

My memories of getting Mother Courage on stage and out there to the public are filtered through veils of tiredness. Tiredness arising out of working long hours in the pre-monsoon humid heat, the difficulties in communicating in another language, the chaotic methods of the designers and others working on our production and ultimately the magnitude of the project: staging a classical piece of theatre with the major part of the cast made up of apprentice actors. After the three initial performances at The Lionel Wendt Theatre I came home to London on 9th April, and fell into a stupor of exhaustion from which I am only now recovering. I had returned in early March with my sister, Jeanne, to Sri Lanka after a fortnight back in the UK that was filled with catching up on things neglected whilst working on Mother Courage during January and February. Jeanne's support during that second trip was immeasurable. Going back to the hotel of an evening after rehearsal and having someone to talk to, or just to sit and have a beer whilst reflecting on the day and planning the next was extremely helpful. Her witnessing of the chaos of how theatre is produced Colombo-style helped ease the strains of staging a performance of value from the disparate threads of our production.

My way of managing each day whilst at Bellangwila Temple was to attempt to have a short nap under a fan during the lunch break trying to stay cool so to summon energy for the rest of the hot sweaty day. One day when lying on the hard floor, I idly reflected on when I was last challenged and stretched like this. I realised that it was way back in the 1970's when I took over as the artistic director of The Scottish Ballet Workshop. Then I was an alien in an unknown world, the ballet world. I had trained as a ballet dancer but had only worked in the commercial field: TV, theatre, cabaret, film etc., mainly as a chorus dancer, 'moving wallpaper' as we called ourselves, in variety shows. Taking over that company was my first experience of the world of ballet. When I joined the Scottish Ballet I felt as though I was sweating blood during the first six months of my five years with that company. Much to my surprise I made a go of it. More, in fact. In our first six months we played to more people and made more money than my predecessor had done in his five years of tenure. Plus we received rave reviews. I thought about this whilst lying on the floor in the mid-day rising heat. These Scottish Ballet reflections consoled me. Maybe I will pull through this, I thought to myself, maybe we will get some sort of performance together which we can be proud of, that will contribute towards to culture of this hot, turbulent country. Through my dozy state I tried to work out how old I had been when I had arrived at Scottish Ballet. It took me a while and a bit of mental math to sort that out. No wonder. I had been 31 when invited to run that experimental and educational ballet company. I was now 61. 30 years later. What challenges would present themselves when 91? If I live that long.

Death sweeps through Mother Courage and Her Children. Brecht's writing vigorously illustrates the futility of war, of how it effects all those who serve it - or get tangled with it peripherally, such as the peasants who appear in several scenes, simple people trying to survive hand-to-mouth in their small homes. Mother Courage has no home, she follows the war in her cart. She is at the mercy of those in power. Brecht, even back then when he wrote this masterpiece in 1939, referred to the power and lack of humanity and compassion in the multi-nationals. How business does not take sides. As does Mother Courage, she will sell to anyone whatever their faith, she is only interested in their money. During rehearsals there was an item on BBC World News about a tailor, a Kurd, who has made Saddam Hussein's suits over the past twenty years. After acquiring that customer, his business grew, as all Saddam's cronies also wanted to use his tailor. And since his trial, transmitted worldwide from the court in Iraq, the tailor has been inundated with orders from Iraq, even though the suits no longer fit the much thinner Saddam. The reporter asked the Turkish Kurd tailor if he had any qualms making money from the Kurdish oppressor. No, it is business. There are no boundaries, no morals, in business.

Mother Courage lives on the fringes of the battle field, dependent on decisions taken far away that affect where she chooses to scratch a living for herself and her children. She has no qualms, like the Kurdish tailor, about changing sides, flying a different flag to demonstrate her allegiance to whoever currently holds the power. During the play we witness her losing all three of her children, though at the end Brecht leaves the impression of her believing her eldest child, Eilif, to still be alive. We the audience know he is dead. Brecht stays on the perimeter of the battle-field, the margins where lives are ruined and lost, but where money can be made. No heroes, just people struggling to bring up their children and stay alive. Like now, this week, in Sri Lanka, as the LTTE pulls out of the recently initiated Geneva peace process. Suicide bombers have infiltrated the places of power in Colombo. In the North, as the South retaliates, thousands now are fleeing from their homes in order to stay alive. Brecht set this play in the Thirty Years War of 1618 to 1684 , this is now 2006. Nothing changes. Sadly.

As well as being affected by twenty years of civil war my cast had suffered very traumatic experiences during the tsunami. One actor told me of losing his baby nephew to the wave. Another cast member told me of seeing friends being shot dead during the on-going conflict in the North. He said it was like a movie. His friends dropped to ground as they were running away from the attackers. He didn't realise until later that they had died. Our cast knew death and destruction. They had had no ambition to act prior to the arrival of Anoja and her Abhina Foundation crew in their remote villages to lead workshops using drama as a path of healing, especially the spirit. That was last year. The most talented were plucked out of their temporary huts or tents and brought to Colombo. The Abhina Foundation provided everything: food, clothing, accommodation, pocket money. When they had days off some did not wish to go back to their villages, they said there was nothing there for them now. Their lives changed radically during these four months we spent together. Most had never been to a theatre performance, let alone acted in a play. The whole process was educational in a deep and alive way. The rehearsals pulled out of each person a sense of responsibility. They visibly matured as they found the courage to make creative choices based on Brecht's writing. Skills were taught and absorbed. After our three shows the feedback always included the comment that every word could be heard and understood. Later I learnt that there was an expectation of not being able to hear everything being spoken in the theatre. So hopefully we are setting a new trend in Sri Lanka. And I think of my cast of actors they now have found their own voices and can be heard - how many people get through life without either?

I had watched the inexperienced actors maturing daily. One actor arrived as a boy, by the end of our process he had become a man. His posture changed, his attitude to everyone became mature and adult. His family commented on how he had changed. Another man had been very depressed when I first met him. He would sit separately from the group, his face creased in a permanent frown, his mood dark. During the rehearsals his spirits lifted. He became a responsible member of the company. His ability to joke and laugh bubbled out of him And could he act! He was an absolute natural. All the cast had talent but a couple had star quality. They were so comfortable on stage, making creative choices from their own reading of their roles. From my point of view as the director this was such a relief. Slowly everyone started to bring something to each rehearsal instead of me having haul something out of them. Only one man didn't get there, his woodenness never softened, and he just did not develop an ability to work fluently with others on stage. He finally left the play when he didn't return to rehearsals for several days after visiting his family in Matara, a five hour journey from Colombo. He was very happy to leave us as his son was contesting in a the municipal elections, and he wanted to be there supporting his son, not with us putting on Brecht in Colombo. And yes, his son did get elected. A good result all round.

After these initial three performances Jeanne and I traveled to Matara where The Abhina Foundation was running a drama workshop led by Wolfgang Stange for differently abled children: deaf, blind and Downs syndrome. In Sri Lanka it is customary to touch the feet of the teacher or someone older or in authority. This something I had difficulty with, it isn't my culture, though I respect this custom for those who grow up with it. During our time together I had encouraged the actors to call me 'Sue' and not 'Madam', maybe to shake my hand or give me a hug at the end of sessions, but to not touch my feet. When we entered the hall in Matara where the group were working with the children the actors helping out at the workshop all came over and gave me a hug. None stooped to touch my feet. And watching them assisting Wolf was so heart-warming. Each actor was leading their little group with compassion and creativity - and oodles of fun. Seeing their confidence and commitment, their poise and maturity, confirmed to me that our time together had been worth all the rollercoaster emotions we had experienced together. Now here were some people with minds of their own, who have new skills and larger view of the world, who could now become artists and leaders in their own right. Joy.