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Director's Note:

In December of 1896, over a dress rehearsal and opening night performance, Alfred Jarry's lead character Ubu walked onto a stage, declared "Merdre "(with the extra 'r"), and started riots that would reverberate through the audience, the streets of Paris, and eventually through all of theatre.  Not by reaching new heights of literature, or art, or spirituality, but through the very repudiation and tearing down of those things and destruction of previously held conventions and theatrical mores.

And for some great poop jokes.

So why Ubu Roi and why now?  The reasons are too numerous to mention, not the least of which that by doing our own translation and adaptation, Ubu worked exceedingly well for the feeling of "play" we attempt to bring to our productions.  It is a wonderful stupid piece not often done (and after Oedipus and Stripped we needed a little silliness in our lives), it revels in its own idiocy and simplicity and plot-less-ness, but it also makes a commentary on all "the ugliness in the world".  If you look around us no matter what your political affiliation - the world is right now not a very pretty place.

But a child's political or social commentary does not come with great satire and provocative wit - it comes by wiggling some ears and farting.  And isn't that as true as any pundit's diatribes?

Instead of merely returning to the stage of 1896, we return to the schoolyard of 1888 - where a stick was a sword, a sign was a costume and death was a dangling tongue.  Where poop and fart jokes held sway, and nothing had to make sense in the sake of fun and childishness and the idiocy of the moment.  "Don't touch the ground, the alligators will eat you!" would ring out over many a playground, and a monkey bars could become a rocket ship, a cave, a pirate vessel sailing the waters.  Ahhh, if only we all realized we were all actors back then, we just did not know it!

We are proud to open on September 8 th , what would have been the 133 rd birthday of Alfred Jarry - our own "Duke of Lithuania" (Cue Kazoo Sounds - Dooo Doo Doo DOOOO!) Thank you - sit back, relax, and please do not think.  And feel free to make very loud juicy fart sounds.  Maybe the politicians will hear them.

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The Legend of Ubu:

Long ago, after Pere and Mere Ubu's glorious retreat from Poland and subsequent travels, the pair decided it was time to burnish their legacy.  Their first attempts ended poorly:  The Pere Ubu Library in Krakow was looted by peasants who used the 3 books (all pop-ups) for toilet paper; the enormous bronze statue of Ubu collapsed under the weight of 200 tons of pigeon shit; and don't even ask about EuroUbuland. 

Deciding that the best tribute to their magnificence would be 1) highly mobile, and 2) extremely inexpensive, Mere and Pere were naturally drawn to the last resort of scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells everywhere -- the theatre.  First they held auditions, inviting all of the greatest actors in the civilized world.  None of them showed up.

Despairing for their theatrical ambitions, while vacationing (hiding out) in an obscure village in the southwest of northeastern Europe , Mere and Pere stumbled across a troupe of seasoned actors.  Well, not a "troupe" exactly, more like a loosely affiliated collective -- that is to say, a street gang.  And not quite"seasoned", but more a gaggle of juvenile delinquents, ranging in age from 9 to 15.  And not precisely "actors", but the children who had been banned from every other schoolyard activity (the football team, the baseball team, the spitball team, the debate team, the tiddly-wink team, the tick-tack-toe for the blind junior varsity league, etc) for their perverse and pervasive incompetence.  These outcast children had banded together to form a group that resembled a cross between Mummenschanz and the Lord of the Flies.  Don't get me wrong -- the tykes had moxie, gumption, and sprit in spades.  They just lacked focus.  Or technique.  Or even the slightest glimmer of talent.  Or, in some cases, basic toilet training.

Naturally, Pere and Mere instantly recognized these children, boldly presenting their sandbox epics to an audience of none, as kindred spirits.  They were endlessly creative, they were completely ignorant of basic tenants of theatrical taste (or social decorum), and they worked cheap.  Pere and Mere kidnapped the lot, promising great wealth and all the food they could eat -- neither of which has materialized yet, but Mere and Pere keep promising "tomorrow", and they wouldn't lie, right?  Not surprisingly, when Pere absconded with the youngsters (parading them out of town like a bloated Pied Piper) most of their parents breathed a sigh of relief, and some broke open the good liquor to celebrate -- the few who objected were swiftly murdered by Ubu.

Now, as I said, this was all many many years ago, yet Pere and Mere continue to tour the world to this day, their troupe endlessly acting out their heroic story for the ungrateful populous of one city after another.  How can this be?  Well, no one is quite sure.  Pere Ubu claims to have won an ancient tome of magic spells from Rasputin in a high-stakes game of Go Fish; Mere Ubu insists she wrangled 3 wishes out of a Djinni she seduced in the Near East .  The cast consensus is that one night, after a particularly large meal, one of Ubu's farts was so forceful it ripped a hole in the time-space continuum.  Whatever the cause, the upshot is that Mere and Pere have not aged a day in over 100 years.  The actors have aged very slowly, so they now appear to be in their 20s, but they are emotionally and mentally frozen in adolescence.  Chronology becomes fuzzy -- everyone remember that awful show in Saskatchewan where the audience threw rotten tomatoes, and that fantastic one in Poloma when they threw fresh ones (add a little basil and oil, you've got a nice salad).  But whether that show was last week, last year, or last century, no one quite remembers. 

Never mind, because it's time for another city and another show.  Over the years a kind of Stockholm Syndrome has developed between the actors and the Ubus.  They regard him as children do an abusive alcoholic parent: with equal amounts awe and terror.  Ubu is like a bad car wreck -- so revolting you don't want to look, but so facinating that you can't help yourself.  The actors may whine and sulk, as children are wont to do.  But when the curtain goes up they throw themselves into it with reckless, thoughtless, tasteless abandon.  Each night Mere and Pere strut and preen, the cast makes silly faces and rude noises, and then they all pile into the back of the company wagon and hightail it out of town, always just a couple steps ahead of their numerous creditors.  And the next day, it all begins again for another town of suckers -- er, patrons.  

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the empty spaces theatre company Orlando, Florida info@emptyspacestheatre.org Copyright 2005-2007. All Rights Reserved.
Website: Lucas Production Inc. | Photography: Photography by Shani