R. Darren Gobert ARCADIA AND THE GHOSTS OF PERFORMANCE Arcadia is a pastoral ideal, immutably suspended in place and time; it is both timeless and, like all dreamed-of utopias, nowhere. Tom Stoppard's Arcadia, on the other hand, is located at once very specifically-Sidley Park-and also wherever this or that production builds it: on the stage of the Lyttelton at the National Theatre, London, in the play's inaugural production, but many places since including London's Haymarket (a transfer) and Duke of York's Theatre (a later revival); Paris's Comedie-Frant;aise (at first in the Theatre du Vieux-Colombier but, after a quick move, in the Salle Richelieu); and Broadway's Vivian Beaumont Theatre and (sixteen years later) its Ethel Barrymore. Of course, each of these geographically disparate Sidley Parks looks different, too; and this spatial heterogeneity is replicated and intensified temporally, as each of these productions-1993, 2009, 1998, 1995, 2011­ was required to toggle among 1809, 1812, and "the present day,"! a stage direction with ever-mutating signification. In other words, its characters may never leave Sidley Park, but Arcadia nonetheless betrays a radically unstable time and space. Spatially, it is here and there-sometimes Simultaneously, when multiple productions are running at once (as happened after the play proliferated in American regional theatres, starting with Washington D.C.'s Arena Stage in 1997). And temporally, like all performed art, it happens now and now and now, from curtain up to curtain down, with each present minute plunging immediately into an irrecuperable past. Much of the play's scholarly criticism focuses on its juxtaposition of past and present, considering Arcadia's scenes as if they were the sketches of Humphry Repton (a historical source for Mr. Noakes), which overlaid images of "before" on the "after" of his landscape designs. But sketches are visual art, and Arcadia is made for live performance. The play thus honours a different I. STOPPARD T., Arcadia, London: Faber and Faber, 2000 (reprinted and corrected version), p. 19. 147 R. Darren Gobert Arcadia and the Ghosts of Performance conception of time, one articulated by performance theory and, as it happens, ontology, to invoke Phelan again, becomes itself through disappearance 4 Only the second law of thermodynamics. Time is "a one-way street,"2 in the words traces remain: the ghosts of performance. of James Gleick, whose Chaos: Making a New Science was a key influence for Arcadia celebrates this central feature of performance more than most Stoppard. Time, like performance, evanesces minute by minute. But it exists plays by thematizing the second law of thermodynamics, which explains the perpetually in the present tense of its enactment-at least until the final impossibility of going backwards to a past that, we know, haunts and condi­ curtain or until all "end[sl up at room temperature" (104), as Valentine puts tions the present. ("You can put back the bits of glass but you can't collect up it. Stoppard highlights this phenomenon most markedly in the play's exquisite the heat of the smash. It's gone," Valentine explains, in what would also serve final scene, which precisely evidences Peggy Phelan's much-cited formulation as a definition of performance. 'That's what time means." [125-126]). And, that "[p lerformance's only life is in the present."3 A glass of wine is shared by fittingly, the play's revivals have explOited the ghosts of its own past perfor­ Hannah and Septimus, in theory separated by 199 years (in a 2011 perform­ mances. The most recent major production, for instance-which opened on ance) or more (in performances of the future), and a single Regency-dressed March 17,2011 at Broadway's Ethel Barrymore Theatre-reunited director body incarnates the speaking Augustus (Thomasina's brother) and the mute David Leveaux and set deSigner Hildegard Bechtler, pivotal contributors to Gus (Valentine's). Most eloquently, Septimus and Thomasina dance to the a very well-received production of Arcadia that premiered on June 5, 2009 music for the (modern-day) party (126). The false dichotomy of theatrical at the Duke of York's Theatre in London's West End; and thus it promised "present" and "past" collapses. to stir memories from two years earlier and to surrogate key elements of the This collapse has ramifications for the play's reception. As a text to be read, previous show's success. Amplifying the repetition-with-a-difference that Arcadia may respect a historical sequence (1809, 1812, etc.), but as perfor­ defines all performance, the 2011 production thus mimicked the canny move mance it unfolds in the present tense, following Stoppard's ordering (Scene 1, of the previous Broadway staging, which had opened at the Vivian Beaumont Scene 2, etc.). The spectator perceives the intersections between the drama's Theatre on March 30, 1995. That production featured the work of direc­ historical time periods in a manner that honours the performance's-and not tor Trevor Nunn and deSigner Mark Thompson, who were revisiting their historical-chronology. This fact accounts for the play's doubly engaging hold previous success with Arcadia at London's l'\ational Theatre, whose Lyttelton over its audiences: its stage action is at times powered by suspense (as when had housed the inaugural production, debuted on April 13, 1993. In his book the third scene ends in anticipation of Septimus's two duels, with no reprise of The Haunted Stage, Marvin Carlson theorizes how such theatrical citations this plot-point until the sixth scene) and at times by dramatic irony (as when of past performance work. By a phenomenon he calls ghosting, audiences Septimus whispers "Be careful with the flame" to Thomasina (129), after are visited by their own memories of previous productions or haunted by the the audience has already learned of her fiery death). Prospect and retrospect immaterial social memory which clings to the material elements of theatre entwine as fluidly as the waltzing partners of the play's final scene. We get (sometimes literally pieces of scenery), and which is disseminated, I would confirmation that Byron posed for Henry Fuseli in 1812 only after the event add, by reviews and word-of-mouth. These historical traces buoy the currency has been debunked by a "Fuseli expert in the Byron Society Journal" (83) of cultural memory and keep it refreshed. but before a graceful corollary arises: the "present day" assembly posing (in Actors, directors, and designers build upon such memory, as Carlson explains, Regency dress) for a photograph before the "annual dressing up" (21). We to achieve an effect "whose power lies largely in the contrast with its ghostly see the unmasking of a contemporary reviewer (Bernard) to the subject of his predecessor or predecessors."s Thus, for example, Bechtler's set of the schoolroom review (Hannah) before the parallel unmasking of Septimus to Chater, osten­ at Sidley Park in New York in 2011 might animate spectres of the near-identi­ sibly two centuries earlier. And, like Hannah, we understand Thomasina's cal set in London in 2009 (whether the actual remembrances of transatlantic 1809 desire to find the equation for "a bluebell, and if a bluebell, why not theatregoers or the social memory disseminated by historical traces in the two a rose" (49) only after understanding Valentine's present-day grouse project. intervening years). But Bechtler's imposing symmetrical set, with its flat, horizon­ Arcadia teases us by letting us he there in the nineteenth-century present for tal upstage wall, might also animate dissident spectres-from London circa 1993 a moment, a pleasure that the play's historical researchers are denied. But or New York circa 1995--{)f the stylistically similar and yet geometrically opposite the ephemerality of performance, of time, still asserts itself, and this moment set by Thompson: a large circle whose diameter joined the front row centre too evanesces-leaving us only with memories of events as irrecoverable as audience members to the upstage centre window that looked onto the Crooms' the burnt library at Alexandria that Thomasina mourns. For performance's 4. Ibid. 2. GLEICK J., Chaos: Making a New Science, New York, Penguin Books, 1987, P 257. 5. CARLSON M., The Haunted Stage: 171£ Theatre as Ivle1110ry Machine, Ann Arbor, UniverSIty of 3. PHELAN P., Unmarked: The Politics of Performance, London, Routledge, 1996, p. 146. Michigan Press, 2003, p. 99-100. 148 149 R. Darren Gobert Arcadia and the Ghosts of Peiformance (and Coverlys') garden. An even more marked contrast would have impressed itself on anyone who had remembered the previous design. Outside the upstage windows, Thompson hazily represented a country estate: "the typical English park of the time" in Stoppard's stage direction (1). But Bechtler represented "only light and air and sky" (Stoppard again), a fuzzy void that honoured the tensions of the play's title and its radical implications for time and space. Whether they had seen the 1995 Broadway production or just recalled its reception, New York theatregoers in 20 II would have been haunted too by another recycled material element: the body of Billy Crudup. It had entranced Lady Croom, Mrs. Chater, and eventually Thomasina in 1995 (when the twenty-seven-year-old actor, in a career-launching performance, had smoulde­ red as Septimus), and it returned in 201 I-slightly aged but further tightened, presumably by Crudup's intervening Hollywood career-to perform as Bernard and to flirt with Chloe, Hannah, and Hermione Coverly. 'The recycled body of an actor, already a complex bearer of semiotic messages, will almost inevitably in a new role evoke the ghost or ghosts of previous roles if they have made any impression whatever on the audience,"6 writes Carlson, who astutely stresses the importance of "the audience's knowledge of or assumptions about the Harriet Harrison (Chloe), Bill Nighy (Bernard), Felicity Kendal (Hannah) and Samuel West actor's life outside the theatre."7 In 20 II, Crudup may have been ghosted (Valentine), Lyttelton Theatre/Royal National Theatre, © Donald Cooper/Photostage, 1993.