Brecht Collected Plays: 2: Man Equals Man; Elephant Calf; Threepenny Opera; Mahagonny; Seven Deadly Sins: Man Equals Man , Elephant Calf , Threepenny Ope (World Classics)

by Bertolt Brecht

  [Untitled. BBA 150/151.]

  TWO PARAGRAPHS

  Execution

  Galy Gay is led to the place of execution, but since he is being ‘inconspicuously’ led by Jesse and Polly – ‘the disgrace for the regiment is too great; nothing of this must get out’ – at first he is treated as a hero (‘It’s Jeraiah! Last-man-last-round Jip, the hero of Cochin Kula’). They all fête him; somebody asks him for a cigarette, hoping for reflected glory (‘Happy to make your acquaintance. Wait till I tell them back home’). Then Uriah yells ‘It’s a mistake!’ and they all learn that he is a deserter. Throw things at him, spit at him.

  Recruitment

  Camp whores are sent ahead to admire his uniform. Two quarrel over him. He could sleep with three girls if it weren’t for the discovery of some small outward lapse, an undone button or a missing button or a missing shoulder-strap, which leads to the suspicion that he is a swindler.

  [’Die Erschiessung’ and ‘Die Werbung’, from BBA 1080/75.]

  INTRODUCTORY SPEECH (FOR THE RADIO)

  Look: our plays embrace part of the new things that came into the world long before the world war. This means at the same time that they no longer embrace a large part of the old things to which we are accustomed. Why don’t they now embrace these old things which were once recognised and proper? I think I can tell you exactly. They no longer embrace these old things because the people to whom these things were important are today on the decline. But whenever a broad stratum of humanity is declining its vital utterances get weaker and weaker, its imagination becomes crippled, its appetites dwindle, its entire history has nothing more of note to offer, not even to itself. What a declining stratum like this does can no longer lead to any conclusions about men’s doings. In the case of the arts this means that such people can no longer create or absorb art of any sort.

  This stratum of humanity had its great period. It created monuments that have remained, but even these remaining monuments can no longer arouse enthusiasm. The great buildings of the city of New York and the great discoveries of electricity are not of themselves enough to swell mankind’s sense of triumph. What matters most is that a new human type should now be evolving, at this very moment, and that the entire interest of the world should be concentrated on his development. The guns that are to hand and the guns that are still being manufactured are turned for him or against him. The houses that exist and are being built are built to oppress him or to shelter him. All live works created or applied in our time set out to discourage him or to put courage in him. And any work that has nothing to do with him is not alive and has nothing to do with anything. This new human type will not be as the old type imagines. It is my belief that he will not let himself be changed by machines but will himself change the machine; and whatever he looks like he will above all look human.

  I would now like to turn briefly to the comedy Mann ist Mann and explain why this introduction about the new human type was necessary. Of course not all these problems are going to arise and be solved in this particular play. They will be solved somewhere quite different. But it struck me that all sorts of things in Mann ist Mann will probably seem odd to you at first – especially what the central figure, the porter Galy Gay, does or does not do – and if so it’s better that you shouldn’t think you are listening to an old acquaintance talking or to yourself, as has hitherto nearly always been the rule in the theatre, but to a new sort of type, possibly an ancestor of just that new human type I spoke of. It may be interesting for you to look straight at him from this point of view, so as to find out his attitude to things as precisely as possible. You will see that among other things he is a great liar and an incorrigible optimist; he can fit in with anything, almost without difficulty. He seems to be used to putting up with a great deal. It is in fact very seldom that he can allow himself an opinion of his own. For instance when (as you will hear) he is offered an utterly spurious elephant which he can resell, he will take care not to voice any opinion of it once he hears a possible purchaser is there. I imagine also that you are used to treating a man as a weakling if he can’t say no, but this Galy Gay is by no means a weakling; on the contrary he is the strongest of all. That is to say he becomes the strongest once he has ceased to be a private person; he only becomes strong in the mass. And if the play finishes up with him conquering an entire fortress this is only because in doing so he is apparently carrying out the determined wish of a great mass of people who want to get through the narrow pass that the fortress guards. No doubt you will go on to say that it’s a pity that a man should be tricked like this and simply forced to surrender his precious ego, all he possesses (as it were); but it isn’t. It’s a jolly business. For this Galy Gay comes to no harm; he wins. And a man who adopts such an attitude is bound to win. But possibly you will come to quite a different conclusion. To which I am the last person to object.

  [’Vorrede zu Mann ist Mann’ from Die Szene, Berlin, April 1927, reprinted in GW Schiften zum Theater, pp. 976 ff. This was an introductory talk to the broadcast of the play by Berlin Radio on March 27, 1927. It also appears in a shortened and adapted form as a statement by Brecht in the opening programme of Piscator’s 1927-28 season. Part of another ‘introductory speech’ is included in GW Schriften zum Theater as well, but discusses the theatre in general rather than this particular play.]

  DIALOGUE ABOUT BERT BRECHT’S PLAY Man equals Man

  – Where have you been to put you in such a bad mood and so foul a temper?

  – I’ve been to Bert Brecht’s play Man equals Man and it’s a bad play let me tell you and a waste of an evening.

  – What makes you say that?

  – Because it is a play that deals with ugly things such as are remote from me and the men in it are badly dressed and caked with the filth of their debased life such as is remote from me. And the plays I like are those in which moving or delightful things happen and clean well-dressed people perform.

  – What’s the good of being surrounded by moving or delightful things and clean well-dressed people if a red-hot lump of iron hits you and blots you out of life and the world?

  – It is a play whose wit fails to make me laugh and its serious side to make me weep. And the plays I like are those in which the wit sparkles like fireworks or some sad occurrence moves my heart to compassion. For life is difficult and for a brief while I would fain be relieved of its burden.

  – What’s the good of enjoying wit like fireworks or having your heart moved at some sad occurrence if a red-hot lump of iron hits you and blots you out of life and the world?

  – The plays I like are those that speak of the delights of Nature, of the freshness of springtime and the rushing of the wind through the trees in summer, of the pale sky in April and the last blossoms in autumn.

  – What’s the good of the freshness of springtime and the rushing of the wind through the trees in summer, of the pale sky in April and the last blossoms in autumn, if a red-hot lump of iron hits you and blots you out of life and the world?

  – I take pleasure in beautiful women and I love the desire that comes from the sight of them as they laugh and move in plays and seduce men and are taken by them. For then I feel that I am a man and mighty in sex.

  – What’s the good of feeling desire at the sight of beautiful women as they laugh and seduce men and are taken by them and feeling that you are a man and mighty in sex if a red-hot lump of iron hits you and blots you out of life and the world?

  – But I loathe whatever is degrading and disparaging and I feel myself raised to a higher plane by the nobility immanent in the plays of the great masters; I love whatever is lofty and improving, such as makes me sense the might of a God and the existence of a just Power.

  – What’s the good of being raised to a higher plane by nobility and feeling the might of a God and the existence of a just Power if a red-hot lump of iron hits you and blots you out of life and the world?

  – Why do you have to go on repeating the same words in answer
to all I’ve been saying about the beautiful and elevating things in the plays of the great masters?

  – Because you too can get caught up like that man in Bert Brecht’s play so as to blot out your name and your self and your home and your wife and your memory, your laughter and your passion, your desire for women and your elevation to God; because you too can be lined up like that man in a formation one hundred thousand strong, between man and man, dinner pail and dinner pail, just as millions of men have been lined up in the past and millions of men will be lined up in the future; because like that man you too can be hit by a red-hot lump of iron and blotted out of life and the world!!!

  – shouting: Oh now I realise that it’s a good play and its moral one to be taken to heart.

  [‘Dialog zu Bert Brechts “Mann ist Mann”’ from GW Schriften zum Theater p. 978. Date uncertain, but probably pre-1930.]

  NOTES TO THE 1937 EDITION

  1. About the direction

  The comedy Man equals Man being a play of the parable type, unusual methods were adopted for its Berlin production. Stilts and wire clothes-hangers were used to turn the soldiers and their sergeant into exceptionally large and broad monsters. At the very end the porter Galy Gay was transformed into a monster of the same sort.

  The four transformations were clearly distinguished from one another (transformation of Jeraiah Jip into a god; transformation of Sergeant Fairchild into a civilian; transformation of the canteen into an empty space; transformation of the porter Galy Gay into a soldier).

  The components making up the set were like so many props. During Galy Gay’s transformation two screens in the background – canvas stretched across large iron frames – showed pictures of Galy Gay before and after he had been transformed. Galy Gay was lying before the latter when he woke up again after being shot. The numbers of the separate stages in the transformation process were given by projections. The set was constructed in such a way that its appearance could be entirely changed by the removal of just a few of its components.

  The ‘Song of the Flow of Things’ recited by the canteen proprietress during this transformation was accompanied by three kinds of activity. First, gathering the awnings: the canteen proprietress took a stick with an iron hook fixed to its end and gathered the two awnings together as she walked along the front of the stage reciting, her face turned towards the audience. Secondly, washing the awnings: she knelt in front of an opening in the stage and dipped the soiled pieces of linen into it, swirled them round as if in water and lifted out clean ones. Thirdly, folding the awnings: the canteen proprietress and the soldier Uriah Shelley held the awnings so they hung vertically right across the diagonal of the whole stage, and folded them together.

  Sergeant Fairchild’s transformation into a civilian (no. IVa [of scene 9]) was clearly marked off as an insertion by the half-curtain closing before and after it. The stage manager stepped forward with the script and read interpolated titles all through this process. At the start: ‘Presenting an insertion: Pride and demolition of a great personality.’ After the sentence ‘Yes, because that is a civilian coming’ [p. 55]: ‘During the mobilisation Sergeant Fairchild visits the Widow Begbick on a personal matter.’ After the sentence ‘Stop you gob, civvy!’: ‘Nor did he learn from bitter experience. Clad as a civilian he staked his great military reputation to impress the widow.’ After the sentence ‘You really should, for my sake’: ‘In order to win the widow, he heedlessly demonstrated his skill as a shot.’ After the sentence ‘Eight women out of every nine would find this gory man divine’: ‘A famous episode was deprived of its shock effect.’ After ‘… that for military reasons this canteen must be packed up’: ‘Though formally reminded of his duties, the sergeant insisted on having his will.’ After ‘… or he’ll demoralise the company’: ‘And so his inexplicable insistence on his private affairs caused him to forfeit his great name, the result of years of service.’

  2. The Question of Criteria for Judging Acting

  People interested in the ostensibly epic production of the play Mann ist Mann at the Staatsheater were of two opinions about the actor Lorre’s performance in the leading part. Some thought his way of acting was perfectly right from the new point of view, exemplary even; others quite rejected it. I myself belong to the first group. Let me put the question in its proper perspective by saying that I saw all the rehearsals and that it was not at all due to shortcomings in the actor’s equipment that his performance so disappointed some of the spectators; those on the night who felt him to be lacking in ‘carrying-power’ or ‘the gift of making his meaning clear’ could have satisfied themselves about his gifts in this direction at the early rehearsals. If these hitherto accepted hallmarks of great acting faded away at the performance (only to be replaced, in my view, by other hallmarks, of a new style of acting) this was the result aimed at by the rehearsals and is accordingly the only issue for judgement: the one point where opinions can differ.

  Here is a specific question: How far can a complete change in the theatre’s functions dislodge certain generally accepted criteria from their present domination of our judgement of the actor? We can simplify it by confining ourselves to two of the main objections to the actor Lorre mentioned above: his habit of not speaking his meaning clearly, and the suggestion that he acted nothing but episodes.

  Presumably the objection to his way of speaking applied less in the first part of the play than in the second, with its long speeches. The speeches in question are his protest against the announcement of the verdict, his pleas before the wall when he is about to be shot, and the monologue on identity which he delivers over the coffin before its burial. In the first part it was not so obvious that his manner of speaking had been split up according to gests, but in these long summings-up the identical manner seemed monotonous and to hamper the sense. It hardly mattered in the first part that people couldn’t at once recognise (feel the force of) its quality of bringing out the gest, but in the second the same failure of recognition completely destroyed the effect. For over and above the meaning of the individual sentences a quite specific basic gest was being brought out here which admittedly depended on knowing what the individual sentences meant but at the same time used this meaning only as a means to an end. The speeches’ content was made up of contradictions, and the actor had not to make the spectator identify himself with individual sentences and so get caught up in contradictions, but to keep him out of them. Taken as a whole it had to be the most objective possible exposition of a contradictory internal process. Certain particularly significant sentences were therefore ‘highlighted’, i.e. loudly declaimed, and their selection amounted to an intellectual achievement (though of course the same could also be the result of an artistic process). This was the case with the sentences ‘I insist you put a stop to it!’ and ‘It was raining yesterday evening!’ By these means the sentences (sayings) were not brought home to the spectator but withdrawn from him; he was not led but left to make his own discoveries. The ‘objections to the verdict’ were split into separate lines by caesuras as in a poem, so as to bring out their character of adducing one argument after another; at the same time the fact that the individual arguments never followed logically on one another had to be appreciated and even applied. The impression intended was of a man simply reading a case for the defence prepared at some quite different period, without understanding what it meant as he did so. And this was indeed the impression left on any of the audience who knew how to make such observations. At first sight, admittedly, it was possible to overlook the truly magnificent way in which the actor Lorre delivered his inventory. This may seem peculiar. For generally and quite rightly the art of not being overlooked is treated as vital; and here are we, suggesting that something is magnificent which needs to be hunted for and found. All the same, the epic theatre has profound reasons for insisting on such a reversal of criteria. Part of the social transformation of the theatre is that the spectator should not be worked on in the usual way. The theatre is no longer the
place where his interest is aroused but where he brings it to be satisfied. (Thus our ideas of tempo have to be revised for the epic theatre. Mental processes, e.g., demand quite a different tempo from emotional ones, and cannot necessarily stand the same speeding-up.)

  We made a short film of the performance, concentrating on the principal nodal points of the action and cutting it so as to bring out the gests in a very abbreviated way, and this most interesting experiment shows surprisingly well how exactly Lorre manages in these long speeches to mime the basic meaning underlying every (silent) sentence. As for the other objection, it may be that the epic theatre, with its wholly different attitude to the individual, will simply do away with the notion of the actor who ‘carries the play’; for the play is no longer ‘carried’ by him in the old sense. A certain capacity for coherent and unhurried development of a leading part, such as distinguished the old kind of actor, now no longer matters so much. Against that, the epic actor may possibly need an even greater range than the old stars did, for he has to be able to show his character’s coherence despite, or rather by means of, interruptions and jumps. Since everything depends on the development, on the flow, the various phases must be able to be clearly seen, and therefore separated; and yet this must not be achieved mechanically. It is a matter of establishing quite new rules for the art of acting (playing against the flow, letting one’s characteristics be defined by one’s fellow-actors, etc.). The fact that at one point Lorre whitens his face (instead of allowing his acting to become more and more influenced by fear of death ‘from within himself’) may at first sight seem to stamp him as an episodic actor, but it is really something quite different. To begin with, he is helping the playwright to make a point, though there is more to it than that of course. The character’s development has been very carefully divided into four phases, for which four masks are employed – the packer’s face, up to the trial; the ‘natural’ face, up to his awakening after being shot; the ‘blank page’, up to his reassembly after the funeral speech; finally the soldier’s face. To give some idea of our way of working: opinions differed as to which phase, second or third, called for the face to be whitened. After long consideration Lorre plumped for the third, as being characterised, to his mind, by ‘the biggest decision and the biggest strain’. Between fear of death and fear of life he chose to treat the latter as the more profound.