Autodramma 2002

TEPOPOTRATOS Museum

The acronym stands for ‘TEatro POPOlare TRAdizionale TOScano’.  Monticchiello is in the process of establishing a Museum of Traditional Tuscan Popular Theatre, which will be placed in what was once the barn (granaio) of the village landlords’ estate.  The project is causing difficulties of scale, conception, and completion dates.  It is looming over, and perhaps impeding, the process of mounting this year’s autodramma; and this at a time when serious questions were in any case being asked about whether such plays can continue to be mounted in their old form, with constant reference to the old world of sharecropping peasant families.  The museum is conceived as having a ‘virtual’ interactive structure, almost a piece of theatre in its own right.  In this context, the autodramma expresses a self-reflective unease about the future of the village and of the Teatro Povero — a feeling exacerbated by the shock felt at the recent sudden death of Rino Grappi, who acted the part of a peasant patriarch (capoccia) on many previous occasions, and who incarnated for the whole community (and for the Tearo Povero’s regular audiences) the social and cultural memories on which the plays have tended to focus.

The Prologue

Back in the time of sharecropping, the estate Bailiff (Fattore) is counting in the sacks of grain from the various family poderi, the produce which must be handed over to the landlord and stored in the granaio.  The empty sacks also have to be checked out again: last time, fifty of them disappeared.  The older peasants are subservient, especially when the landlord — ‘il signor Conte’ — arrives to look things over for himself.  But a younger man, Rizieri (played by one of Rino Grappi’s sons), is arousing suspicions: he is getting himself trained and qualified in farming, as if he wants to manage his own affairs.  The landlord is deliberately scornful, stressing that those of peasant stock are incapable of doing this, and that people of his own class are indispensable to keep the system going.  The Fattore keeps exhorting Rizieri to stick to the straight and narrow (‘Riga dritto!’), and observe his subordinate place.  Rizieri speaks to the other peasants of his vision of a barn full of produce owned by the producers.  The older men understand the dream, have even shared it, but regard it as impossible.  This concept of ownership must be kept in mind, and set against other preoccupations, throughout the remainder of the drama.

The Play

For the present day, a press conference has been organized to explain about the new museum project.  It is introduced by three secretaries and the girls of the village band, and a body of Montichiellesi gathers in the background to support the occasion.  But the main speaker, a bumbling senior citizen, fails to tell us anything concrete.  He tries at least to insist that this new venture must be a point of departure for a new future, and not just a point of arrival.  But he keeps wandering off the point, distracted by casual memories of the village in past times.  (How many blacksmiths were there?  Two?  Three?  And what were their names?  Do you remember those pin-up calendars which barbers used to produce…?  Etc.)  Journalists eventually cut in from the audience with questions (which, as happens on such occasions, tend to be expressed as long-winded theses which they have prepared in advance).  ‘Is the choice of the barn as a venue significant?  What is the meaning of the stone “concretion” which will be a central feature — is the village fossilizing its past, turning itself and its theatre into a petrified museum?’  Faced with the ineptitude of those on the platform, the questions become more hostile.  ‘Why are we being told effectively nothing about the museum project?  Is it in fact interfering with the theatre, even taking its place?  What is the point, in this day and age, of going on about peasants who no longer exist?  Has Rino’s death left the Teatro Povero in crisis, with no further direction in which to go?’  No answers are forthcoming, and the press conference collapses in anger and confusion.

A few villagers remain behind, hoping to find out what is really happening.  In conversation, Fabio expresses his firm dislike of museums as such, which he finds boring and lacking in life.  The conversation develops around whether this particular museum will be livelier and more communicative.  Paolo and Gabriella think that something is needed to preserve what Monticchiello has achieved: the museum, or more theatre, or both.  Albo wants to ensure that something will convey how even in those earlier years of real poverty people still managed to enjoy themselves.  And against the fear that dynamic past activity will be frozen and fossilized, he reminds Fabio that time passes and the members of the company will pass with it: some record is better than none.  Nevertheless, the idea of being encapsulated in an unchanging ‘concretion’, whose nature is not clear, makes everyone uneasy.

As though on cue, the ‘concretion’ is mechanically unveiled behind them.  It does indeed seem to contain fragmentary symbols and echoes of the old peasant world and of past theatre productions.  These are then reinforced by the appearance of visual projections behind the stage — images of popular theatre, of the village itself, and even of people actually now present on the stage.  They realize that they themselves are being pictured and preserved, and it begins to seem true that ‘As from tomorrow the museum is us’ (‘Da domani il museo siamo noi’), as Paolo puts it.  That impression is reinforced when the three journalists from the press conference reappear briefly in the guise of museum attendants, and survey those present with their torches as though they were already exhibits.

Is there an alternative?  Is the village facing a full stop, a point of arrival, or a point of new departure?  Fabiana suddenly suggests that the granaio should be occupied by the villagers, and turned into something involving a living future — something which a museum cannot guarantee.  Perhaps they should abolish the museum altogether, and turn the building into apartments to house local people.  As a first act of protest, some people start dismantling the stage on which they stand.  Arturo expresses the current economic dilemma: property prices in Monticchiello have now risen so high that no local person can afford them, and those who possess a house either hang on to it or raise as much money as they can.  Denise wonders why society and institutions at large cannot help people solve this problem, rather than leaving it entirely to individuals.

Some new arrivals contest the dismantling of the stage, and start putting it together again.  They insist that the only way forward is the one effectively embarked upon — accept the museum concept, publicize what the village has to offer, put a price on it all, and sell it to the highest bidder.  Then the community can be reconstructed with the proceeds, in a modern style and in a more convenient location.  Two opposing camps are formed, both claiming that they want to achieve ‘life’ for the village rather than preservation in a glass case, but with totally contrary views about how to manage this.  There are screwdrivers whirring in opposite directions, both dismantling and assembling the stage.

Everything is stopped by the appearance of a woman singing a ballad, which summarizes the current situation and the dilemmas which lie behind this year’s autodramma.  It tells of how the people of Monticchiello struggled for a long time, through their theatre, to maintain a collective identity and solidarity and keep faith with their past.  But now, in a climate where everyone lives just for themselves, the harmony is broken and the company is riven by disagreements.  The ballad format gives the story an air of fantasy, in the style of the old chivalric romances, and the two opposed groups of Monticchiellesi are transformed in the narrative into two armies facing each other across the battlefield.  On stage, to express this, children appear to distribute white robes to the women in the crowd, and wooden swords and helmets to the men; so the argument about the future seems about to develop into a fairy-tale stage battle.

It is not clear where all this might lead; but Denise decides to interrupt both the ballad and the fantasy.  She hurls on to the stage, out of suitcases, assorted items of clothing from the Teatro Povero costume wardrobe, and comes down on stage to call a halt.  ‘This is where we really are — in this square!  Maybe we don’t know how to live it the way we used to.  But this is where we are.  We’re here.’

Richard Andrews