On stage, in the wings, in the audience and outside: these are the spaces ethnologists and anthropologists traverse in the practice of fieldwork and writing—metaphorically, as participant-observers within a given community, or literally, if they study theatre forms.

Immersion in another community or society (with the consequent blurring of exoticism), purposeful distancing in time and space (rivalling with empathy generated by field presence), systematic investigation of selected themes, and constant striving to have theory inform data and perceptions of the objects of study—all these aspects of the anthropological method can be applied, in a given society, just as effectively to theatre as to those institutions (matrimonial, political, economic or religious, among others) usually studied by ethnologists. A circumscribed object, but one with complex implications for individuals and groups, theatre is a sophisticated, often useful means of access to understanding society, or at least a key to reading the combinatory diversity of a community's functioning, its history, its material production and technology, its cognitive orientations. Building on the necessary contextual analyses revealing the social, political and economic underpinnings of theatre forms, developing the concept of an expressive or aesthetic system in which theatre is but one element interacting with other artistic productions or practices within a given society, and testing the concept through intercultural comparison, the horizons for theatre anthropology are broad enough.

Attempting a more modest beginning, this special issue seeks to portray a special moment, a meeting between anthropology and theatre in a fertile, though underdeveloped field of study, with contributions from both anthropologists and theatre scholars.

Hélène Bouvier (HB): How did you first become interested in theatre?

James L. Peacock (JLP): Most interesting to me, though perhaps less interesting to anyone else, is the question, ‘Why should I, the son of an engineer (one feature shared with Victor Turner whose mother, however, was an actress), study theatre?’ I had no background in it, and I had hardly even seen a play before I went to Java. I think I know a source. It is during World War II, my father is preparing to invade Normandy, while my mother, my sister and I have moved in with her widowed mother in rural Alabama. My mother's sister, a concert pianist, and her sister's son had also moved in because the sister's husband, also a pianist, was also overseas. This boy and my sister play act. I don't. I make things. Every morning I put on my shorts (nothing else, no shoes, no shirt) at the crack of dawn and go outside to play in the yard, especially the ‘sand pile’ where I construct forts and tunnels. (The one dream I remember is of finding a soldier I lost in the sand: my absent father, perhaps?) While my cousin and sister play, sometimes I watch. We grow up. He goes to New York and becomes an actor and musician. I become an anthropologist.

I have never acted in a play (except a pornographic skit in my college fraternity, in which I was a great success among the ‘brothers'), but I have always stared at people (today, women, but when I was growing up, men), and I would draw them, not while looking at them but later, alone—as teenager cartoon fantasies, like the Phantom or Superman, except more human.

In 1973, the poet and essayist Goenawan Mohamad wrote a lengthy and incisive defence of contemporary Indonesian theatre (that is to say, modern, Indonesian language plays of roughly the mid-60s onwards) against the complaints of its critics.1 The lack of dramatic and psychological development noted in many plays, the sketchy scripts, bizarre dramatic happenings, showy settings and inappropriate mixture of comic and serious elements—all of these purported ‘faults’, in Goenawan's view, were associated with the great strength of contemporary Indonesian theatre, its concern with the process of performance, and with intimate communication with its audiences. Previous playwrights had written worthy, wordy ‘schoolroom’ dramas, and members of a small European-educated élite performed them, for an amorphous, universal ‘general public’. Their view that the current minority position of modern theatre would strengthen as Indonesian society became better educated, at the same time revealed a sense of distance between plays and their public. But for the new breed of playwrights, people like Rendra, Arifin Noer and Putu Wijaya, who directed and performed in their own plays and were fully involved in the totality of production,2 there was no such gap. Spectacle and humour, colloquial, everyday language, and the improvisatory possibilities of sketchy scripts, served to entertain, engage and involve audiences drawn from a particular sector of society. Theatre audiences were identified by Goenawan as overwhelmingly young, educated but not used to reading. They had been brought up in a ‘post-literate’ culture of radio, television and film, influenced in some ways, certainly in its group-oriented entertainment habits, by the ‘pre-literate’ aural-oral regional cultures of their parents.

Theatre studies and anthropology have much to say to each other. Both are disciplines which describe a culture's practices through its performances, whether on stage or in everday life. Both seek to explain the significance of performative choices in their reflection, refraction, and revision of cultural values. This essay participates in the conversations between theatre and anthropology through critical pedagogical theory. It looks at a theatrical performance—a production of Etta Jenks at the University Theatre at the University of Wisconsin-Madison in February 1992—in anthropological terms, to consider the relationships between theatre, the university, and the production of politicized, educated, emancipated spectators.

My first assumption is methodological—that theatre studies can greatly benefit from a consideration of anthropological tools like ethnography, and from anthropological habits like a vigilant articulation of the participant-observer stance which theatre criticism masks. My second assumption is theoretical—that theatre spectators are active producers of meaning, and that reception studies offers a significant and rich area for theatre studies. An anthropological perspective enables me to choose a local site—a university theatre—which theatre studies tends to relegate to a dismissable amateurism, and to work with the perceptions of introductory level students—which scholarly theatre studies all but ignores. My third assumption is pedagogical—that critical literacy must now move beyond print literacy.1

James Clifford reminds us that all ethnographic accounts are created by ‘powerful “lies” of exclusion and rhetoric'.2 In my attempt, here, to fashion a persuasive text which invites the reader in, I knowingly rewrite the students’ responses to Etta Jenks in my analysis of their reception.

The starting point for this brief study (which is a summary of several others) is simple: it is not so much in the location of the theatrical site as in the whole of the constructed spaces in which it is situated, that we glean what few insights there are into the evolution of theatrical space.

In Greece, in Rome, then in the Western world of the late Middle Ages, the primary dramatic site has always been an urban one, so that we could assert, paradoxically, that the question of the origins of the theatrical space is less a matter for theatre studies than an aspect of town planning!

Thus if we are to analyse the theatre we must analyse the town. In any case, the two poles between which the destiny of dramatized spaces is played out can be seen in the morphological unit which dominates the history both of the forms of the urban environment and the individual habitat and of the evolution of the theatrical space itself. In effect there exists an original space, a sort of matrix at the heart of the lived space of the urban/residential area, within which human enterprise includes, from the outset, activity which is generally dramatic: the hall-courtyaid-square,1 a complex of spaces which are identical in morphological, functional and symbolic terms and which is differentiated only by the built environment within which it is inscribed, provides a framework within which are carried out all the collective activities connected with the habitat and the urban area.

20 October 1986: the Rukun Kemala troupe is hired to perform at a wedding in Kalianget Barat, its home village from 8.30 p.m. to 2.30 a.m. In a courtyard between two houses, the stage is erected on poles, with a floor of woven bamboo panelling; one whole side will collapse in the middle of the night under the strain of the actors' entrances and exits, without so much as the performance being interrupted. The gamelan orchestra begins to play at 8.30 p.m. exactly, as contracted. Fifty minutes later, slides are projected onto the lowered stage curtain depicting names of the head and leading members of the troupe together with words of welcome to the audience. At 9.30 p.m. the curtain is raised for the first time to reveal a ten-minute dance number: four female dancers appear before the monumental split gates of a Hindu kingdom bathed in red light and strobe effects with Catherine wheels whirling. Next, photos of clowns are projected while the public is harangued to take an active participation in the forthcoming elections, family planning and family education organizations. The curtain rises again to reveal a painted backdrop depicting a street scene in an imaginary modern town, to accompany the clown programme which lasts forty minutes. A final set of slides, ten minutes long, this time shows the actors dressed in the costumes of the characters they are about to portray, with a brief introduction to the story by the scriptwriter. At 10.30 p.m. the curtain opens on the first scene of the play which will last four hours without an interval: ‘Black Mask, in the Story of Yuliati Awaiting Happiness’ (Topeng Hitam dalam kisah Yuliati menanti bahagia).

In our article ‘Neglected evidence about the actor Michel Baron (1653–1729)’, which appeared in Theatre Research International, 18, 3 (1993), 173–76, we quoted a letter from Madame to Baron Von Hading (foot of p. 174). Madame refers to the actress Mlle Desmares, a prominent member of the French company in the early eighteenth century. The first part of the quotation was as follows:

He did not think of it after the death of the king, but la Desmares [an actress of the Comédie-Française], perceiving that no one was going to see them any more, came to the conclusion that they would fare better if Baron were back in the company, and she persuaded him.

The king died in 1715, and the incident described occurred in, or shortly before, 1720.

After the proofs were corrected and returned, an error crept in which dismayed us greatly. Our parenthesis, ‘an actress of the Comedie-Française’ was replaced by another: ‘better known as la Champmesle’. We did not sanction this amendment, and it is wrong. So much so, in fact, that it looks like carelessness and ignorance on our part, the apprehension of which may tell against acceptance of our findings and objective critical appreciation of our conclusions. We are therefore most grateful to the Editor for allowing us to insert this correction, which we believe to be important.

The actress known as La Champmeslé, Marie Desmares, died in 1698. She was the wife of the actor Champmeslé, whose name she took, and she was probably the greatest actress of her generation; she was also the celebrated mistress of Racine.