At the beginning of the nineteenth century the major American theatre companies in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston relied little on the use of traveling stars. The theatres played a nightly change of bill, three or four nights each week; and the plays were performed almost entirely by the resident stock company. However, by the 1830's the regular use of traveling stars was firmly established. In later years the stars and the starring system were often blamed for the decline of the stock companies, the failure of theatrical managements, and a general deterioration of the theatre.

Henry Irving was by far the most celebrated actor during the last quarter of the nineteenth century. He had few rivals, and literally none in Britain. But I believe no other actor has caused such extensive and continual controversy regarding his genius. From the beginning of his triumph, shortly after he joined the company of Hezekiah Bateman at the Lyceum in 1871, until long after his death in 1905, his devotees claimed for him a place among the greats of the past: Alleyn, Burbage, Betterton, Garrick, Edmund Kean; indeed, the claim is still occasionally heard today. No less a man of the theater than Gordon Craig wrote, twenty-five years after Irving's death, “I have never known of, or seen, or heard of, a greater actor than was Irving.” Certainly Irving made the Lyceum the most celebrated theater in England, and not even his severest critics denied his status as the head of his profession. He was the first actor in history to be knighted, and he was given burial in Westminster Abbey. And yet, the best critics of the day were from the first almost unanimous in their condemnation of his acting, and, after he took over the management of the Lyceum in 1878, of his productions. With none of the other “greats” of the stage was there any such distinguished chorus of dissent. A glance at the list of parts Irving performed and plays he produced reveals that he did nothing—absolutely nothing—for contemporary drama.

The Union of the Companies that had brought the theatre of London under the one roof of Drury Lane in 1682 degenerated under the mis-management of Christopher Rich into open rebellion in 1695. In that year Betterton and a group of followers abandoned the Theatre Royal to set up a rival company in the old theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields. This new group managed quite successfully for several seasons, but a decline soon set in, partly due to the shabby old theatre itself, but mainly due to internal bickering and poor management. By the first years of the eighteenth century the company was in such straits that a revitalization was understood to be necessary if the players were to survive.

Quiara Alegría Hudes (Fig. 1) won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama for Water by the Spoonful, the second play in her “Elliot” trilogy. She is a two-time Pulitzer Prize finalist for Elliot, A Soldier's Fugue, the first play in the trilogy, and the musical In the Heights. Her plays include The Happiest Song Plays Last (which ends the trilogy), 26 Miles, Yemaya's Belly, and Daphne's Dive. In 2012, the Los Angeles Times praised Hudes as “one of the most poetic, socially clued-in young voices in the American theater.” In this engaging interview with Editor Harvey Young, Quiara Alegría Hudes talks about the role of music in her plays, socioeconomic isolation in cities, the inspiration for some of her plays, and the importance of asking the deep question.

This history of the American Society for Theatre Research is written on the occasion of its fiftieth anniversary and focuses chiefly on the years from 1981 to 2006, but with an overview of ASTR's first twenty-five years as a necessary prologue. A scholarly organization changing in response to complex cultural dynamics, ASTR is very different today from the society of 1956 and the society of 1981.

My understanding of the avant-garde—and the state of avant-garde studies—was cast in stark relief by the social, political, military, and legal events that coincided with the period during which I was revising the manuscript of my first book. What those events were is no surprise: 9/11 and its various aftermaths. Many of this journal's readers have experienced a similar shift in perspective on their work—be it ethical, epistemological, or archival—leading them to reassess both their scholarly subjects and their methods in the face of what may well be a profound reconfiguration of power and knowledge.

Special Collections & Archives contains several important named theatre collections. Notable collections include the Arena Stage Collection, the Robert Breen / American National Theater and Academy Collection, and the Theater of the Thirties Collection. Used by researchers all over the world, these collections contain production notebooks, playbills, playscripts, photographs, scrapbooks, correspondence, and news clippings.

Performing Democracy sets out to explain the energetic growth of diverse community-based theatre, to explore its various approaches and challenges, and to promote its sustainability. The impressive range and sheer number of projects discussed in these twenty-three essays make the book a valuable introduction to what editors Susan C. Haedicke and Tobin Nellhaus see as an international movement to “involve, mobilize, and politicize” audiences (1).

How much is a theatrical design idea worth? Alternatively, how much should a professional theatre designer be paid? For many working today, standard minimum contract scales and “industry standards” help guide fee negotiations. In the United States, United Scenic Artists (USA) Local 829 was among the first bodies to align theatrical design with organized labor activism, and as such, its standard minimum contract for design is an object lesson in the value of artistic labor. These scales were developed nearly a century ago, and were the product of hard negotiation and legal action taken by US-American designers in the interwar period. Lee Simonson and Jo Mielziner are best remembered for their revolutionary use of space, scenery, and lighting, yet their professional advocacy within USA Local 829 provided the basis for today's standard design fees. Further, their defense of fair payment during the Depression and war years preserved scenic design as a form of labor analogous to other backstage crafts and trades.

One of the commonly propagated and accepted myths in 19th century theatre history relates to the origin of the box set. The impulse to name Madame Vestris and the first production of Dion Boucicault's London Assurance originates from broadly disseminated misinformation. Two contemporary American theatre historians have written extensively and with seeming authority on the origins of the box set: John H. McDowell and Orville K. Larson. McDowell in his article, “Historical Development of the Box Set,” established the basis for the wide acceptance of the Madame Vestris myth and is commonly quoted in support of that argument.

This article reflects my current research, exploring the complex interactions between the discursive practices of theatre and performance on the one hand and philosophy on the other. Instead of beginning by trying to formulate the general principles for such an interaction, I examine actual encounters: direct face-to-face meetings and actual dialogues between philosophers and representatives of the Thespian professions. The earliest recorded encounter of this kind is in Plato's Symposium depicting the banquet in Agathon's house, celebrating his victory at the Lenaean theatre festival in 416 b.c., during which the celebrants spent the whole night eulogizing Eros. On this occasion Socrates and the two playwrights, Agathon and Aristophanes, interacted directly on several occasions.

Anyone old enough to remember the wailing sirens and portentous footsteps of Gangbusters or the clattering consequences of opening the closet door belonging to Fibber McGee and Molly probably has a soft spot for the radio dramas of the past. Those who never experienced the medium that George Bernard Shaw called “the invisible play” may lack a context. Admitting that you remember those nostalgic broadcasts dates you. In a world of HDTV, GPS, home THX, and digital imaging by cell phone, what good is radio?