While modern rational thinking has developed complex methods for calculating and managing risk, the better forecast and prepare for the future, certain modern performance practices have embraced the element of risk. In this article I interrogate this phenomenon, offering a distinction between risk-taking in modernist and postmodernist performance. Whereas in the former risk serves to transcend the representational aspects of performance, in the later it is banalized, revealing its inevitability in both performance situations and everyday life.

In my book Philosophers and Thespians: Thinking Performance (Stanford University Press, 2010) I analysed four encounters between philosophers and theatre people – the thespians in the title – as a point of departure for presenting a typology based on the exploration of the complex border landscapes between the discursive practices of philosophy and performance/theatre. In this article, I take a closer look at one of these encounters, exploring the narrative strategies of Bertolt Brecht and Walter Benjamin, as well as Franz Kafka, suggesting that they can be analysed on the basis of the games of chess and go. The differences between the rules of these two board games serve as the basis for a dramaturgical analysis where different aspects of performance/theatre and philosophy (practice and theory) are brought together. This hermeneutic ‘approach’ also reflects the basic pedagogic situation of studying and researching theatre and performance as well as many of the ethical concerns raised by our involvement with these artistic practices, along with those of philosophy.

Actors used the hands much more in the eighteenth century than is customary today. In this part we present general rules which were designed to ensure that the hands were used both elegantly and expressively. Later sections will deal with the use of the hands to externalize a particular passion being represented, such as fear, love and so on.

The Über-Marions notebooks were written by Gordon Craig during 1905 and 1906. The main interest of these unpublished manuscripts lies in the rich information on the über-marionette which, oddly enough, Craig initially thought to ‘find’ or ‘collect’, and the project for a theatre in Dresden. Many entries give a new insight into these subjects while other notes emphasize the direct link between the über-marionette and Craig's theory as it was formulated in The Art of the Theatre (1905), and in ‘The Artists of the Theatre of the Future’ (1907) and ‘The Actor and the Über-marionette’ (1907).

In preparing this paper I wrote, among others, to David Lees, Edward Gordon Craig's photographer son. In reply to my request for help, he wrote: ‘EGG and his schoob:[the final consonant underlined in red] this plural leaves me a bit surprised, for I have always known of just one school, that being “The School for the Art of the Theatre” started at the Arena Goldoni in Florence, on March 1913.’ He goes on to refer to A Living Theatre which is primarily concerned with the School in Florence. He concludes the paragraph by writing: ‘As for the schools – in the plural – as I said in the beginning, I know of no other school beside this one’.

That a large number of Elizabethan plays are the product of dramatic collaboration is well known. Just how this process of ‘collective creation’ operated in the public theatres, however, remains something of a mystery. Attempts to explore the mechanics of collaborative play writing have been of different kinds. The most common have been studies of published plays undertaken in the hope that characteristics of style would reveal the shares of contributing dramatists. In spite of valuable work (notably by Cyrus Hoy), however, too many of these studies suffer from the weaknesses described by Samuel Schoenbaum in his analysis of the limitations of conclusions about authorship based on internal evidence. As a consequence, assertions about patterns of collaboration based on the identification of an author's stylistic characteristics, such as those made in the early 19205 by Dugdale Sykes, are not as fashionable as they once were.

It is not surprising that the ancient republics allowed the condemned to escape death through flight. Exile did not seem to them a softer sentence than death. Roman jurisprudence also called it capital punishment.

Les œuvres des dramaturges contemporains canadiens-anglais, Margaret Hollingsworth, George F. Walker, Judith Thompson et Beverley Simons entre dans la catégorie de la «dramaturgie de la perversité». La «perversité» est, selon Knowles, un principe structurel dialogique qui remet en question les concepts aristotéliciens du renversement et de la reconnaissance, aussi bien que les notions modernistes de pureté, de clarté et de cohérence. Est pervers ce qui fait éclater les concepts traditionnels tels que la convergence et l'unité, et toutes les stratégies théâtrales mises en œuvre pour fragmenter la perception du spectateur, pour l'obliger à repenser sa position vis-à-vis de l'objet spectaculaire, c'est-à-dire, à se repenserr. Knowles se propose, done, d'analyser ici les pièces les plus représentatives de ce courant choisies parmi les œuvres des quatre auteurs cités.

During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the orientation of buildings in ancient Greece received a great deal of scholarly attention; since that time, it has fallen from favour. In 1939, William Bell Dinsmoor made an ‘attempt to illustrate a method of obtaining more accurate information concerning the dates of Greek temples and certain details of religious practice through the application of an outmoded theory, that of “orientation”’. When this complex study, replete with trigonometric calculations of seasonal star positions met with little favour, orientation became a dead issue for several decades, only reviving in 1962 with the publication of Vincent Scully's The Earth, The Temple, and the Gods (New Haven: Yale University Press).

One of the most revealing traits of the Nicaraguan revolution is manifested in the profound changes registered in the realm of culture. If Sandinista ideology focuses not on the fate of an élite but on that of the vast majority of the Nicaraguan people, it follows that for people to become the true subject of politics they have to become the true subject of culture as well. The popular Sandinista victory of July 1979 brought about the immediate establishment of the Ministry of Culture (the first in the country's history). Its goal: to give shape and nourishment to the popular effervescence and creative energies awakened by the long struggle. Work began with the organization of theatre, poetry, music and dance workshops throughout all sectors of the Nicaraguan society (army and police included), with the inauguration of Centres of Popular Culture in all regions, the creation of cultural committees in all grass-roots organizations, the training of ‘cultural promoters’ to work with regional governments, and with the task of rescuing and revitalizing popular cultural traditions.

The present paper will explore some of the re-enactments of the so called ‘Arab Spring’ in selected performances from Egypt, Tunisia and Morocco, with their seamless connections between fiction and non-fiction. Among the concepts examined are Habermas's ‘public sphere’, Deleuze's ‘revolutionary-becoming’ and Rebecca Schneider's ‘re-enactment’. The remediation of revolution in performance reveals the material conditions and geographic locations of social unrest. Significantly enough, artistic re-enactments of the revolution have already been inflicted by ‘techno-imagination’, whereby most of us have become either spectators or citizen journalists of public dissidence, and yet we have been connected to the unprecedented upheaval by watching mediated images or implementing and re-editing them for distanced audiences.

There are very few texts written from the viewpoint of the Catholics in Ireland in the 1640s; among these, A Tragedy of Cold's Furie, OR, Lirenda's Miserie (Kilkenny, 1646), a five-act verse tragedy or tragicomedy, is striking in being a specifically literary, as well as a political, work.

Almost nothing is known about Henry Burkhead, whose name appears in various forms and who has been mistakenly conflated with another similar-sounding writer. Anthony a Wood rather slightingly calls Burkhead ‘no Academian, only a Merchant of Bristol’, and Langbaine also notices Cola's Furie, repeating this description and saying the play was never performed. A search of the Bristol city archives has failed to discover any mention of him, which may indicate that he resided in Kilkenny and traded with Bristol; various forms of his surname do, however, occur there, and it seems to be an English, rather than an Irish or ‘Old English’ one. The authors of the three sets of fulsome commendatory verses printed with the play – William Smyth, Paul Aylward, and Daniel Breede – seem even more obscure than Burkhead himself; all that is clear biographically is Burkhead's strong support of the Catholic cause, inferred from the play itself. As for its printing, it is not known whether the Jesuit press which then existed in the city was used, or that run by the Supreme Council of the Catholic confederates; it is highly unusual in being a literary text amidst the political, religious and administrative documents, pamphlets and proclamations which make up the remainder of the output from Kilkenny.

Intercultural processes have become a major concern of European theatre people and critics since the 1970s. They serve to bolster the postmodern discourse marked by endlessly alterable and changing cultures and, therefore, by essentially elusive cultural identities. But the aggressive global expansion of audiovisually mediated performing culture, primarily American television, film, and video, is being viewed as a menace to received cultural identities. There are fears that European cultures are being submerged and disfigured by an ever increasing inundation of overpowering American cultural productions and may even disintegrate altogether.

A decade ago the analysis of the structure of the plays performed by the Elizabethan, Jacobean, and Caroline professional theatre companies, in order to discover patterns of doubling of the roles, seemed to hold considerable promise for further inquiry. D. M. Bevington's pioneering From ‘Mankind’ to Marlowe and W. A. Ringler's article ‘The Number of Actors in Shakespeare's Early Plays’ offered direct evidence and tools for structural analysis, and were followed by important studies by Scott McMillin, Irwin Smith, and others. Nevertheless, since then interest in this area – and particularly in doubling on the seventeenth-century stage – seems to have declined. The assumption made explicitly by Bevington and implied by most other commentators has been that as the professional acting companies expanded their resources, found patrons, and increased the number of their liveried personnel, the frenetic doubling of the Tudor era became unnecessary. Apart from some unhurried doubling of very minor characters and extras, they believe this practice virtually disappeared from the Jacobean stage, rendering further investigation unnecessary. The small amount of direct evidence to the contrary, first noted by W. J. Lawrence in 1927, has been analysed as an interesting but aberrant phenomenon; occasional atavistic survivals in a more opulent and refined age whose taste was turning towards ‘realism’ in acting and production methods.

This article is an adapted version of a text originally published in Turkish in the historical materialist journal PRAKSIS in 2016, and translated into English by the author.1 It focuses on performative protest acts and the role of the performing artist in Turkey in the context of the Gezi Park uprisings of 2013. The article examines how some of Gezi's performative protest actions evidence a larger cultural transformation, of which we can see a continuation in new theatre playtexts.

Of all the various features associated with the kabuki theatre, few are as well known outside Japan as the hanamichi, the raised runway joined to the stage at the actors' right and proceeding through the auditorium to a curtained room at the rear. Used for major exits and entrances, it is also the site of important acting sequences. Because the hanamichi brings actors and spectators into close proximity without abandoning a stage-auditorium relationship similar to that in Western proscenium theatres, it has been of considerable interest to international theatre artists. Although its aesthetic and practical uses have been described in various Western sources, little attention has been paid to the hanamichi's origins. Among Japanese scholars, there is nearly as much contention surrounding this question as there is among Western scholars regarding the origins of the proscenium arch, the Elizabethan theatre's alcove, or the classical Greek theatre's use of a raised stage.

Stage speech, like the other techniques of acting, such as gesture, movement, and the interpretation of character, has always been subject to the theatrical conventions of an age. The conventions, while superficially based on current fads and fashions are on a more profound level the result of an underlying creative method reflecting commonly held views about the correct or ‘natural’ methods of imitating nature on the stage. Nothing demonstrates the enormous changes in stage speech over the last hundred years more vividly than the few existing recordings made by actors who had most of their training and their careers in the mid-to-late nineteenth century.