In fall 1970, Njoki McElroy taught the first university-level “Interpretation of Black Drama” course in the United States, which she designed and offered as a graduate student earning her doctorate in the Department of Interpretation at Northwestern University (NU). Her course curricularized epistemic commitments and selections from the Black Arts Movement (BAM) repertoire, bringing its theoretico-aesthetic project and its plays to a unit that was trying to reimagine itself beyond performance conventions resembling those of nineteenth-century platform reading and a pernicious lacuna in its analytical infrastructure. By braiding BAM commitments and texts together with the practices and purposes of oral interpretation in her teaching, McElroy expanded the “intellectual geographies”1 of the former to include the classroom and the intellectual genealogies of the latter into what would ultimately become performance studies.

Gwendolen Bishop is a name that appears in the margins of my recent account of the English avant-garde theatre. Prior to that she barely made it even into the margins, and then often with some rather significant indecision as to how actually to spell her name. The aim of this essay is to retrieve her from the margins and bring her more centrally into view. In doing so I consciously weave together her arts practices and her personal life, for these are deeply connected. The making of an avantist culture in early twentieth-century England was done not simply by arts experiments but also by kinds of behavior that challenged dominant ideas. In our Western twenty-first century we note and make much of Edwardian behaviors that contested assumptions about gender and sexuality, but we should note, alongside that, some equally striking challenges to ideas about class. Both are apparent in the Bishop story, which I tell more or less as a biographical narrative. The danger when one recovers a person from the shadows is that, in trying to situate them among their contemporaries, one writes overmuch about those contemporaries, such that our person fades again into the mists. With our biographical focus fixed solidly on her we can, I hope, discover how Gwendolen Bishop made her very particular contribution to this exciting cultural period on the eve of modernism.

Challenging China’s official history since the establishment of the People’s Republic in 1949 is uncommon among Chinese theatre makers in the twenty-first century. Given the stringent rules that severely limit artistic expression, such attempts are rare and, aesthetically, noticeably obscure. Director Wang Chong (b. 1982) and his collective Théâtre du Rêve Expérimental nevertheless embark on an audacious journey of deconstructing and reassembling some of China’s most taboo historical moments in their productions The Warfare of Landmine 2.0 (Dileizhan 2.0, 2013) and Lu Xun (Da xiansheng, 2016). Wang’s critical reconfiguration of deliberately forgotten violent events from the Maoist and post-Maoist eras is articulated onstage through the intermediation of far more visible and “stage-safe” historical moments that predate Maoist China. While obscuring the direct messages of the performances, Wang’s cunning technique of contesting Beijing’s memory of politically sensitive events manages to unearth “hidden” violent moments of which many Chinese youth today may be completely oblivious.

Reading the news about theatre in Germany during the past few years, it is hard to avoid the impression that something new is happening: a theatre culture that long emphasized politics now just as often emphasizes ethics. There were the 2022 protests in Munich over claimed anti-Semitism in the play Vögel (Birds of a Kind) by Wajdi Mouawad, which led the Metropoltheater to cancel its planned production. Nicolas Stemann and Benjamin von Blomberg tried to make programming and ensemble changes to the Schauspielhaus Zürich, which they co-led, but the institution's governing board decided not to renew their contracts amid accusations that the theatre had become too “woke” for its audiences. Most prominently, a new artistic team at the prestigious Theatertreffen festival in Berlin curated in 2023 a series of events to coincide with its traditional presentation of the year's ten “most notable” productions. These events included a “Responsibility Treffen” that looked “at how we can show our responsibility toward those who have lost the personal and structural circumstances necessary for working in the theatre.”

The East German protest singer, dramatist, and coal miner Gerhard Gundermann came to international attention in 2018 with the release of Andreas Dresen’s film Gundermann. This coincided with the twentieth anniversary of the artist’s premature death in 1998. While the film concentrates on Gundermann’s personal life, his complex relationship with the Socialist Unity Party (Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands, SED) hierarchy in the coal mine, and his controversial entanglement with the Stasi secret police, it glosses over his work as a singer-songwriter and playwright. It says nothing about the numerous productions he wrote and performed with the Liedertheater (song-theatre) group Brigade Feuerstein between 1978 and 1988, nor the extent to which he himself was an object of Stasi persecution.1 Their quite distinctive form of agitprop theatre has been virtually ignored in academia.2 While never published, the written manuscripts and audio recordings of shows such as Geschichten aus dem Koraktor [Tales from the Koraktor], Das große Match [The big match], Eine Sehfahrt, die ist lustig [A sightseeing trip that is fun], Lebensläufe [Paths of life], and Erinnerung an die Zukunft3 [Remembering the future] were collected and stored in the archives of the Akademie der Künste in East Berlin, where they are still available for consultation.4 This article assesses these productions in terms of their use of fairy tales and parables to voice political criticism of dominant SED practice. It observes how, in a climate of censorship, these parables became increasingly direct in their criticism, as Gundermann’s stance gradually changed from that of a loyal singing club member in 1976 to one of a vociferous political critic. Using interviews and Stasi reports, it presents the story of Brigade Feuerstein as an example of the tenacity, cunning, and networking necessary for critical artists to survive in East Germany (i.e., German Democratic Republic [GDR]).

It is well known that Bertolt Brecht’s concept of Verfremdungseffekt was first used in his famous essay on Chinese theatre, “Verfremdungseffekte in der chinesischen Schauspielkunst” [Alienation/estrangement effects in the Chinese art of acting]. Brecht’s essay was completed in 1936 but was not published in German until 1957, one year after his death.1 It became the text basis of John Willett’s English translation published in 1964.2 Nevertheless, in the winter of 1936, an English translation by Eric Walter White of Brecht’s essay was published in the London-based journal Life and Letters To-day.3 White’s translation differs significantly from Willett’s, indicating that White’s and Willett’s translations were based on two different German texts. Although the German text that provided the basis of Willett’s translation, with the difference of a few negligible editorial corrections, has been reprinted (as I discuss below) in different editions of Brecht’s works, the German text for White’s translation has hitherto never been found and published, even as White’s 1936 translation has been reprinted in the now standard Berliner und Frankfurter Ausgabe of Brecht’s works4

How much is enough? The relevance of this question comes from individual expectations regarding value. What is value and how does it manifest through our daily interactions? There is a qualitative difference between the concept of value and individual and collective values. Is there such a thing as a common good when it comes to either? Values are a social construct formed through a process of analysis, dialogue, and assessment within any given community. Though each individual's value system has varying degrees of difference, an agreed-upon system of values is created within and through communication, communion, and coalition. In contemporary societies, it seems the importance of unified community values has diminished in favor of the individual due to the rise of late capitalism, consumer culture, mediatization, political polarization, and the various signposts of neoliberalism. Postdramatic scholar Hans-Thies Lehmann states, “It is a fundamental fact of today's Western societies that all human experiences (life, eroticism, happiness, recognition) are tied to commodities or more precisely their consumption and possession (and not to a discourse).” Lehmann's assertion leads me to ask some striking questions relating to the theatrical practices that guide this essay. Namely, how have large-scale social systems of the contemporary era increasingly divested from community values, instead opting for smaller and smaller factions of identification? Without belief in a larger community good, what use is democracy?

The Lenin Memorial mass meeting, organized by the newly formed National Council of American–Soviet Friendship (NCASF) and featuring scenes from the Soviet play adapted and directed for the Theatre Guild, followed quickly on the heels of a similar mass meeting and rally, “Salute to Our Russian Ally,” staged at Madison Square Garden on 1 November 1942 and attended by twenty thousand supporters. Both events presented speeches by American political, military, and arts leaders and Soviet dignitaries, along with theatrical scenes and musical performances. The rallies concluded when the crowd had been effectively emotionally aroused and asked to stand for the playing of the national anthems of the United States and the USSR. The crowd was asked to approve statements on US–Soviet cooperation and peace to send to President Roosevelt and General Stalin, and it apparently roared back to the stage its approval.

In her influential 1988 essay “Feminist Theory, Poststructuralism, and Performance,” American performance theorist Peggy Phelan documented her “most disturbingly interesting” exposure to what she calls “Eastern dance forms” at an international gathering of scholars, performers, and the like.1 The conference is said not only to have fostered strenuous discussions of the female role in such traditions as Balinese dance-drama, Indian kathakali, Japanese kabuki, and “Chinese opera,” but also to have featured the performance of a youthful male performer of female roles in the Indian odissi tradition. Astonished, if not disappointed, by the conference’s disengagement with the politics of representing female roles, Phelan asserts that “[s]uch classical female roles played by men or women do not, by definition and design, penetrate the ‘identity’ of any female; they are surface representations whose appeal exists precisely as surface.”2 And this “surface femininity” is said to hinge upon “immediate recognition of the comic artifice and reverent idealization of the form,” which “reminds the spectator of the absence of the female (the lack) rather than of her presence.”3

Emanating beyond the confines of academia, the poignant narrative of the renowned Turkish thespian Afife Jale has garnered widespread recognition within Türkiye. Amid a pantheon of successors, her tale stands as the most profoundly heartrending. It has been immortalized through theatrical productions and cinematic adaptations. Despite the widespread familiarity with her story, the enigmatic underpinnings of her tragedy have perpetually shrouded it in mystery. In an effort to cast light upon the chronicle of her life, a convergence of political and societal truths has emerged. Afife Jale's story, in its very essence, embodies the ideals expounded by Joan W. Scott. The realm of feminist historiography endeavors to bring prominence to women's narratives, elucidating their endeavors to champion their entitlements and autonomy within historical contexts. It seeks to delve into the causalities behind the historical obscurity that has veiled women's contributions, while also revealing the obstructions that have curtailed their authority and efficacy. This article aspires to achieve this objective by scrutinizing the careers of the first Turkish Muslim actresses, Afife Jale (1902–41) and Bedia Muvahhit (1896–1994), who commenced their artistic journeys at the onset of the twentieth century. Whereas Afife Jale's stage debut in 1920 coincided with the twilight of Ottoman rule, Bedia Muvahhit made her inaugural appearance in 1923, the very year that saw the founding of the Turkish Republic. Despite this seemingly minor difference, the professional journeys of these two actresses were characterized by stark disparities. Afife Jale bore the weight of authoritarian oppression and persecution, and her legacy remained largely overlooked, even after the Turkish Republic was founded. In contrast, Bedia Muvahhit thrived under the patronage and backing of the political elite, leading to a lengthy and prosperous career.

At the end of the musical Fun Home (2015), Alison Bechdel urges her girl-self to keep challenging her father’s gendered expectations, and to take the road not taken, out of the closet and beyond her parents’ lives. She has the musical’s final word, recalling “a rare moment of perfect balance when I soared above him.”1 At the end of Beautiful: The Carole King Musical (2014), Carole also soars, to the heights of the music industry as she looks out at her Carnegie Hall audience of 1971 before the failed ratification of the Equal Rights Amendment. King is solo, center stage at the piano, in her concert debut, and at Carnegie Hall, no less, singing “Beautiful.” This image of an actual American woman, thriving and succeeding, urging her audience to think positively and define themselves from the inside out, is unprecedented. Her twenty-first-century audience sits on the verge of both ovating her success and raising their voices to feel the empowerment of her songs, just as Alison’s audience felt the power of her soaring.

The Jungle Book (1894) is a nineteenth-century book of children’s fables written by Rudyard Kipling. While the story is often criticized for its colonial overtures,1 this wolf story, as an antithesis to the modern separation of nature and humanity, introduces a romantic view of nature where it is represented as a source of renewal and wholeness. The fiction imagines an amicable relation between humans and other-than-human beings through the myth of child-raising wolves. In the face of worsening climate crisis, the wolf tale in Akram Khan’s Jungle Book Reimagined (2022) takes a step further and expresses contemporary fears of human extinction and environmental deterioration. Jungle Book Reimagined, a dance production that premiered at Curve Theatre in Leicester in 2022, has since been performed at Lincoln Center’s Rose Theater, Sadler’s Wells Theatre, Théâtre du Châtelet, and multiple other theatres worldwide, and was also presented as a five-minute film at the Edinburgh International Culture Summit in 2022. The emancipatory life in the Anthropocene that the colonial fantasy envisages is adapted in Khan’s ecological makeover as a new mode of theatre situated within the broader narrative of the Anthropocene. Khan takes an ecocritical turn and reimagines Mowgli’s journey in a way that engages with Anthropocene thinking, imagining how the apocalyptic vision of the future of humanity would be different if we were more of a listener to the nonhuman world.

One of the world's most enduring and successful cultural diplomacy organizations, the British Council (BC) has played a prominent role in promoting and exporting British theatre, literature, and language across the globe since its founding in 1934. A key component of the BC's self-proclaimed remit of “forging links between Britain and other countries through cultural exchange,” the organization's Drama Division has over its lifetime worked to sponsor and facilitate the overseas touring of a significant number of British theatrical enterprises, exporting both large-scale national company productions with substantial casts and a repertoire of shows, as well as individual actors, directors, and academics embarking on speaking tours. From the stage, renowned actors and star names such as Laurence Olivier, Ralph Richardson, Vivien Leigh, Peggy Ashcroft, and John Gielgud were routinely chosen by the BC to appear in series of “theatrical manifestations,” serving in dual capacities both as actors in productions and ambassadors for a nation—the word “manifestation” being the BC's own preferred terminology used to refer to the export of a cultural event during the middle of the past century. Yet unlike comparable accounts of the relationship between the Arts Council and theatre, we possess no systematic study of the BC's involvement in this field, meaning that fundamental questions about the nature, range, and impact of the BC's cultural activity remain unanswered. Indeed, until comparatively recently, the history of the BC has failed to generate much scholarly interest at all, but the nature of its imbrication within British theatrical culture in particular remains severely occluded.

On 24 December 1871, Giuseppe Verdi’s opera Aida premiered in Cairo’s Khedivial Opera House. The Khedive of Egypt, Ismail, had commissioned Verdi to compose the opera as part of a larger program of urban renewal that had peaked with the Suez Canal’s inauguration in November 1869. Wide boulevards, landscaped gardens, and luxury hotels of iron, steel, and the improved glass of the nineteenth-century modernized sections of Cairo and Alexandria. In anticipation of the many guests who planned to attend the canal’s inauguration, Ismail funded the construction of a road leading directly from Cairo to the pyramids and patronized the construction of a Khedivial Opera House.1

Women writers from the peripheries and semiperipheries of Europe who participated in the metropolitan melting pots of new ideas at the fin de siècle are often marginalized or excluded in historiographical accounts, making their contributions to a European cultural heritage invisible.1 This marginalization, shared by numerous women playwrights and artists, prompts the need to explore ways of providing a fair account of their contributions. Swedish playwright Anne Charlotte Leffler (1849–92) was one of these women who set out on a European journey to try her luck with an international career. In this essay I explore her contribution to the late nineteenth-century London avant-garde with her play Sanna kvinnor (1883) [True Women, 1892].2 The application of any quantitative method, or those that rely solely on the translation, staging, publication, and reviews of actual plays, would likely obscure rather than illuminate the reception of her work. To contextualize the reception of Leffler’s play, it is necessary to adopt a theoretical perspective that integrates the political and the artistic, while also considering Leffler’s status as a foreign playwright in Britain. Furthermore, the pattern of reception requires theoretical conceptualization and evaluation in line with the social and cultural position of women at the time. In the case of Leffler, this conceptualization should consider the reception of her embodiment of the New Woman together with her contribution to theatre as part of the endeavors of a personal network marked by blurred boundaries between the private and the public, as well as between life, politics, and art.3

In 1987, LeAnn Fields acquired Lynda Hart‘s Making a Spectacle: Feminist Essays on Contemporary Women’s Theatre. By the time Fields retired in 2024, she had built a list of more than 280 books in the field of theatre and performance studies at the University of Michigan Press. Hart’s Making a Spectacle is a foundational and still radical book of critical essays on gender, the body, and spectatorship, topics that continue to chart and reverberate among the many intellectual commitments of our field. Like nearly all the books that Fields acquired for University of Michigan Press, Making a Spectacle drew from and responded to another interdisciplinary field of study, women’s studies, as it simultaneously broke new ground in theatre and performance studies. In this special section, thirteen authors discuss the ways in which Fields encouraged the development of their work and our field. These author accounts are followed by an interview with Fields by Jill Dolan, in which Fields describes how her work as an acquisitions editor began and how it changed, how she navigated the press boards and changes in technology and staffing, and how, from her perspective, our field fosters a unique sense of community. The author accounts and interview offer an invaluable collection of personal histories that trace the development of our field over the past four decades to our vibrant present.