Autodramma 2003

Passarà
(‘It’ll pass’)

“One of the themes which for years has run through and obsessed the work of the Teatro Povero consists of reflecting on the village’s destiny, and on that of all small marginal and now perhaps almost insignificant communities.  Passarà, drama number 37, is no exception to this rule.

We find ourselves in 1553.  With glittering weapons and armour, the huge modern powerful army of the Emperor Charles V is preparing to lay siege to Monticchiello.  The life of this small fortified village, faithful ally of the Republic of Siena, is suddenly shaken to its roots.  War opens up tragic horizons and faces people with stark choices: to resist, or not to resist; to risk one’s life, or not, in defence of freedom.  It is a time for ultimate decisions, and for contrasting emotions: courage or cowardice, honour or survival.  War is terrifying and tragic, but it also has an ambiguous and perverse fascination; beyond and behind blood and death there are glimpses of something different, something new, presages of an approaching new and different future, the attraction of an adventure which points towards ‘modernity’.  We are in the 16^th century, but this situation is permanent and always contemporary.  […]”  (Teatro Povero publicity leaflet)

To look at it from another angle….  After a second Gulf War, Monticchiello felt impelled to investigate the sufferings and disruption of war as such, as it did also in the autodramma of 1991.  The village’s own memories of such disasters include the upheavals of World War II; but they also go right back to the time when the ‘War for Siena’ involved Monticchiello as a frontier garrison of the Sienese Republic, besieged by the troops of Florence and the Holy Roman Empire.  (The very first play performed by the Teatro Povero, in 1967, was a story based on that event.)  As the 2003 drama took shape, other local events then came also to influence the message contained in the script … .

The opening scene is a deliberate continuation of the end of last year’s show, with people sitting around in pensive mood and theatrical costumes (including fake armour and weapons) strewn round a half-dismantled stage.  Some snatches are sung from last year’s closing ballad, reminding us of the mood of uncertainty with which the 2003 autodramma ended; and Denise repeats her insistence that ‘We’re here, in this square’, and must make the most of it.  When attempts are made to clear away the theatrical débris, some ominous reminders of another wartime flash through on the sound track.

Time is distorted by the sudden appearance of a person from history — Brandano, a visionary and hermit who lived near Monticchiello in the 16^th century.  He terrifies everybody by prophesying imminent doom and destruction, and the people begin to leave the stage.  He is followed by other 16^th-century characters, who announce (using the words of a contemporary chronicle) the threatening arrival of the Imperial troops of Charles V, who have come to make war on the Republic of Siena.  They are stationing themselves and their artillery round Monticchiello, to begin the historic siege.

A family of peasants hurry in with such belongings as they are able to carry, fleeing into the walled village and away from their farm property in anticipation of the battle to come.  Like all refugees from a war in which they do not participate, they are in panic and despair.  Their long-standing almond grove by the ramparts has already been cut down, to provide visibility for the defending soldiers; they know their house will be burned down by the besiegers; they have had to leave their animals behind, and they cannot see how they are going to feed themselves.  All their accumulated work on their land, over years and even generations, is going to be destroyed.  There is tension between the generations: the mother takes refuge in prayer and appeals to Providence, and the older people generally fall back on the refrain ‘It’ll pass’ (‘passarà’, in dialect) — this crisis will end, as eveything does, one way or another.  But the son is cynical and aggressive, seeing no source of hope for them there or anywhere else.  His young sister, despatched to fetch water, returns frightened, because she cannot cope with the mass of people at the well all trying to do the same: so the family all go to help her.

Their place on stage is taken up by village officials, together with the Commissioner representing the Republic of Siena.  They are faced with hard decisions.  The Imperial army is overwhelmingly strong, and the garrison weak: they try with some difficulty to calculate how many people are inside the walls and whether existing provisions of food and availability of water will be enough to sustain them.  Already far too many people have taken refuge inside.  The problem is made clear by a peasant who reports on the huge size of the army that he observed from hiding.  The officials are forced to the conclusion that a number of people taking refuge will have to be turned out again, to fend for themselves: the reporting peasant himself will be escorted out to the nearest wood, despite his desperate protests.  The strategy focuses particularly on a small group of ‘crazy’ refugees who entered the village ten years ago, fleeing from another war: these so-called ‘Knights of the Loose Screw’ have no families, and will be easier to get rid of.  No one likes the idea, and the humanitarian arguments against it are fully explored; but justice has to be subordinated to necessity.  [The reference here is to the ‘casa-famiglia’ in Monticchiello, which has provided care in the community for mental patients since 1989: the ‘Knights of the Loose Screw’ was the title of the autodramma which dealt with its inauguration.  Now, in 2003, the house is to be closed down as part of a scheme of rationalization; and Monticchiello sees its patients as victims of an ‘expulsion’ at the hands of outside forces.]  The order is given: ‘Proceed to the expulsion immediately’.  (Such measures are confirmed by historical documents; and indeed similar brutal expulsions took place within the besieged city of Siena itself, later in the same war.)

A public meeting is called, in which various people speak for the alternative solutions available: to abandon the village altogether, to surrender and accept the conquerors’ conditions, to resist and probably die.  None of the choices seems very acceptable, all equally likely to end in death or suffering for the majority.  An eccentric referred to as ‘Bastardo’ mocks the various proposals, and proposes a satirical solution: ‘Let’s surrender the castle keys to the besiegers, but do it dressed in mourning’.  He compares himself with the ‘knights of the loose screw’ who are going to be expelled.  This proposal raises protests from some, in the name of humanity; and one of the proposed victims, Emilia, living in a world of her own, gives a confused nonsensical speech which arouses many people’s pity.  Is absolute obedience to the Commissioner’s decree going to prevail over common humanity and minority rights?  However, the news that the siege is about to begin makes the meeting break up in panic, and the people are left helplessly contemplating the arrival of the enemy.

In the crowd a young couple converse as they stare out at the invaders.  She wants to marry him as soon as possible.  He is just as fascinated by the outsiders as he is frightened of them: they bring him the message that there is a whole world outside, which might be better or worse than the village but which will certainly be different.  He is tempted to leave with her and discover this new world; she is more inclined to stay with the place and the people she knows.

Around these two, snatches of conversation express widely different reactions, hopes, and fears; though it seems that the farm belonging to the peasant family has definitely been set on fire.  As it becomes clearer that the invaders (whoever they are) are truly at the gates, the company breaks up in confusion.  Some men return with makeshift weapons to offer a gesture of defence.  A group of women gather to prepare bandages for the wounded: they take refuge in prayer, and one of them collapses in exclamations of despair at the injustice of what might happen to them.  Crazy Emilia repeats her previous nonsensical speech, while at the same time beating with stones on the ground.

In fact it is no longer clear whether we are really dealing with the siege of 1553, or with a timeless symbolic ‘invasion’ of the village by a larger world.  The people divest themselves of their 16^th-century costumes.  Some of the women begin to exchange meaningless phrases used by Emilia, as though the world of insanity is beginning to make sense.  They all drape themselves in black mourning veils, the keys of the castle are brought to the Commissioner, and they process out to surrender — it seems that the mockingly defiant proposal of ‘Bastardo’ has been accepted after all.

But in a final twist, some children appear to play on the empty stage in front of the ballad singer: they look curiously at the distant procession of mourning, and wonder whether it is a real funeral or some kind of game.

Richard Andrews