In the commentary which accompanies the recently published book of photographs of Dionysus in 69. Richard Schechner writes: “Most important by far is our struggle to expose our feelings, to reveal ourselves, to be open, receptive, vulnerable; to use impulse and feeling in our work. And to believe that excellence in art is, ultimately, a function of wholeness as a human being.” Although the members of the company have mostly changed from those of the earlier production, there isn't any reason to suppose that the Performance Group doesn't want its new work, Commune, to exemplify the same qualities and live in the same spirit.

For the most part it does live this way, or at least tries to mount such an existence. And so it directly raises all the questions which would only be present in a negative form if the wofk were cold, inhibited, aloof, and protected—the qualities, presumably, of the kind of formal, institutionalized theatre the Performance Group has set itself to oppose.

At the beginning of Peter Brook's production of A Midsummer-Night's Dream the entire cast, caped like artists of the flying trapeze, stride to the crash of snare drums through the double doors of their canvas-white trapeze-hung set, smile professionally, mindful of later heights and daring, gesture a grand if impersonal welcome and are off into the wings and about their work. This Dream is to be a circus—that best of all dreams for children of a certain age.

The play begins. As at the circus the only color is the costume—the actor is boldly outlined against the white, looking at times like an oleo, at times like a Kate Greenaway illustration, at times Chinese. Musicians, prop men are visible at the sides, those actors not working look on from above with a professional interest.