Gettysburg: the Play. September 26, 2019

Copyright © 2019                               John F. Oyler 

September 26, 2019

Gettysburg: the Play

One advantage of reading this column is its unprecedented record of presenting exclusive scoops, reports of significant events that no other journalist is covering. This week’s scoop is a critical review of the eagerly anticipated premiere of the Noh play, “Gettysburg”, in the Charity Randall Theater on the University of Pittsburgh campus. Because of my daughter’s role in coordinating the event I have been somewhat apprehensive, apprehensive that the performance would not live up to expectations and apprehensive that it would not attract a significant audience.

Fortunately neither apprehension was realized. The performance greatly exceeded my expectations and was enthusiastically received by a large crowd. It was indeed a local theater  event that will be remembered for many years.

The play is a melding of two dramatically different cultures – traditional Japanese theater and our American obsession with the Civil War. The specific story, two comrades choosing commitment to opposing causes, over friendship, is an excellent candidate for a Noh play and could easily have been based on a Japanese tale. Playwright Elizabeth Dowd felt it was specifically appropriate for “the warrior Noh, a genre that …explores the Buddhist concept of the Asura realm where defeated warriors are condemned to fight their final battle through eternity”.

The play was performed by Theatre Nohgaku, a repertory company of English-speaking artists with a passion for classical Noh theater and a conviction that it has profound power for contemporary audiences. To help acquaint the Pittsburgh audience with some of the characteristics of this art form, they prefaced the performance of “Gettysburg” with excerpts from three other Noh plays. 

First was the “kiri”, (final dance), from the play “Hagaroma” involving a single actor and a three person chorus, all in Japanese. Next came “Cho-no-mai” , a basic instrumental piece that usually accompanies a dance in a variety of plays involving beautiful women, aristocrats, or crazed women. The final skit was an excerpt from “Blue Moon over Memphis”, an English language Noh play dealing with loneliness and set in Elvis’ Graceland mansion. The three skits served as a powerful introduction to this unfamiliar type of theater.

The play “Gettysburg” has two acts, seamlessly connected by an interlude. In the first act “the Veteran” arrives at the Gettysburg National Military Park seeking the monument showing the spot where Confederate General Lewis Armistead fell. The Veteran is a classic Noh “waki”, a traveler who is visiting a hallowed site. This waki has been traumatized by his experiences in the war in Afghanistan. 

A descendant of Union General Winfield Scott Hancock, the Veteran possesses a pocket watch which the dying Armistead had requested be given to Hancock, his (former) best friend, and which has been passed down through the generations to the Veteran. At the Battlefield Park the Veteran encounters a mysterious “Groundskeeper”, who helps him find the monument and then discusses Armistead’s last days with him. In Noh, this role is the “Shite”, the main character. 

The two men discuss the lingering effects of war. The Veteran: “Only the dead have seen the end of war”. The Groundskeeper: “No. Not even the dead”. The Groundskeeper then leaves; the Veteran sits down, his back against a fence post. Act One has ended.

The Interlude begins with the arrival of a “Docent”, a tour guide reciting her description of the events of the afternoon of July 3, 1863 – the greatest artillery barrage ever experienced in North America, Pickett’s Charge, Armistead’s piercing the Union lines and reaching the “High Water Mark of the Confederacy”, and the musket shots that felled him. She also explains the “best friend” relationship of Armistead and Hancock prior to the Civil War.

I found the Interlude to be extremely effective. Its detailed, specific “here are the facts” approach was a stark contrast to the mystical, ambiguous feel of the rest of the play. It provided an excellent way to communicate to an audience unfamiliar with the background of the battle all the necessary information to explain the context of the overall story.

I’d like to learn more about the function of the Interlude in other Noh plays; does it always fill in enough of the missing pieces to permit the audience to focus on the deeper levels implied by the primary Noh drama? The use of the Docent worked well in this particular play. Could the Chorus fulfill a similar role?

In the concluding act the Groundskeeper returns, revealed as Armistead’s ghost, in full Confederate dress uniform. He relates the story of his early career, his friendship with Hancock, the ultimate battle, and his mortal passing. He begs the Veteran for information on Hancock’s reaction to learning of his death and is disappointed to learn there is no record of it. He then leaves, doomed to an eternal battle. 

In the script for the play, the Veteran then removes the watch from his pocket, deposits it on the battlefield, gives a final salute, and leaves. During rehearsal the cast and director made an interesting change. Armistead’s black felt hat is remaining on the stage. The Veteran lays the watch beside it and then removes his beret, folds it carefully, and places it there as well. This display of respect seems more appropriate than the salute would have been. One hopes this satisfies the Ghost’s desire for forgiveness.

The troupe is still experimenting with this ending. In their second performance, at Bucknell University, the Veteran retained the watch and left only his beret. The philosophical implications of the ending are significant. I was particularly impressed with the careful way the Veteran folded his beret before placing it by Armistead’s hat, clearly echoing the respectful way a color guard folds the American flag at the burial of a veteran.

In both acts the eight-person mixed Chorus is used effectively to supplement the dialogue between the waki and the shite. This is another powerful characteristic of Noh theater, as it enables the two principal characters to communicate naturally, with no requirement that they fill in the details just to inform the audience. 

Noh theater seems to be part of the modern minimalist tradition, despite preceding it by many centuries. Compared to other theatrical forms it is sparse and “stripped to the bare essentials”. Those readers of this column who are complaining about my wordiness will be surprised that I even know the term, let alone the principles that define the concept.

The consequence of this minimalism is the removal of distractions, permitting (forcing?) the viewer to concentrate on the deeper meanings of the work. At the lowest level “Gettysburg” is a beautiful tale of the triumph of dedication to cause, over friendship. But it goes so much deeper, exploring courage, honor, duty, guilt, redemption, and reconciliation, while also questioning much broader issues – preservation of the Union, states’ rights, slavery, legacy, and even immortality. And it does this admirably, a credit to the genre and to the playwright.

I was impressed with the playwright’s incorporation of classic quotations from other writers into her script. William Faulkner’s novel “Requiem for a Nun” provides a perfect example, "The past is never dead. It's not even past." This concept is particularly appropriate for a genre in which the past and the present are regularly merged by the appearance of a ghost from earlier days, once again demonstrating the power of this unique form of expression.

I had the opportunity to witness the post-performance discussion of the play by its participants and several Noh scholars who were in its audience. Noh theater is highly formalized; adapting it to a well-documented, classic American story raises numerous questions.

The back wall of a Noh stage always has a standardized painting of a pine tree, “Yogo no matsu”, based on an actual tree at the Kasuga Shrine in Nara. For “Gettysburg” the producers chose a “witness tree” from Gettysburg as the backdrop and depicted it on three hanging scrolls (a triptych consisting of three kakejiku). Noh purists questioned this decision.

The actual tree depicted on the backdrop is a white oak at Devil’s Den that was already a mature tree in 1863; hence, a “witness tree”. The tree depiction is perfectly suitable for the play as presented. However, as a Civil War/Gettysburg purist (nit-picker?) I would have preferred a backdrop depicting the “copse of trees” that was the focal point for the Confederate assault and is very close to the spot where Armistead fell.

The traditional Noh stage is square with a gazebo-type roof supported by sturdy posts at each of its four corners. For this production the posts were represented by weathered fence posts of the kind that are everywhere in the Battlefield today. The traditional bridge entryway from the left was represented by a rustic split rail fence. Both modifications made sense to me, as they communicated well the Gettysburg environment.

Costuming was also controversial. Typically Noh actors wear boldly patterned, multi-layered, and voluminous costumes. In contrast the “Gettysburg” actors’ costumes adhered closely to authenticity. When General Armistead’s ghost appeared, he was dressed in the uniform of a Confederate general, a costume that would have satisfied the most particular re-enactor. I applaud that decision, although I respect the Noh purists who question it.

And then there is the question of music. A traditional Noh play uses two traditional percussion instruments and a flute, supplemented by an all-male chorus. Composer David Crandall chose to replace the flute with a violin and a harmonica and to utilize a mixed chorus, in an effort to create “a new musical idiom that merges Noh chant with Western harmony. This too seemed successful to this unsophisticated member of the audience.

An interesting comment from someone in the audience regarding the substitution of the violin and harmonica for the flute was that these two instruments seemed more appropriate for the development of a poignant mood. This comment was refuted by an Asian lady in the audience who considered it a cultural difference; in Japan the sound of the flute is perceived to connote poignancy. 

I found this to be amusing. My recollection of flutes in Japan in the 1950s was the sound of the flute played by the soba street vendor late at night as he attempted to sell the last of his noodles. To me the Japanese flute is a call to gastronomy rather than poignancy.

It is easy to understand the position of the Noh purists. However, in my case, these deviations from established Japanese traditions have enabled me, for the first time, to appreciate the power and effectiveness of all the rigor and nuances of the form. I may even tackle another traditional Noh play, in Japanese!

The rigor of the Noh format is supplemented by numerous clues, obvious only to native Japanese viewers and Noh scholars, which facilitate comprehension. These include masks, intricate details on the costumes, restrained physical gestures by the actors, props, and the voice of the chanting. This combination automatically eliminates distractions and permits the audience to concentrate on higher levels of meaning in the dialogue.

In summary, I am grateful for having had the opportunity to participate in this event. I hope that the repertory company is able to present this play many more times and that each audience includes someone who profits from it as much as I have.