Twentieth Century

Actor Training

Edited by Alison Hodge

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London and New York

 Brei:h1 and aaor training 99

wing revolucionaries on the other. He was too radical; he was not radical
5 Brecht and actor training enough. On 21 February 1919. shorcly after making a speech at che reconsti­
tuted Second International in Berne, Eisner was shot dead by a young
On whose behalf do we act? ariscocrar. In illogical revenge, his deputy was shot and severely wounded b}·
a communist worker at the opening session of the Bavarian parliament. In
Peter Thomson the chaos that followed, Munich was brieflv- in the hands of a socialist sovier
but the soviet was ousted by che becrer-programmed communise fuccion '.
Predictably, the threat of communism galvanised the powers of che barrered
German nation inco counrer-revolurionary action. The army moved against
Munich, and by the beginning of May the Bavarian political adventure was
over. The decisive military advance began in Augsburg.
Brecht's published correspondence is largely silent about chese evencs,
Context though he is known to have been an active supporter of Eisner's social
democrats, and may have been a fellow-traveller with the soviet. The most
Brecht was sixteen years old and living in his parencs· home in Augsburg

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abiding outcome was a lifelong scepticism about aces of quixotic heroism, a
when the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated in remote Sarajevo. He
scepticism which ran alongside his animosity towards che grandiose human
was cwenry when the war that was the consequence of char untidy assassina­
aspirations of German expressionism. Ernst Toller, prominent amongst
tion ended. The blustering, posturing adolescent of 1914 was, by 1918, an
expressionist playwrights, was one of che leaders of the Munich soviet. In his
angry young man. Anger is something chat muse always come into the reck­

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autobiographical retrospect on political history, he writes of the ordinary
oning when Br�chc's che�trical career is under scrutiny. Anger ac the way
. Bavarians who wanted peace, but found themselves suddenly invested with
things are provides the 1mpecus for political or social campaigning, and
power: 'Would they learn co keep rheir power?' (Toller 1934: 133). They did
Brechc's approach to acting cannot properly be divorced from his campaign
to change che world. That campaign found its eventual rationale in noc, and the failure helped to guide Brecht towards the macure conviction
chat an effective revolution, political or theatrical, must be achieved through

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Marxism, but it began with the impulse to contradict. Given rhe conven­
reason and scientific principle. Quire unlike Toller in mosr ways, Brecht
tional Christian upbringing of a bourgeois provincial in rradicionally
shared with him a curiosity about what they considered a moral paradox.
Procescanr Augsburg, Brecht responded with confrontational pragmatism:
Toller expressed ic in this way: 'Men could be good with so little trouble, yet
they delighr in evil' (Toller 1934: 26). Brecht wrote a shore poem about ic:
What business have chey goc pucring chac scuff about Truch in rhe
catechism
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If one's nor allowed to say whac is� On my wall hangs a Japanese carving
The mask of an evil demon, decorated with gold lacquer.
(Brecht 197 6b: 16)
Sympathetically I observe

These are rhe concluding lines of a poem wrircen shorcly after his twentieth The swollen veins of the forehead, indicating

�irthday �
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What a strain it is to be evil.

and o liquely addressed ro his mother - worried about his dircy
. <Brecht l 976b: 383)
lmen and dimer language. le was rime for Brecht co gee away from
Augsburg into the headier atmosphere of Bavaria's cultural capital, Munich.
In the months following the signing of rhe Armistice on 11 November Given what we know of their respective lives, most people would be more
surprised to find Brecht in heaven than to find Toller there. Bur che funda­
1918, he rravelled regularly between Augsburg and Munich, where he was
menral question addressed in the work of both men is the one Toller
crying co establish a literary foothold. le was a period of extraordinary polic­
remembers asking himself after the death of an uncle: 'what is a good man?'
ical turmoil in Bavaria, and Brecht was caught up in it.
(Toller 1934: 8). Was Galileo good? Is Grusha? or Shen Te? or dumb
The King of Bavaria had abdicated a day before the German Kaiser, and a
Kattrin? or che Young Comrade in The Measrms Taken? How good? Good
revolution designed co sever the link between Bavaria and Prussia (Munich
how? From early in his life Brecht developed a habit of provocation. At its
and Berlin) had established a new government, led by a socialise intellectual,
political centre was a decerminacion ro cake nothing for granted. We cannot,
Kurr Eisner. Eisner's admirable attempts co inaugurate a new order in
after all, hope co change what we unknowingly assume ro be unchangeable.
Bavaria were thwarted by reactionary nationalises on che one hand and left-
To develop a capacity to be surprised by che familiar might be a sroging pose
100 Pet er Thomson
on che road to Brechtian goodness. le is certainly a staging posr on che road
to Brechtian acting. We should recognise, in the context of rhis chapter and
chis book, char there is a difference between being good at acting and being
a good actor. Whatever is exclusively of the theatre is of no interest co
Brecht and little benefit to humanity. For Brecht, the world, like the
disputed land in the opening scene of The Caucasian Chalk Circle, should
belong to those who are good for it. In his own moral system, goodness
could not be divided from efficacy.
Brecht entered the German theatre as a writer, and became a practitioner
primarily in order ro intervene in the production of his own plays. He had
no training, nor was there any tradition of acror training in Germany. The
simplified view of the style of acting he would have encountered, hectically
delivered by Marcin Esslin, is char it sought to produce 'the maximum
impression of emotional intensity by indulgence in hysterical outbursts and
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paroxysms of uncontrolled roaring and inarticulate anguish' (Esslin 1970:
88). Clearly carried away, Esslin goes on co write of 'orgies of vocal excess
and apoplectic breast bearing'. He has in mind the excesses of the Court
theatres of old Germany, which lingered in the celebrated performances of
pre-war luminaries, and which had again come into service in the ecstatic
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rhetoric of the new expressionist drama.
Bur this declamatory grand manner was by no means the only model
available to the young Brecht. Although Ocro Brahm, the oucsranding expo­
nent of naturalism in Germany, had died in 1912, the impact of his
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advocacy of true-co-life acting did not die with him. Brecht's early loyalty to
che naturalistic drama of Gerhart Hauptmann was fed by a visceral response
ro witnessed productions of his plays. One of his earliest published lecters,
dared 10 November 1914, commends Haupcmann's 'arr of exalting everyday
happenings to spiritual heights' and proposes Zola as a model because 'rhe
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soul of che people has not yet been explored' (Brecht 1990: 20).
Quite as influential on rhe development of Brecht's ideas of performance
was the generally cool, presentational style of cabaret, which had already
been released into drama through the work of Frank Wedekind. Wedekind
himself combined the writing of plays with performing in cabaret right up
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co his untimely death in March 1918. Brecht was in the Munich bar where
Wedekind made one of what turned our ro be his lase appearances, and his
own sporadic cabaret performances honoured Wedekind by imitation as well
as sharpening his sense of an audience. Esslin's emphatically partial account
serves his argument that Brecht's approach to acting was a legitimate
response co German histrionics, but of limited relevance elsewhere. le
ignores che range of Brechc's theatrical experience in a country with an
uncommonly rich artistic tradition.
Before making his first attempt to direct professional actors, he had
observed Max Reinhardt and other Berlin directors at work in rehearsal.
This was in November 1921, when Reinhardt was preparing Srrindberg's A
Dream Play, characceriscically in search of its musical orchestration. The
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Brecht and actor training 101
outcome was highly artificial, bur cerrainly nor an occasion of 'apoplectic
breast beating'. Brecht was already coo opinionated and roo censorious co
share Reinhardt's sheer appetite for theatre, nor had he yet developed his
admiration for the craft of the actor. That became dear in the spring of
1922, when he was invited co direct his friend Arnolr Bronnen's Vatermurd
(Parricide) for rhe newly formed Junge Biihne in Berlin, and was so scathing
about rhe quality of rhe acting that one actress was reduced ro rears, rhe
veteran Heinrich George walked our, and Brecht was replaced by che more
tactful Berthold Viertel. le may be char he rerurned ro Munich a wiser man,
able to contribute to, but not dictare, rhe conduce of rehearsals for rhe first
of his plays to be performed: Drums in the Night (Munich, September 1922),
In the jungle (Munich, May 1923), and Baal (Leipzig, December 1923).
1923 was a year of soaring inflarion in Germany, and discontent in
Munich had an ominously Nazi fringe. The opening of In the jungle provided
a pretext for nationalist protesters co release tear-gas in the auditorium of che
Munich Kammerspiele. The play was dropped from the repertoire and the
dramacurg, Jacob Geis, was sacked. Such glimpses of power served as a drug
to one of Brecht's fellow-residents in Munich. On 8 November 1923,
supported by the legendary hero Field Marshal Ludendorff, Adolf Hider
acrempted to take over the dry. Brecht was probably attending rehearsals of
Baal in Leipzig ac the rime, and he, like all too many of his countrymen,
found Hider slighdy comic for a while. His own political attention, particu­
larly after his meeting with che activist Helene Weigel in the autumn of
1923, was turning cowards Karl Marx. Before long he would embark on a
full-scale programme of Marxist self-educacion, in open contradiction of the
increasingly fascist atmosphere in Munich. In September 1924 he aban­
doned Bavaria for Berlin, bur not before bidding a significant farewell co the
Munich Kammerspiele by directing The Life of Edward II of England.
Brecht admired the narrarive drive and psychological sparseness of
Christopher Marlowe's original, and rhe adaptation he prepared with Lion
Feuchtwanger accommodates his own peculiarly visceral poetic voice. He
was at ease with the text, happy ro change it, and, perhaps for the first time,
able to work confidently with actors. Bernhard Reich recalls his determina­
tion char the soldiers should hang Gavesron with authority:
'Brecht . . . insisted relendessly chat they repeat the hanging, bur to do it like
experts. The audience had co get pleasure from seeing chem put the noose
round the fellow's neck' (Volker 1979: 72). The outcome, in the words of
the contemporary dramatic critic Herbert lhering, was innovatory: 'The
acrors had ro account for whac they did. He insisted that they keep their
gestures simple. He made them speak dearly, coolly. No emotional faking
was tolerated. By these means rhe objective, epic style was established'
(Volker 1979: 72).
Brecht remained active in the Berlin theatre until Hider's rise ro power
forced him into exile in late February 1933, but his activity was always
governed by the pressure to produce. Ideologies of performance were in
 Brecht and actor training 1 03
102 Peter Thomso11
inevirable conflicr wirh the exigency of opening nighcs, and, in a country
lurching cowards fascism, his prioricies were more consistencly policical than
aescheric. The formulations that give Brecht right of access co a book on
actor training were almost all the result of the enforced idleness of exile, an<l
the practice that tested the cheory was confined co the last years of his lifo
with the Berliner Ensemble. The sequence of collaborations wich Kurc Weill
is of critical imporcance in the history of music theatre, but it added
comparatively little to the discoveries about acting chat Brecht had made
during the rehearsals for Edu'ard II. A Brechcian actor will know how co
sustain the poise of one who might at any moment sing, but Brecht ha<l not
yec devised a rehearsal syscem to serve his purposes. His aim, both wich
Weill and in his Lehrstiirk project, was to reach a new audience, the tradi­
tionally disempowered but now alerc workers of pose-war Germany. The loss
of access co this audience was one of the bitterest consequences of his exile.

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The exile lasted more than fifteen years and included prolonged resi­
dences in Denmark, Sweden, Finland and the United States. A stranger co
every language, Brecht was constantly frustrated in his attempts co gain
access co theatres. His ideas about acting found expression in the plays he

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wrote, sporadically in his journal and conversations with fellow-exiles and
friends, through encounters wich active theatre groups, and in theoretical
writings of which the most carefully wrought were The MessingkaufDialogues
(written 1937-40) and A Short Organum for the Theatre (completed in 1948).
le is from these, and from che recorded practice of the company he founded -�

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in East Berlin in 1949, that conclusions about his approach co actor training I
have been most reliably drawn. I .�
-
We should note, however, that Brecht was a compulsive articulator. Much
I � ...

of whac he wroce and subsequently published was a response co immediate I

...

circumscances. Given his caste for contradiction and his advocacy of dialec­ -...-c..... .....-- -
...
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tics, we should noc be surprised by evident inconsisrencies. There is no l ....
'•

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scacic, once-and-for-all manifesto. The measure of Brechc's cruch is efficacy:
what may be thought or half-thought expressed through what is done. In
Messingkauf nor
I
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chat respect, the derermining document is not che even the ...
.
'
,, ,., .; ·e ..
-
Short Organ11m, bur Theaterarheit (1952). This volume, 'an exceedingly mixed '" r
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i. ,_,,_-..::-- --

bag of essays, notes and fragmencs by many hands' (Willett 1964: 239). was
von Kleisr's The Brokm j11g
Brecht direcring Regine Lurz in Heinrich
something new in the history of theatre: an accempc co record for posterity
Figure 5.1
che processes of a theatre company during its first two years of operation. uf the Bt.'rlint.'r Ensemble
5011ra: Photo Hainer Hill by permission
The many rehearsal photographs speak, not singly but cumulacively, about
acting even to chose who cannot read German. Theaterarbeit rescifies co of events
· compel us co reassess the causes
theory's need of a practice. enqmrer. We discover derails that
hc a d v1se d 1s
h' ac tors co note
ted. When Bree
we had previously caken for gran
·

. . a play It .
ns of a play, or of cheir part m
for lacer recall their first impressio :
of surpnse.
Exercises arsal may iron flat the s�a�s
was because he knew how rehe co wa ch �
Berliner Ense mble ere m v1red
le is a prerequisite of Brechtian actor training that the trainee should be When trainee directors at the � .
a 1ve �
reed w1ch ' 1c was to keep
ever chey disag
open ro a study of history, including the history of the present. The tendency rehearsals and write down what .
thing .
chan one way of doin g the same
of historical enquiry is almost inevitably towards astonishment in the a recognition Chat Chere l·s more
 104 Peter Thomson
Actors who are no longer surprised by the behaviour of the characters thev
play are not Brechtian actors. For Brecht, this is less a matter of psycholog y
than of history. The face chat Galileo recanted does not make his recantation
historically inevitable. The fact chat life-expectancy has increased does nor
ensure better care of the aged. Brecht's consistent project, both as writer and
practitioner, was to destabilise facts and interrogate the necessary.
Significantly, he came to credit actors with sufficient curiosity to collaborate
in the project. It was this that scruck Peter Brook most forcibly when he
visited the Berliner Ensemble:
What Brecht introduced was the idea of the intelligent actor, capable of
judging the value of his contribution. There were and still are many
accors who pride themselves on knowing nothing about politics and
who treat the theatre as an ivory tower. For Brecht such an actor is not
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worthy of his place in adult company; an actor in a community that
supports a theatre must be as much involved in the outside world as in
his own craft.
(Brook 1972: 85-6)
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The Brechtian actor's training begins with observation of the outside world.
This was what Brecht chose to stress in his poetic 'Speech to Danish
Working-Class Actors on the Art of Observation';
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In order ro observe
One muse learn how to compare. In order to compare
One must have observed. By means of observation
Knowledge is generated; on the other hand knowledge is needed
For observation.
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(Brecht l 976b: 233-8)
The paradoxical circularity is typical of Brechr's thinking about acting. The
answer to a question is another question; the end of interrogation is inrerro­
gation. But actors cannot question what they do not notice. They muse see
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the obvious clearly enough to mistrust it.
The question mark is Brecht's starting-point for observation. His famous
essay on 'The Street Scene' (Willett 1 964: 1 2 1 -8) asks what an actor may
learn from rhe way in which an onlooker describes a street-accident. But this
onlooker is an exemplary actor in the everyday theatre of the street,
concerned not only with what happened but with why and how. If we warch
and listen to him carefully we will understand that the accident need not
have happened. We will have our own questions about human interaction
under the current dispensation. Amongst Brechr's papers rhere is an undated
list containing a skeletal scheme of twenty-four exercises for acring schools
(Willett 1 964: 129). 'The street accident' is the twenty-second, and it is
enigmatically glossed, 'Laying down limits of justifiable imitation'.
Brecht and a'tor training 105
Brecht did not want the exercise to be used indiscriminately. It is about
in ore than observation; critically approached, as part of the present-histor­
jc:ail, it lays bare the functioning of society, uncritically approached its
j.rnitation is unjustifiable. The deachs of Swiss Cheese and Kattrin in l11other
Courage are, after all, street-accidents, and chey need to be accounred for as
well as imitated. The first four exercises on Brecht's list, though cunningly
interrogative in their way, call more straightforwardly for observation:
1 Conjuring tricks, including attitude of spectators.
2 For women: folding and putting away linen. Same for men.
3 For men: varying attitudes of smokers. Same for women.
4 Cat playing with a hank of thread.
We ask of the conjuror, how did you do that, but why are some spectators
amazed and others dismissive? Do women and men do things differently?
Why? Is doing things with linen a female thing? Who determines rhat?
How can an activity as common as smoking betray the social class of rhe
smoker? What do people play with? How do we know, when playing with a
cat, that the cat is not playing with us? The observation of society ends with
a question mark, too.
Almost all of Brechr's proposed exercises involve actors working together,
and there is nothing surprising about that. The questions arising from
observation are asked on behalf of society as a whole. The image is of inter­
dependence. This is a point spelt out clearly in the Short Organum:
the learning process must be co-ordinated so that the actor learns as the
other actors are learning and develops his character as they are devel­
oping theirs. For the smallest social unit is not the single person but
two people. In life coo we develop one another.
(Willert 1 964: 197)
The social heart of an episode, which Brecht would have called its Ge1tu1, is
dependent on the disposition of all che characrers on stage. During the
Berliner Ensemble's interactive rehearsals, the actors were expected to ask
where their characters stood and how they (the actors) stood towards their
characters. Such questions require close attention to the totality of a text and
its dramaturgy. Brecht's awareness of this is expressed in his 'Notes on
Stanislavski': 'Stanislavski when directing is first of all an actor. When I
direct I am first of all a playwright' (Brecht 1 964: 1 65). Most of the exer­
cises he used with the Ensemble were directly related to the play in
rehearsal, but not necessarily to the play as it would be performed. If the
actors were co work on the audience in such a way as to rob the familiar of
its inconspicuousness, it might help if the familiar text could be made
conspicuous to the actors.
l 06 Peter Thomson
Ir was in this spirit that Brecht recommended to Giorgio Strehler the
rehearsal of tragic scenes for comic effect (Mitter 1 992: 57). By contra­
dicting a text, che actors might gain new insights inco it. Such contradiction
is not <lesigned to open access to what Stanislavsky termed a subtext, but co
surround a cexc with a mecacexc linking ir to the world outside, the world
char is in need of transformation. The several practice pieces for actors char
Brecht wrote in 1939 with Swedish students in mind (Brecht l 976a:
339-55) are anachronistic miscreacmencs of the classics, which highlight che
plight of an underclass disregarded in Macbeth, Hamlet, an<l Romeo andJuliet.
They call accenrion co what is missing from rhe plays bur present in the
social order, and they invite actors to develop a critical accirude to the char­
acters they are playing. Thus the actors become, in the language of
metaphor, double agents, sometimes self-employed and sometimes
employed by the character.
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The metaphor is Joseph Chaikin's. He uses it to describe the perfor­
mances of the man he considers the definitive Brechtian actor, Ekkehard
Schall: 'I never believe he is rhe character by name. Nor <lo I believe that he
is "playing himself'". He performs like a double agent who has infiltrated
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the two worlds' (Chaikin 1 99 1 : 16). This double agency is effectively reseed
in one of Brecht's so-called 'exercises in temperament': 'Situation: cwo
women calmly folding linen. They feign a wild and jealous quarrel for the
benefit of their husbands; the husbands are in che next room' (Willert 1964:
129).
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The manifest disparity between the orderliness of rhe action and che
disorderliness of rhe speaking makes demands on the control of the actors
and, at the same time, makes unusually conspicuous the commonplace activ­
ities of folding and quarrelling. Such contradictory juxtapositions are the
typical ammunition of Ver/remdrmg. They make strange what we might
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otherwise scarcely notice. A Brechcian actor must be alert to the social
significance of every kind of human transaction, even the most mundane. 'I
don't act emotions', explaine<l Schall, 'I present chem as ways of behaviour'
(Honneger and Schechter 1986: 35 ).
There is a danger of distortion here. Despite what has often been said,
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sometimes by himself, the mature Brecht rejected neither emotion nor
psychological enquiry. Angelika Hurwicz, a leading member of rhe
Ensemble, denies chat Brecht was 'hostile to <lrama exercises aimed ac
ensuring che cruch co life and the warmth of rhe presencation of che role; in
face, he regards them as a pre-requisite' (Wier 197 4: 132). In a sequel to che
linen-folding exercise, for example, Brecht proposes chat the game 'rurn
serious' (Willert 1964: 129). His departure from Scanislavskian methods was
not total, bur graduated. In the first stage of rehearsal accors should become
acquainted with their characters, the second phase is one of empathy, 'and
then there is a third phase in which you cry to see the character from the
outside, from che standpoint of society' (Brecht 1 964: 159).
Bre,·ht and actor training 1 07
It is to che transition from the second to the third phase that the chird­
entry, written as the
petson exercises belong. There is an indicative journal
openi ng night of the Berliner Ensemble's Mother Courage approached:
I put in l 0 minutes epic rehearsal for the first rime in the eleventh
scene. gerda miiller and dunskus as peasants are deciding chat they
cannot do anything against the Catholics. I ask them ro add 'said the
man', 'said the woman' after each speech. suddenl}' the scene became
clear and miiller found a realistic attitude.
<Brecht 1993: 405)
This is not an exercise designed to obsrruct emotional engagement, bur to
show char the actor's emotion does not need to coincide with that of the
character. The notion of double agency is at irs most complex here, but the
accor's eye is on the audience. The acror boch presents and scrutinises the
behaviour of the character in such a way as to invite the audience's interroga­
tion. If ir is circumstance, nor human necessity, chat governs behaviour,
actors and audience should combine ro change che circumstance.
Ic is generally true that a Scanislavskian actor will locate in character the
explanation for behaviour, whilst rhe Brechtian actor will look for it in
circumstance. The aim of rehe-..r.rsal exercises will nor have been to embed
action in individual psychology, bur co place it in the social transactions of
che group. The outcome for che audience shoul<l not be psychoanalysis but
moral debate. The metaphor for a final set of exercises is that of multiple
doors. You will go through only one, bur you could go through any. The
task is to make your choice in such a way as co in<licace to the onlookers that
there are other choices you could have made:
Whatever [the acror] doesn't do must be contained and conserved in
what he does. In this way every sentence and every gesture signifies a
decision; the character remains under observation and is tested. The
technical term for this procedure is 'fixing the "'nor . . . but"·.
(Willett l 964: 1 37 )
Brecht provides no list of ' nor...buc' exercises, knowing that they can be
readily devised and appropriated according to context. He does, however,
describe che practice, as, for example, in Helene Weigel's final moments as
Mother Courage: 'Even in paying for the burial, Weigel gave one last: hint of
Courage's character. She fished a few coins out of her leather bag, puc one
back and gave rhe peasants the rest' (Brecht 1972: 383). If an actor can learn
how to show that che choice made was not rhe only available choice, the
audience may be encouraged co choose for change. The aim of che 'nor... but'
exercises is co train actors co ask why noc as well as why, bur Brechtian actors
have always a design on the audience.
 108 Peter Thomson
Production
John Fuegi has calculated that, before the opening of The Cauimian Chalk
Cirde on 7 October 1 954, the actors of the Berliner Ensemble had rehearsed
for 600 hours (Fuegi 1 987: 1 6 1). le is an over-literal calculation, but it
speaks appropriately of the slow pace of rehearsal once the company was
fully established. Given time, Brecht explored all the elements I have
mentioned:
1 Contradiction as a route to a metarext.
The identification of goodness with efficacy.
2
3 The presentational sryle of the actor who may at any moment sing.
4 The priority of narrative and circumstance over character.
5 The approach through history, including the hiscoric:isation of the
present.
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6 Observation sharpened by interrogation.
7 Brecht. His creative energy was always charged by disagreement. The early
The ensemble working together to deliver the social Gestus.
The double agency of actor and character.
8 .
9 Speaking in the third person (sometimes augmented by speaking the
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stage directions).
1 0 Fixing the 'noc. . . but'.
Brecht's major productions with the Berliner Ensemble, Mother Courage
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( 1 949) and The Caucasian Chalk Circle (1954), have been described in some
detail by, respectively, Peter Thomson (Thomson 1997) and John Fuegi
(Fuegi 1987). It is more appropriate here to set our the broader terms within
which he went about making theatre.
Alone amongst che practitioners feacured in this book, Brecht was a
major playwright. He was also a poet, a wordsmith. Language mattered
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intensely to him, both the sound of che meaning and che meaning of the
sound. He was quite as likely, in rehc�arsal, to join an actor in interrogating a
sentence as in questioning a gesture. Eicher way, che goal of rhe interroga­
tion was efficacy. An archival fragment provides a list of what he might ask
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of a sentence:
1 Who is the sentence of use to?
2 Who does it claim co be of use to?
3 What does ir call for?
4 W hat praccical action corresponds to it?
5 What sort of sentences result from it? What sort of sentences
support it?
6 Gestus is the key concept in Brechtian actor training and the defini�g quality
In what situation is it spoken? By whom?
(Willert 1 964: 106)
Brei·ht and aftor training 109
The solemnity is misleading. The atm�sphere at Breehe's rehearsals was
.
. sde .
aormally relaxed, even expansive. His policy was to remain �t m order ro
rovoke che actors into making suggestions, though he was typically c� pable
�f mischievous intervention. Hans Bunge remembers Bre�hr the director
�
saying of Brecht the playwright, 'One cannot always be guide by what he
says' (Fuegi 1987: 148). Changes might be made co the text 1f rhe a7tors
came up with a preferred alternative, although the chan�es were som�t1mes
obliterated in che published version. The Ensemble was mcorporated m rhe
creation of a play, not subjugated to the revival of a text, and Brech�
expected che creation ro be definitive. To whom will the play be of use!
What practical action corresponds to ic? These are mecarextual matters, and
�
only the performance can resolve them. W at Shomit Mitter has called '�he
tussle between text and commentary chat 1s the hallmark of the Brechc1an
theatre' (Mitter 1 992: 46) is fought out on the stage.
The image of struggle is entirely appropriate to any consideration of
play, Baal, was provoked by the urge to co�nter the heroic vision of Hanns
Johst's Der Einsame (The Loner), and the '�pulse to wme c�unter-pl�ys
.
(Gegenstikke) remained with him. Not sur�nsmgly, then, �recht s work with
actors displays aspects of a counter-prarnce (Geg�npraktrk). Persuaded t at
.
�
traditional styles of performance, like rhe established dramatic repertmre,
reinforced che social status quo by rendering the audience passive, Brecht set
about changing both.
. .
There is no reason to doubt his belief chat whatever could be made v1S1ble
could also be mastered, and it was certainly his conviction char
Stanislavskian performances in Aristotelian drama disempowered the audi­
ence. The concept of Gest11s became a counn:r to pathos, and it is a pity for
those who would like to systematise Brechcian practice that Brecht himself
used rhe word so loosely. Amongst the many attempts to define it on
Brechc's behalf. one of the simplest is Mitter's. Gest11s, he suggests, is 'a
compound term which intrinsically harnesses both content and opinion'
(Mitter 1 992: 48).
The problem with this formulation is that it implicitly sells sho�t the
!
integral contribution of the actors. More recent Y· Meg Mumfor , m an �
extended study of Gest11s from the actor's perspective, has proposed 1t as the
essential counter co Stanislavsky. For her, Gest11. is 'the aesthetic gesrural
presentation of the economic and socio-ideological �onstruction �f h uman
.
identity and interaction', something which 'finds ulumare expression m t e �
..
�
corporeal an<l intellectual work of the perfor� er' (Mum ord 1997: xvm).
However complex che understanding, there 1s no escaping th: fact t�at
of a truly Brechrian performance. Before semiotics beca�e a recognised f�us
of theatrical criticism or performance theory, Gest11s gmded rhe productions
of rhe Berliner Ensemble. In socio-political terms at least, it remains the
most sophisticated application of semiotic principles to the preparation of
110 Peter Thomson Brecht and artor trai11i11K 111

actors. Carl Weber, who worked wich Brecht in Berlin, recalls ics relevance
to individual actors:

The Ge.it11s was co be mainly determined by the social posmon and

history of a character, and Brecht instructed his actors co develop it by
careful attention co all the contradictions co be discovered in the actions
and verbal text of the role .. . this may sound quite abstract, bur it was
achieved during rehearsal in a mosc practical, even playful manner.
(Thomson and Sacks 1994: 182)

It was the business of rehearsal to anatomise what was said and done by each
individual actor, however small the part. In this respect, Gest11s is diagnosis
applied co social history. The object, when it comes to production, is co
present a narrative wich such clarity char the audience can read, nor only che

ΕΛ
behaviour of the characters, but also the provenance of chat behaviour and its
application to their own lives. 'The actor in Brecht's theatre', says Mumford,
'does not focus on an individual's inner life but on their Gestus' (Mumford
1997: 156). In his notes on particular productions, Brecht frequencly records

ΣΔ
how actors embodied the Gest11s. In the fourth scene of Mother Courage, for
instance, after singing 'The Song of the Great Capirularion', Weigel both
displayed and concradicred Courage's depravity:

-Ο
Weigel's face in rhis scene shows a glimmer of wisdom and even of
nobility, and chat is good. Because the depravity is not so much chat of
her person as of her class, and because she herself at least rises above it
somewhat by showing char she understands this weakness and that it
even makes her angry.
(Brecht 1972: 362)
ΚΥ
The Brechtian actor represents more rhan rhe self of rhe character. It was
Brecht's contention that Gest11s, when properly applied, would enable an
audience co understand both the scary of a play and its implications even if
ΑΠ
f1g11re 5.2 Helene Weigel as Moc her_ Courage, Erwin Geschonneck as the Chaplain
in flrechc's M11ther Courage and Her Chrldren
Sonm: Phot0 Hamer Hill by permission of the Bcrlint:'r Ensemble
rehearsal. The disposition of the characters on the stage and the placing of
the attention in performance, sketched out in suggestive sequence, became a
subject of enquiry. During rehearsal these sketches could be tested, contra­
dicted, re-affirmed. The quest was always for the G�stus thac carried che
scene closer to reality. At the still centre of every mobile episode in a

it were separated from rhe actors by a soundproof glass wall. To some excent, Berliner Ensemble production there was always a signifying tableau. It is
cercainly, he was a pictorial director, concerned co paint meaning through impommc co recognise, though, rhat the spirit of conrradicri� n operated
costume, pcoperties and the grouping of actors. Archive phorographs, partic­ .
even here. Despite the image of the soundproof glass wall, the pnonty of the
ularly of The Mother bur sometimes even of Mother Courage, encapsulate the visual was constantly contradicted by detailed attention to che words. We
context of struggle with the starkness of Kathe Kollwitz's woodcuts. can never afford co forget chat Brecht was a writer. Attempting a chird­
The relationship of director, designer and actors at rhe Berliner Ensemble person summary of his unique achievement in the prose work Me-Ti, he
was a significant innovation. It has been finely described by Christopher wrote:
Baugh {Thomson and Sacks 1994: 235-53), and is not centrally the business
of this chapter. But it is important chat actors should be able to visualise
themselves as part of a scene, and both Caspar Neher and Karl von Appen
were vital contributory members of Brecht's production team. The absence
of Neher during the rehearsals of Mother Courage was a source of anxiety. le
was Neher who originaced the custom of sketching scenes in advance of their
112 Pi:rer Thomson

6 Joan Littlewood
He made use of a cype of language which was at the same time stylized
and natural. He achieved this by paying attention ro che acticudes
Clive Barker
underlying sentences: he only incorporated attitudes into sentences and
always saw that the attitudes were visible through the sentences. To this
kind of language he gave the name 'gestic', since ir was just an expres­
sion of people's gestures.
(Morley 1977: 120)

�
As sh?rthand g�ide to Brechtian acting, it would be difficult co improve
o n paring attenuon co the atticudes underlying sentences' and 'an expres­
_
s10n of people's gescures'. Context
works of theory, as
Although Joan Littlewood has refrained from producing

ΕΛ
Bibliography that then: is no theory
many other directors have done, that does not mean
Brecht had spoken much
Brecht, B. (1964) 'Notes on Stanislavski', Tulane Drama Revieu· 9 (2): 157-66. behind her work. Angela Hurwicz, when asked if
Kurt Jooss was once asked
-- (1972) Collrr:ted Pfays, vol. 5, New York: Vintage Books. about theory during rehearsals, said not at all.1
Cl 97 6a) Collected Pl11y1, vol. 6, New York: Vintage Books. ls. He said none . .? W hatever is
--
how much theory Laban referred to in rehearsa

ΣΔ
(1976b) Poenzs 1913�1956, London: Eyre Methuen. to what happens on the
set out in princ is only relevanc if it refers directly
--

--0990) Letters 1913-1956, New York: Roudedge. Brook has written a great
stage, which is the sole place of arbitration. Peter
(1993)journa'11934-1955, London: Mt:!chuen. large proporti on of rhetoric .
deal on his views of theatre but it contains a
--

Brechc, B. et al. (� 952) Theaterarheit, Dresden: Dresdner Verlag. reader, but it does not
This can be, and often has been, inspiring for the
Brook, P. ( 1972) Thi: Empty Spafe, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.
rehearsal..� To
always give any clear inkling as to how Brook works in

-Ο
Chaikin, J. 0991) The Presence of the A,·tor, New York: The-.me Communil·acions
refer to the tesrimon y and
Group. discover that, it is probably more valuable to
Esslin, M. 0 970) Brief Chronk/eJ, London: Temple Smith. anecdotes of his actors.
ts in
Fuegi, J. Cl 987) Brrtolt Brt1:ht: Chaos Affordi11g to Plan, Cambridge: Cambridge The evidence for Littlewoo<l's theory lies in snippets of statemen
es and anecdot es of the actors
University Press. interviews and manifestos and in the memori
include this
Honneger, G. and Schechcer,J. (1986) 'An interview with Ekkehard Schall' ' Theuter who have worked with her. Although these documents, which
'
ΚΥ
seen as both idiosync ratic and
Spring: 31-43. chapter, have to be questioned carefully, and
Mitter, S. (1992) SJ1len1s of Reheanal, London: Routledge. interpre t it depends on what
subjecrive.-t What anyone sees and how they
Morley, M. (1977) A Students Guide to Bmht, London: Heinemann. resource s they have to contextu ­
attitudes they bring to the work and what
Mumford, M. 0 997) 'Showing the Ge1t111: a Study of Acting in Brecht's Theatre', s East Acring School, which
. alise it. The scudenc handbook for London' 15
unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Brisco!. refers
was founded by a former company member, Margaret Walker (Bury),
ΑΠ

Thomson, P. (1997) Afother Courage and Her Childrm, Cambridge: Cambridge e,

ing notions of repertoir
University Press. co Theatre Workshop as 'subsrancially challeng
hips and the social basis of their
Thomson, P. and Sacks, G. (eds) (1994) Tht Cambridge Companion to Brecht, theatre propriety, actor/audience relations
audience'. East I 5 was founded 'co ensure the retention of
_ the ll'orkinJ!,
Cambndge: Cambridge University Press.
or systema tised' (my italics).
Toller, E. 0934) l Was a Gmnan, London: John Lane. method. . . which was never set down, codified
e of any method or way of
Volker, K. Cl 979) Bret'ht: a Biography, London: Marion Boyars. Littlewood herself has denied the existenc
down, they neverth eless rub off.
Willett, J. (1964) Brecht on Theatre, London: Methuen. working to a system.5 If things arc not set
ce ro set down her working
Wice, H. (ed.) (1974) Brer:ht as They Kneu• Him, London: Lawrence and Wishart. The unfortunate result of Littlewood's reluctan
been accused of
methods and their theoretical backing has been that she has
d to hie the right butron on some
being a dilettante who somehow manage
the truth. Through out che early
occasions - which is a long way from
was charted in long and derailed
periods of the company, each performance
 Petff Brook 175

9 Peter Brook reflects his deliberare immersion in a concradicrory array of experi ences.
.
eeking co find a complex, composire reality through the cxplorat10n of

Transparency and the invisible �pposices. In retrospect, he �as referr�d co thi� period as ·� rhearre �f
_ _
images', informed by an escapist aesthetic of 1llus1on1sr <lecorauon and am­
network fice - a theatre in which rhe world of rhe stage was wholly separated from
that of spectators, and where the direc:cor's 'vision' was omni �tenr. .
The second phase 0 964-70) consciruted a period of reappra1�al, macunm on
Lorna Marshall and David Williams _
and proactive research. Brook was becoming increasingly d1saffecred w1ch
the existing processes and forms of much conrcmporary theatre - a shorc­
sighced, convention-bound thearre he stigmatised as 'deadly' (Brook 1 968:
1 1-46). In his search for theatre languages that could more accurarely rd1ect
contemporary realiry, he questioned the cheacrirnl statm q110 ac ev�ry level.
Our primary concern in this chapn:r is rn outline the evolucion of Peter .
Rejecting ossified ('deadly') processes, he returned to core consmm1ve ques-
Brook's ideas on the preparation of accors. Our particular focus is the devel­
tions:

ΕΛ
opmenc of two interrelated qualities chat are prerequisires for performers in
his own company: a scare of openness and immediacy he calls 'transparency';
Theatres, actors, critics and public are inrerlocked in a machine that
and a state of conneetedness and responsiveness he calls 'the invisible
creaks but never stops. There is always a new season in hand and we are
network'. As we shall see, borh of rhese qualities are conceived and explored
coo busy ro ask the only viral quescion which m�asures the whol� srruc­
on internal and external levels. Indeed, like self and other, accor and char­

ΣΔ
curc. Why theatre ar am What for� Is It an anachronism, a
acter, performers and audience, for Brook inner movement and external .
superannuated oddity, surviving like an old monument or a quai � c
action muse always be in a dynamic relationship of exchange.
cuscom? Why do we applaud, and what? Has the stage a real place 10
our lives? Whar function can it have? What could it serve? What could
Context it explore? What are its special qualities?

-Ο
(Brook 1968: 44)
Peter Brook's extraordinarily producrive career as a director spans the half­
century since the end of the Second World War, and includes over seventy
This period of work r�ached fruition in a remarkable series of prodm:tio�s
theatre and opera productions and a dozen films. l e will be useful in this
Brook has characterised as a 'rheacte of disturbance' (see, for example, Trewin
context ro divide his extensive body of work into three periods, despite the
197 1 : 1 99). An explicit shift in his concerns and processes became evident
face that such historiographic 'dismemberings' will inevitably be simplifica­
ΚΥ
in an experimenral project conducted under the aegis of the Royal
tions. . .
Shakespeare Company, with a group co-directed wit� Charles M�rowtcz.
Th� first phase ( 1 945-63) covers the years of Brook's professional appren­
Public 'work-in-progress' showings of this early, tenrauve r�search in 1964
ticeship in a wide range of performance concexcs, forms and styles. At the
were entitled the 'Theatre of Cruelty' in homage to Anromn Artaud. The
age of twency-cwo, he was already a director at the Royal Opera House,
culmination of this research occurred with the celebrated production of
ΑΠ

Covent Garden; and by 1963, when Brook was thirty-eight, he had directed
Peter Weiss's Marat/Sade ( 1 964), a collectively devised response co the
over forty productions, including nine Shakespeare plays and seven major
Viemam War ambiguously entitled US ( 1 966), and a choral, ritualised
operas. Landmark productions included a luminous Loves Labour� Lost for
Oedipm ( 1968) in an abrasive new version by �he poet Ted H �ghes.
rhe Royal Shakespeare Company ( 1946), an explosive reworking of Strauss·s
This transitional phase was also charactensed by a growmg awareness of
Salome ( 1 949) designed by Salvador Dali, a startling Titus A ndrnnfrus ( 1 95 5)
the importance of the acror within an ensemble. The creativity of actors
wirh Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh, and an elemental, absurdisr King
would be instrumental in challenging the complacency of prevalent prac­
Lear ( 1962) wi eh Paul Scofield.
tices and creative hierarchies, as well as finding theatrical forms as
Although he was known primarily as a director of classical theatre, Brook
multifaceted as Shakespeare's . Brook cook Elizabethan dramacurgy as his
also juggled productions of major twentieth-century European playwrights
model; he particularly admired its shifts of gear in the mix of comedy and
(Cocteau, Sartre, Anouilh, Gener, Diirenmact) and works by seminal
tragedy, its vivid language'. and the d � recme�s of its forms . s�akespeare was
modernises (including Eliot and Miller), plus overtly commercial projects - .
his prototype for a conflation of the rough and the 0 holy mco a texrur�d
boulevard comedies, musicals and television drama. Brook's crajeccory .
totality he called che 'immediate'. 1 This area of Brook s research reached !CS

...

1 76 Loma i\1arshali and Dar:iJ Williams
apogee with his swansong with the RSC, a joyously airborne production of
A Midmmmer Night's Drea1f1 ( 1970), which radically dismantled received
ideas of the play. I n this work, Brook and his group of actor-acrobats created
a counter-image to the harrowing, confrontational tenor of the earlier work
of this period with a brighr cir::us-inflecced celebration reuniting stage and
auditorium.
In retrospect, the 1 960s marked a period of significant development for
Brook in terms of his conception of the training of actors. He used derniled
exploracion of improvisatory rechniques co dislodge actors from reductive
psychological behaviourism, and, as they began to tap other energies, Brook
was able to recognise their crearive primacy: 'le rakes a long while for a
director to cease chinking in terms of the result he desires and instead
concentrate on discovering the source of energy in the actor from which true
impulses can arise' (Brook 1998: 83).
ΕΛ
Brook"s goal, to amplify accors' capacities as instruments responsive to all
the sources of the creative process, has been pursued and refined by him to
the present day. Eventually, it rook him from the restrictive working condi­
tions in commercial theatre in England, and led him co a new base in
ΣΔ
France.
The third phase comprises Brook"s work since 1970 with his international
group in Paris, the International Centre for Theatre Research (CIRT). Its
focus has ranged from private research behind closed doors, to explorations
of theatrical communication in the field (on journeys co Iran, Africa and the
-Ο
USA), to recent forays into the fantastic inner landscapes of neurological
disorders for the production of The Man Who 0 993). Core projects have
included Orghast ( 1 9 7 1 ) i n the combs of Persepolis, Iran; Timon of A th1:m
( 1974); adaptations of Colin Turnbull "s anchropological scudy of the demise
of a Ugandan tribe Th11 Ik ( 1975-6); a presentation of a cwelfrh-cencury Sufi
ΚΥ
poem Confm11n! of the BirdJ ( 1979); La Tra1:Mi1: d1: Carmen ( 198 I ); a nine-hour
version of the Hindu epic The Mahahharattl ( 1 985-8); and a sparcan staging
of Shakespeare's The Tempest 0 990) with the African accor Sotigui Kouyate
as Prospero. 2
So, after almosr three decades wich his own company, what are che quali­
ΑΠ
. between 'means' and 'meanings'.
ttes Brook most admires and requires in his actor-collaborators( And what
are the recurrent impulses and characteristics of the performances they have
made together?
Briefly, all of Brook's work with rhe CIRT has been marked by contin­
uing attention to the following ideals:
The development of actors with a capacity to articulate the trajectories
of inner impulses, conveying rhese impulses in external forms with
clarity and immediacy '1rampare11,y' (Brook 1 998: 224) - and che
-
search for a charged simplicity and economy in those forms, a 'distilla­
tion' (ibid.).
•
P�ter Brook l 77
2 The actor as a primary creative source in an ensemble conceived as a
'storyteller with many heads' (ibid.: 197) -a team of players. Therefore
actors need to be open, complicitous and responsive to the requirements
'
of an embodied transform-abili ty Brook has called "lightness'.
3 The extreme pragmatism of improvisation as the key to the preparation
of performers. Related to this, the imporrance of direct experiences of
differing performance conditions and audiences. Work-in-progress is
often presented in unconventional spaces co unfamiliar audiences (in
schools, hospitals, prisons etc.). Such experiences aim co unsettle actors'
habitual responses and open them up to different energies and qualities
of exchange.
4 The absolute necessity for struccure, and the conviction chat forms can
engender freedom for actors. Structure and play are seen as counterbal­
ancing elements, interwoven supports for each other.
5 Research as 'self-research"; a process of evolution and individual develop­
ment in which theatre serves as potent site and means, but rarely as the
exclusive end. In other words, theatre as a means to go beyond theatre -
theatre-making as the site for what James Hillman has called ·soul­
making'.
6 The act of theatre as affirmative 're-membering· (Brook 1 998: 225), in
which a mythical narrative or fable is acrualise<l here and now:
'reuniting the community, in all its diversity, within the same shared
experience· (Brook 1 978: 7).
Ultimately, all of Brook"s work with the Centre at its base at che Bouffes du
Nord theatre in Paris has been driven by the desire to discover what makes
theatre 'immediate" (or ·un-deadly'). His diverse training exercises and
rehearsal methods have been developed and endlessly reinvented to support
and realise this desire. When examining Brook's work, it is essential co
understand irs open-endedness; he has no single form or style in mind, no
pre-conceived vision of a desirable end produce. Moreover, he has often reit­
erated rhe instability of the relationship between surface forms an<l the
underlying processes and impulses that 'in-form· them: in other words,
He suggests that all of his theatre productions possess two distinct, if
closely incerrelaced, aspects. First, the external 111is1:-en-.rd11e is comprised of
conrexcually determined forms emerging from rhe performance's physical
conditions. Second, beneath these specific patterns of images, no more than
tips of invisible icebergs, lies what he terms 'the hidden production": 'an
invisible 11etu•ork of relationships' that can give rise co other forms and
patterns without forfeiting a work"s 'essential meaning' (Brook 1998:
1 5 1 -2). In this context, it may be fruitful co view Brook"s preparation of
actors through the lens of this metaphor - as a collaborative 'weaving' of an
'invisible network' that feeds, generates and energises all aspects of theatrical
communication .
 1 78 LtJrna Aforshull and Dtll'id Williams Peter Brook l 79

.
Exercises 1 ses that are haIden �11 rhe rime at rhe root of
body to codes and impu . .

moment of tra�sparency. as m certain

cultural forms' ( 1 998: J 67). Ar the
Preparation
kinds � ?
of possession in which �onsci�usness do�s �o� 1sa �e�r, actors becom e
site or conduit for rhe ma01fesrar1on of rhe spmt or l t e � � '
o words, son!-:.

�ance
Given rhe imporrance of acrors' processes in Brook's work, appropriate for�s. At rhe
a 'life' char Brook believes exists beneath rheacm:al
training is evidently essential. However, 'preparation' is a more useful term
_

p<>int of transparency, it speaks/sings/dances them. Thus, acrors need to

than 'training' when considering the Centre's approad1. Brook is not
engaged in developing the skills of the actor from the ground up, of become
'forming' ac:rors for his own particular style of work. In general, Brook's
instruments char transmit truths which orhenvise wo� ld remain our of
acrors come to the company wirh a distinguished track record. Most have
sight. These truths can appear from sources deep w1thm ourselves or far
had years of training within a particular thearre culture - in Japanese Noh,
oucsidt' ourselves. Any preparation we <lo is only part of rhe c�� plere
Balinese Topeng, African storytelling and dance, English or Polish classical
preparation. The body muse be re-.i.dy and se�sirive, bur that 1s� r all.
theatre, and so on; and all have performed extensively in a variety of
The voice has co be open and free. The emotwns have to be optn and .
contexts. B y most standards, they are already 'fully trained'. Their bodies,
emotions and voices have already lt'arned how to respond to the demands of
free. The intelligence has to be quick. All of these have co �e prepared.

ΕΛ
There are crude vibrations chat can come rhrough very easily and fine
different kinds of theatre-making. _ we are
ones char come through only with difficulty. In each case � he life
Ar the same time, all of the CIRT's projects include an element of phys­ _
looking for means breaking open a series of habits. A habtt of spt'akmg;
ical and vocal work geared cowards further extending the acrors' technical
maybe a habit made by an encire language.
skills. Somerimes this rakes the form of training in particular styles of phys­ (Brook 1987: 107)

ΣΔ
ical or vocal work (for example, Tai Chi). Ar other rimes the approach is less
familiar. During the Centre's early research, Brook often arranged contact
It is with such a goal in mind that, for example, Brook invited rhe interna­
with groups with particular perceprual abilities - for example, deaf practi­
tionally renowned Feldenkrais teacher Monika Pagneux co prepare the
tioners (such as the American Theatre of rhe Deaf) and deaf audiences, who
young cast of his Don Giovanni in Aix-en-Provcnce 0 99 ) to �nsettle�

-Ο
-

were usually children. Interaction with their amplified tacrile and visual
received be/ ca11to habits, co stimulate individual and collective dexterity and
sensibilities was perceived to be as informative as any other more conven­ . .
economy and co encourage a fluid openness and mtegr� tton.
tional 'specialist' training - perhaps even more so. In addition, performers in .
particular projects are exposed ro appropriatt' training regimes under the
The starting point for Brook's training is respo�s1wness: eh� bil1ty tc�
.
� .

sense and play with, and off, material in ;1 simple, direct way. Thi� matenal
direction of specialises within the group. For example, rhe CIRT performer
can be impulses arising within the actor or suggested externally, m the rela­
Alain Maratrac passed on his extensive knowledge of south-east Asian
�
ΚΥ
tionship with another performer or performers, or in demenrs o rhc text
martial arcs ro the Mflhahharatu company, as did practitioners of certain _
_ a mparme
itself. Performers are encouraged to develop and exercise atten­
South Indian forms (such as Kathakali and Kalarippayattu).
tiveness: ro inner impulses, co fellow performers and ro the space. For Brook,
However, the main thrust of Brook's 'training' lies in another direction.
initially such 'respons-ability' is developed physically through the bod� and
Through the preparatory work, the actors encounrer the absolure imperative
its intuitive intelligence, rather than intellectually through analys� s or
ΑΠ

for responsiveness, openness, and rhe ability co operate as ream-players .

discussion. His preparation of actors realigns the assumed relat10nsh1p of
within the group. Their earlier training is useful in terms of the depth of _ _
mind and body in Western culrures, reversing the convenr10nal Cartesian
theatrical experience it can afford, and of the self-discipline rt'quired for a
hierarchy and traditional point of access to 'meaning':
profession chat is an ongoing process of learning to learn. But with Brook

le is always a mistake for actors to begin their work wit� inrellecrual

they are invited to work beyond or beneath enculturated theatrical conven­
tions, whether i r be the 'psychological truths' of Western naturalism or the of
discussion, as the rational mind is nor nearly as potent an msr ���nt
codified gestures of Asian forms. Brook's processes resemble the t•ia 11egatfr11 y of
discovery as the more secret faculties of � i cui � ion. The poss1b1lir
of Grorowski; they necessitate an un-learning, a peeling away of habit and developed
intuitive understanding through the body is snmulace d and
the known in favour of the potential and the 'essential· .
in many different ways. If this happens, within the sam� day there can be
Brook's ideal actor has moved beyond ego-driven virtuosity to a kind of
moments of repose when the mind can peacefully pl�y 1rs true role. Only
psycho-somatic integration that he calls 'transparency'. Alive and present in
chen will analysis and discussion of the text find their natural place.
every molecule of their being, they have 'the capacity to lisren through the (Brook 1 993: 1 08)
 1 80 Lornu Marshall and David Williams
Although the body i s initially privileged as mediator of experience and
storehouse of knowledges, che ultimate ideal is an actor who has developed
ro che poinc where all available channels - chose of che body, che inrellect,
and che emotional faculties - are open, interconnecred and active (Brook
1 987: 232). Research and training thus consticure a 'cle-aring of paths'
(Brook 1 97 3). As in Gurdjieffs system of 'harmonious development', to
which Brook's work is indebted, personal evolution seems from simultaneous
work on the three core centres of body, thought and feelings. Once chis
internal network of relationships is active, it permits openings and connec­
tions co others, the wider 'network of relationships' that Brook refers to
above.
I n Tht!re Are No Seems , Brook describes the preparatory process for The
Tempest. The group began by withdrawing from ics familiar base in Paris,
and moving ro a secluded rehearsal space in che cloisters of a former
ΕΛ
monastery i n Avignon. Scripts of the play were ignored completely for the
ΣΔ
-Ο
ΚΥ
ΑΠ
Fgure
i 9.1 Stick exercise with the American Theacer of the Deaf, Paris, 1 971
S1111r.-t: Phom, OCT
'.'J11t1: The sticks
externalist- and amplify personal impulses which harmonise as a colleccivt'
1i:np lse when individuals 'listen' ro the group. Ar such moments, transparency and connec­
�
noo mrerse<.:r.
PL"ter Brook 181
first ten days, as the actors prepared their bodies and voices through group
games anJ improvisations whose sole purpose was ' co develop quick n.·spon­
siveness, a hand, ear and eye contact, a shared awareness rhar is easily lost
and has co be constantly renewed, co bring together che separare individuals
into a sensirive, vibrant ceam' (Brook 1 993: 1 07).
Such activities are noc warm-ups before performers turn to the 'real' cask
of acting, as is often the case in contemporary rheacre. Instead, rhey are
oriented cowards amplifying spontaneity, responsiveness and complicity,
whilst exercising rhe 'muscles' of intuition and the imagination .
I n practice, these activities cake many different forms: leader/led 'conver­
sations' between actors involving physical and/or vocal exchange; collective
exercises in rhythm, polyrhychm and counterpoint, of borh audicory and
spatial kinds; choral work in which individual actions feed and sustain
collective images; and improvisatory play focused around simple objects -
balls, cloths, doors, boxes, sricks. Brook compares this kind of preparatory
work to the training of a sports ceam: 'only an acting team muse go farther;
not only rhe bodies, bur the rhoughts and feelings muse all come inco play
and scay in rune' (ibid.).
'Tuning' here is a musical or orchesrral metaphor. le represents a quality
of listening and interaction in which the personal (individual instruments)
needs co serve the supra-personal (the orchestral collective). Paradoxically
the recognition of the primacy of the whole over its individual parts - rhe
team over che player - can enable a deeper 'individuality' and sense of self co
flourish in 'the projection of a collective imagination far richer chan our
own' (Brook 1998: 183).
In The lnviJibli: Actor, Yoshi Oida describes one of the many exercises chat
invite heightened attention co the circulation of energies underpinning tht:
'invisible networks of relationships'. Two people exchange a conversation
using only the actions of one hand. Each person 'listens' co physical impulses
offered by the other, and responds to chem, in a direct and immediate way
using their own hand. Oida is ar pains co point out that these puppeted
hand languages should not be referential, like a code co be deciphered 'like
sign language or a game of charades' :
Instead, you try to concentrate your whole existence into that one hand.
le is a kind of strange animal, communicating to another equally
strange animal. When you find the genuine life of this creature, and it is
able co develop a real and varied relationship with the other animal, it is
fascinating to watch.
(Oida 1997: 75-6)
The aim is co condense the full sensitivity and expressivity of the body into
one isolated pare. Oida suggests that the quality of deep attention brought
co bear in such seemingly banal interactions is crucial. When a connection is
established, the space betwi:en the two hands is animated in a kind of small,
1 82 Lorna Mat:rhall and David \Vi/Iiams
energised dance of relacedness. Here 'drama· is generated via che rnmbustion
of contact between cwo 'life forms', their particular qualicies amplified
because they are reduced and distilled:
What is interesting is the t:xchange. The 'acting' doesn'c reside in the
hand of each accor; i c exists in the air berween the two hands. This kind
of accing is nor narrative, not psychology, not emotion, but something
�lse, something more basic It is very difficulr ro describe exactly what
.
JC JS.
(Oida 1 997: 76)
On a micro levd, therefore, this exercise represents a provocation to concen­
tration (inward cowards one's own hand) an<l openness (outward towards the
other's hand). Ac the same rime, it reflects the quality of exchange desired
ΕΛ
on a macro level within the company as a whole, and ulcimacely with chose
present as spectators. The network links the actor co self, co partner, to
ensemble, co audience.
le is important co noce that all sm:h exercises can, and should, be re-made
for particular contexts. The exchange could be exclusively vocal, such as
ΣΔ
improvised responses co the sounds of an existing text; or it could involve
any parts of the body, with or without voice. There is no stable vocabulary of
exercises, no immutable 'box of cricks'. What is central here is the exl'hange
and its subtle repercussions - che pleasure of the changes i c instigates:
-Ο
You have to work at a levd deeper than char of the intellect. As a result,
each time you 'exchange', something inside you changes in reaction.
From moment ro moment you airer and respond. In this way, as the
sounds and movemenrs are exchanged, your inner being constantly
ΚΥ
shifts.
(Oida 1997: 78-9)
Responding to te.'l:t
ΑΠ
Once che sense of an ensemble has begun to be established, and individual
'insrruments' are 'tuned' and able ro 'play' in relation to each other, then the
group turns to language. Often tied to habitual responses, words can enforce
the 'deadly' and impede an immediacy of communication. Brook's prepara­
tion of actors includes a re-examinacion of all aspects of cheir use of
language.
Like other t-xternal scimuli employed co provoke internal responses, cexrs
are initially created as materials co be explored anJ 'understood' physically
and emorionally, rurher than intellectually in terms of their surface content
and meaning. In this context, the kind of responsiveness Brook seeks in his
actors has little ro do with intellectual understanding per se, or even with che
ability co establish pl'rsonal emotional identification with the words in gues-
+
Pder Brook 183
tion. It is something more fundamencal, like glimpsing the particular
copography of a world or landscape. Brook's discourse in this context often
describes patient and sensitive physiological discovery. He has talked, for
exampk, of the voice as a mountain with many caves chat the actor needs to
explore, or of the imperative to treat a new word like a blind man finding a
butterfly (Smith 1 972: 76, 1 .10).
As with any existing cultural formation or expression, Brook wants his
actors co disinter elements underlying language through a smsitisation co its
deeper resonances. The actors are invited co caste the cexrnn:s and qualities
of energy - the ' music' - underpinning its particular forms and to listen to
che ways in which this 'music' impacts on their inner landscapes. To return
to Brook's description of preparation for The Tempe.rt:
After a fow <lays our study included words, single words, chen clusters of
words and then eventually isolated phrases in English and French to try
and makt· real for everyone, including the translator, the special nature
of Shakespearean writing.
<Brook 1 993: 108)
Indeed Brook believes that it is possible to respond with integrity co a given
text even when the actor cannot understand the referential meanings of the
words. In the early 1 970s, this belief was the axis of the language work
which culminated in che performance of OrJ!.haJI at Persepolis. Brook
describes his multicultural group's imperative to sic.le-step tht' assumed
consensus of an existing shared language:
The theme of the first year's work of the lncernarional Centre of Theatre
Research was to be a study of the structures of sounds. Our aim was to
discover more fully what constitutes living exprt-ssion. To do this, we
needt'd to work outside the basic sysccm of communication of theatrt's,
we had co lay aside the principle of communication through shared
words, shared signs, shared references, shared languagt:s, shared slang,
shared cul rural or subcultural imagery.
<Brook 1 987: I 08)
In preparation for Orgha.1t, the actors initially experimented with the sound
qualities of swear words, but soon moved on co the creation of their own
language constructed from an accumulation of simple sounds. Oic.la explains:
We took words from various languages and jumbled chem up together
co create interesting sounds, t'.g. 'Bashta hondo sroflock madai zutto'.
Wi: had to create a meaning for this phrast' according co the situation
that was being improvised. Working with a partnt'r (who obviously
didn't know che literal sense of your words), you had to communitate
1 84 Lorna Mc1r.rha/I and D,ll'id Wi/liamJ
what you wanted to say through your uses of intonations and darirv of ·
intention. We worked a great deal in this created language. . .
(Oida 1 992: 47)
Subsequently, they experimented with 'dead' languages that had once
communicated specific meanings through words and grammar, but that
were unknown to all of the actors in the group. One exercise involved
Ancient Greek, a language i n which the meanings of words are known to
scholars, whilst their precise articulation in speech still remains the subject
of conjecture. Brook describes how a passage of Ancient Greek was given to
the actors as a single unbroken unit, without any of its usual verbal or
compositional divisions. Like any newly encountered word, this 'nugget of
"unknowingness" ' (Brook 1 998: 168) had to be explored for its musical
potential: 'It was nor divided inro verses, nor even into separate words; it
ΕΛ
was just a long series of letters, as in the earliest manuscripts. The actor was
confronted with a fragment: ELELEUELELEUUPOMAUSFAKELOSKAIFREE­
NOPLEGEIS' (Brook 1 987: 1 08).
The actors were invited to approach this fragmenr 'like an archaeologist,
stumbling over an unknown object in the sand' (Brook 1 987: 1 08), de<:i­
ΣΔ
phering its deeper layers by means of their own inruitive sensitivities and
'knowledges':
The actor's truly scientific tool is an inordinately developed emotional
-Ο
faculty with which he learns m apprehend certain truths, to discrimi­
nate between real and false. It was this capacity that the actor brought
into play, rasting the Greek letters on the tongue, scanning them with
his sensibility. Gradually the rhythms hidden in the flow of letters
began to reveal themselves, gradually the latent tides of emotion swelled
ΚΥ
up and shaped the phrases until the actor found himself speaking them
with increasing force and conviction. Eventually every actor found it
possible to play the words with a deeper and richer sense of meaning
than if he had known what chey were meanr to say.
( 1 98 7 : 1 08)
ΑΠ
Once again, Brook's linguistic model is musical: a communirncive medium
of the senses in which means and meaning are indissolubly interwoven. For
Brook, such music represenrs an untranslatable language sufficienr unto
itself: pre-intellectual, emotional, physically rooted, and potentially trans­
cultural.
Imide/outside
Brook has endeavoured to illustrate key elemenrs of his perspectives on
acting processes with reference to a familiar shorthand: acting as from the
'inside-out', and from the 'outside-in'. Although these two terms are often
+
Peter Brook 1 85
used ro describe two mutually exclusive approaches to creativity in acting,
for Brook they are complementary and inseparable.
In the early 1 990s, during a public forum on the Centre's work, he
invited those present to enact and experience these different, bur inter­
related, approaches in a simple and direet manner. First of all, they were
asked to respond to their own internal impulses in an external action:
Make a movemenr with your right arm, allow it to go anywhere, really
anywhere, without thinking. When I give the signal, let it go, chen stop
the movement. Go! Now hold the gesture just where it is, don't change
or improve it, only try to feel what it is that you are expressing.
Recognise that some sort of impression cannot fail to emanate from the
attitude of your body. I look at all of you, and although you did not
attempt to 'tell' anything, to try to 'say' anything, you just let your arm
go where it wished, yet each of you is expressing something.
(Brook 1 993: 68)
A movement is triggered withour conscious intellectual volition or composi­
tional shaping; although it is of course in some sense 'chosen' by the
individual parcicipanrs, for they are its origin and site. Once this movement
has been arrested at an externally determined point, participanrs are encour­
aged to explore this attitude; they are invited to 'taste' its expressive
particularity and informational resonances and associations, as if it were a
film still they temporarily inhabit. No gesture will be neutral or void, Brook
suggests, for each one represents an 'attitude' in both senses of the word - a
'dis-position'. Ea<:h can be read in many different ways from both the inside
and externally.
Brook then proposes something slightly different using exactly the same
starring point, an unpremeditated arm movement stopped at a particular
moment:
Now hold the attitude just where it happens to be and try, without
modifying your position, to feel a relationship between rhe hand, the
arm, the shoulder, up ro the muscles of the eye. Feel chat it all has a
meaning. Now allow the gesture to develop, to bec.:ome more complete
through a minimal movement, just a small adjustment. Feel in this
minute change, something transformed itself in the rotality of your
body, and the complete arritude becomes more unified and expressive.
(Brook 1993: 68)
Here the emphasis is on sensing relations between the parts and a
whole, physically and then cognitively. The endeavour to transform an
accidental attitude into a form that has 'meaning', through minimal
adjustment, engages the will and imagination. The perspective used in
1 86 Lorna Marshall tJnd David Williams
this composirional refining is sensory and inrernal; at the moment
'meaning' comes inro being, 'inside' modifies 'ourside'.
Ac this point, Brook returns to the beginning of rhe exercise, once agai n
shifting its parameters:
Instead of making a movemenr chat is your own, rake a movement chat
I give you; place your hand, open, in fronr of you, the palm facing the
outside. You do not do this because you feel you want co, but because
I'm asking you co, and you are prepared co go along with me without
yet knowing where this will lead. So welcome co tht' opposite of impro­
visation: earlit'r you made a gesture of your own choice, now you are
doing one chat is imposed. Accept doing this gesture without asking
yourselves 'What does it mean?' in an intellectual and analytical
manner, otherwise you will remain on the outside. Try ro feel what it
ΕΛ
provokes in you.
CBrook 1 99.1 : 69)
Here the physical attitude is defined from the outside, then projected
ΣΔ
inwards. Participants an: invited co 'listen' and experience the inner associa­
tions thus triggered, without crying co decipher or impose conceptual
signification; so 'outside' refashions 'inside'. However, once ir has been
allowed to resonate, and 1s both 'heard' and accepted, a fresh imaginal
response arises within the actor, which in turn informs the external physical
-Ο
attitude. As Brook explains, this bridging of inner an<l outer constitutes a
moment of openness in which energy circulates freely - in other words, a
moment of transpan:ncy:
Something is given to you from the exterior, which is diftt:rent from the
ΚΥ
free movement you made previously, and yet if you assume ir totally. it
is the same thing, it has become yours and you have become its . . . . Tht:
rrut: acror recognist's rhat real freedom occurs at the moment when what
comes from the outside and what is broughr from wirhin make a pert�cr
bh:nding.
ΑΠ
(Brook 1 993: 69)
Perception and reception now become acrive and creative, rather rhan
passive. Inner/outer, subjecr/objecr and structure/freedom are now in
dynamic coexistence, rather than being mutually exclusive (as they are so
often assumed to be). Whereas a great deal of conventional acting is consti­
tuted by adding gesture to feeling, or vice versa, Brook looks for a state of
responsive connectedness where feeling and gesture are indivisible and
synonymous. If acting comprises the process of making rhe 'invisible'
visible, the exchange between inside and outside needs to be two-way and
continuous.
•
Pttrr Brook 187
Production
The desired confusion of inner and outer, invisible and visible, is one of the
cornerstones of Brook's preparation of actors from the Mt1rat!Sade to The Man
Who. For example, during an intensive study period in the preparation of
The Ik, members of rhe group copied the postures of members of the Ik
tribe, as recorded in documencary photographs. These poscures were re­
created in painstaking derail, with the actor 'listening' ro information
provided by the physical form. Whilst others obser:ed an corrected, �he�
actor would chen improvise the action or movement 1mmed1acely preceding
or following rht: instant captured in rhe phorograph. Throug� chi� hig�ly
disciplined form of 'ourside-in' improvisation, whe�e the precise soll-p� mr
of a photograph would be passed through as if 1t were one frame 1� a
continuum, actors were able co access internal responses and echoes outside
che limirarions of personal biographical experience. A� Brook remarks:
This was a far cry from what is usually understood by 'free improvisa­
tion'. We found it enabled European, American, Japanese, African actors
to understand something quite directly about playing srarving people, a
physical condition none of us has ever experienced and therefore cannot
reach by imagination or memory.
(Brook 1 987: U 5 )
11/ the Bircl.r,
For the produnion of Confe1wa: o n the other hand, the group
worked with Balinest: Topcng masks co facilitate a storytelling rransforma­
biliry rhat reflected the fablt:'s rapid shifts in reality. Brook viewe<l these
particular masks as objt'ctivt:, archetypal manife� rations of esst:n� _1al typ1:s
which would help al·tors clarify and cryscall1se rhc.:1r . own impulses.
�
Extending their earlier srndy of rhe physiological a rirmks of the lk che
. :
actors scrurinised and manipulated rhe masks ac arm s lengch (like Balinese
performers); rhen, ar the moment of purring masks on, �
hey w�lUld modify
their own facial expression in the direction of rhe mask s physiognomy. In
chis way, actors aimed co make intimate skin contact with 'the face of a very
_
strong, essential type' (Brook 1 98 1 : 63). Paradoxically Brook conceives of
such masks as 'anti'-masks char rmawer, offering 'a soul-portrait, a phoco of
what you rart'ly see . . . an outer casing char is a complete and sen� itive reflec­
tion of rhe inner life' { l 987: 62). Porencially rhese masks - like all such
external stimuli employed co provoke internal movement - art: both rrans­
formative agents of understanding for their wearers and 'lie-detectors'
amplifying dissonances in circuits and flows:
A mask is cwo-way traffic all the time; it sends a message in, and
projects a message out. It operates by rhe law of echoes; f the echo­ �
chamber is pt'rfecr, chr: sound going in and the one going our are
1 88 Lorna Marshall and Drtl'id \Vi/liall/J Pi:ter Brook 189

reflecrions; there is a perfect relation between rhe echo-chamber and the

sound; bur if ic isn't, it's like a distorted mirror.
( 1 987: 63)

Similar processes were employed in preparing the production of The Man

'iX'ho. Through first-hand observation of, and conrilcr with, patients in a
Parisian hospital, che small, collaborative ream involved in the project
evolved detailed physiological impressions of the sympcoms of particular
neurological conditions. By imitating in detail the external forms of internal
states, the actors' imaginilrions were activated. Recently, Brook has described
a moment in the production's first public run-through chat seems an apt
summation of our discussion of certain core components in Brook's practice:
inside/outside, crunspanmcy, distillation, immediacy, the invisible network:

ΕΛ
There came a moment when I felt we had found a link with what we
had atcempced in Africa when we had first pur a pair of shoes on the
carper in front of the audience ro establish a common ground. In The
/\fan \Vho, che pair of shoes was replaced by a cable, a candle and a box
of marches . Yoshi Oida came to the cable, lie the candle wirh spt:cial

ΣΔ
concenrrarion and then for a long rime gazed intently ac che flame. Then Figtm 9.2 Le Mahahharatt1 at rhe Bouffes du Nord, Paris, 1985
he blew ic our, cook another march, lit the candle and blew it out again. S111:1rn Photo, Michel Dieuzai<le
As he scarred once more, I could feel the tension i n the audience Niilt: A n archery concest. Bamboo sticks are used rn suggest weapons and t o const�l�ct a
increasing. The audience could read inco rhe simple actions far more dynamically layered space. The actor-storytellers aim to produce an energised depth ot helc.l,

-Ο
thiln they apparencly expressed; . . . ic understood directly whar was going
on.
(Brook 1 998: 22.� -4)
Finally, let us return co the notion of the actor as 'team-player'. We have
ΚΥ
already seen how parr of the actor's preparation focuses on amplifying sensi­
tivity cowards fellow actors. This 'tuning' in rnrn supports their ability to
meet what is required of chem in an ensemble of scorycdlcrs. Yoshi Oida
uses Brook's sporting meraphor to describe collectivist erhics and pranices
of sroryrelling in The Mahahharatd:
ΑΠ
rarher than an absolute uniformity.
However, che imperative to 'pick up the ball' goes beyond training, rehearsal
and even onscage performance. Oida has also described how actors did
nor scay in their dressing rooms during performilnces of the Mahabharata.
Instead, they would stand in the wings, watching and listening co the way
in which a sequence was unfolding prior co their entrance. In this way, they
could sense how co adapt their entrance and performance in order to keep
the 'ball' in play (Oida 1 992: 1 7 3). So the necessiry for connection co the
'invisible network' even affected actors' behaviour offscage.

As in Cnnf1:mza: of the BirdJ , we were a team of storytellers . . . [Brook)
used rhe image of football to help us undersrand what he wanted. As if
the play were a game of football, there were cwency-cwo team members
and one ball, the ball being the srory. Since we were all on the same
team, ic didn't matter who played which pare, or if you changed charac­
ters in the middle. Together we told one scory, keeping one ball in play.
In order co continue telling the story, you had co be ready co pick up the
ball when your scenes arrived.
(Oida 1 992: i nr
Therefore, one rnn see how the notion of a dynamic relationship between
the inside and the ourside ('transparency') manifests itself ac many different
levels of the creacive process - from a sensitising of che individual actors co
their own impulses and those of others, co methodologies for revealing
hidden layers of texts, and for enabling character transformation char is not
merely reduced co personal biography. le also influences particular choices of
tools and artistic forms, both in rehearsal and in performilnce. The masks,
for example, precisely mat"! Brook's propositions concerning 'transparency'
and the 'invisible network'. The way in which such concepts permeate all
aspects of his company's performances is charncceriscic of Brook's pragma­
tism. Concepts are only ever sanctioned in terms of usefulness; and more
190 Lorna Marshall and Dai•id \'(lil/it11m

often rhan nor with Brook, they arise from working processes, rather than
being imposed upon them.

Notes

For a detailed discussion of the chararn:ristics of 'rough cheam�· and 'holy

theatre', and their conjunction in a prismatic rotality Brook calls 'immediate
rheacre', see Brook ( 1 968).
2 For details of all of the CIRT's work since 1970, with extensive bibliographies,
see Banu Cl 991), Hunt and Reeves ( 1 995 ), and Williams ( 1 992).
3 In conversation in 1986, Brook described the qualiry he mosr admired in one of
his acmes, Maurice Benichou, in rerms of 'lightness·. This quality can be under­
sroo<l through Paul Valery's suggt'stion thac 'one should be light as a bird, not
light as a feather'. In other words, one must recognise and bear the substantive
weighr of what it is one enacts, ics gravity; one must remain present, engaged
and embodied in the doing that takes us into the world - but wirh a lighcness of
touch that is buoyant anJ playful, chat enables one not co be encumbered or
consumed, but co take off, to move on, ro be 'free'.
4 For an analysis of the workings of this sroryrelling model in performance, see
David Williams ( 1 99 1 ), in particular pp. 1 1 7-92.

Bibliography
ΕΛ
Banu, Georges ( 1 99 1 ) Pi:ter Brook. de 'fo11011 d'AthtneJ ,; L.1 T1:111ptti:, Paris: Flam-
ΣΔ
marion.
Brook, Peter 0 998) Thread1 of Time: A Memoir, London: Methuen.
-- ( 1993) There Are Nn 5ft'rets: 'fho11J!.hl.1 on A<tin}!. and Theatre, London: Merhut-n.
-Ο

-- ( 1 987) The Shiftinr. Point, London: Merhut'n.

-- ( 1 98 1 ) 'Lie and Glorious Adjective', Parah11!11 6, 3 (August).
-- ( 1 978) 'Lettre a une ecudiante anglaist'', in Shakespeare, Ti111nn d'At�nes
(adapted by Jean-Claude Carriere, 1974), Paris: C1CT.
ΚΥ

-- ( 1 973) Brook at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (workshop sessions rran­

scribc:d by Sally Gardner), September-October. Unpublished, unpaginated; hdd
in rhc CICT archives.
ΑΠ

-- ( 1968) The Empty Spa,·e, Harmondsworth: Penguin.

Hunt, Albert and Reeves, Geoffrey ( 1 995) Peter Brr1(Jk, Cambridge: Cambridge
Universiry Press.
Oida, Yoshi, wirh Marshall, Lorna ( 1992) An A,·tnr Adrift, London: Merhuen.
-- ( 1997) The /nrrisihle Aaor, London: Methuen.
Smith, A.C.H. ( 197 2) Orxha1t at Pi:rsepnli1, London: Eyre Methuen.
Trewin, John C. ( 1 97 1 ) Peter Brook: A Bior.raphy, London: Macdonald.
Williams, David (ed.) 0 992) Peter Brook: A Theatrical C111ehook, London: Methuen.
-- (ed.) ( 1 99 1 ) Peter BrtHik and the Mahahhart:Jta: Critical Pi:rsflfc"lim, London and
New York: Routledge.