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How to Revive a Myth

Lisbet Grandjean (Copenhagen)


Documentation et Art de l'Acteur
Records and Images of the Art of the Performer

18ème Congrès International, Stockholm 3-7 septembre 1990 / 18th International Congress, Stockholm 3-7 September 1990
Editor: Barbro Stribolt (Drottningholms Teatermuseum). Stockholm : 1992, p. 93-94


One day in the last century the Danish poet Herman Bang (1857-1912) met the French painter Claude Monet (1857-1926) at a boarding-house in Norway. At that time Monet's picture, named Impression. Soleil levant had just attracted attention. During their stay Monet told Herman Bang of the artists of the new direction, Impressionism, which derived its name from the above-mentioned picture. Monet described the very nature of this direction.

"I can't, like other painters," Monet said, "only paint a house, a tree or a bridge. For me it is essential to describe the light, which is so important for the right perception of the house, the tree or the bridge. But to paint the effect of light is tantamount to painting the impossible."

As impossible as it may have appeared to Monet to paint a moment's light effect on a given landscape, just as impossible it seems to me to recall a vivid interpretation of the rôles of an actor long since dead. For what is left for posterity when the curtain comes down after an evening's performance seems only to be dead material such as photos, drawings, costumes and verbal descriptions - and an impression perpetuated in the mind of the spectator. And how to visualize an impression? That was the question for Monet. This is also the question for a theatre museum, whenever it decides to mount an exhibition about prominent actors of the past.

For what is a museum for Performing Art but a house where you try to keep impressions from theatrical performances by means of physical things. And how can you put this second-hand material together in such a way that it gives an impression of a performer's art?

Many times the Theatre Museum in Copenhagen has asked itself that question, most recently in the autumn of 1989 when we were planning a commemorative exhibition about the Danish actress Bodil Ipsen on the occasion of the centenary of her birth.

We knew that people who had seen Bodil Ipsen appear on the stage were convinced that they retained a vivid recollection of the way she acted (she died in 1964). But was this recollection due to reliable memories or a myth? Would it be possible for the museum to give a true picture of Bodil Ipsen's art in such a way that we intensified the memories among those who could still remember her, and created a clear picture in the minds of those who had never seen her? And if the existing memories were more myths than real memories, what would happen if we pushed the myth aside?

These were the questions we had to answer before we started to build up the exhibition. And on second thoughts the whole project seemed doomed to failure because all the information we collected about the actress asked for visibility. And how were we to create visibility out of paper material? Her fluttering, expressive gestures we couldn't reproduce; the way she carried herself on the stage, we couldn't reproduce; the simple way in which she acted, we couldn't reproduce.

But suddenly we found one single thing that everyone associated with Bodil Ipsen and which we could reproduce - her voice. Her indescribable voice. And a peculiar presentiment told us that if we used the voice in the right way, it would probably turn out to be the key to all our hopes. For whenever we mentioned Bodil Ipsen's voice to people who had seen her, many associations were recalled. If we could link Bodil Ipsen's voice to pictures from her many, varied roles, we were sure that we could conjure up an image of the unforgettable moments she had given her spectators.

First of all the museum got a tape recorder unit at which several persons at a time could listen to Bodil Ipsen's voice. To this unit we transmitted recordings from her most characteristic rôles. Very close to the unit we placed a lifelike and sensitive bust of the actress. Our visitors were exposed to this audio-visual impression at the very beginning as they entered the exhibition. The effect was amazing.

Long before people reached the exhibition itself, we noted that the actress had come alive for them, and it is my firm opinion that they didn't see the rest of the exhibition the way it really was - an exhibition merely consisting of paper: photos and drawings representing the whole artistic life of the actress. Or almost paper. For in addition to the paper material, we had borrowed from the Royal Theatre three costumes of Bodil Ipsen's: Elmire's from Molière's Tartuffe, Diktatorinden's from the Danish writer Kaj Munk's play of the same name, and Queen Elisabeth's from Schiller's Maria Stuart.

The following episode tells us with what intensity some of our visitors relived Bodil Ipsen.

With Queen Elisabeth's costume Bodil Ipsen wore a big, imaginative red wig. That wig the museum didn't exhibit. I don't think it exists any more. Nevertheless several of the visitors at the museum vigorously asserted that they had seen the wig, placed floating over the costume. This incident convinced me of the fact that one single memory handed down to posterity had hypnotized our visitors into believing that Bodil Ipsen had come alive: the voice in connection with the mounted costumes.

In that way I think theatre museums have the possibility to revive what has been dead a long time. Impressions of sound and light are very helpful media when you wish to refresh people's memories. But the above-mentioned method does not make it possible in a direct way to recall an artist's body language. Which means that it does not help the researcher, who wants to explore an actor's style. But while trying to evoke strong memory-pictures, you could probably ask people for information, which you would not be able to read from photos.

Nowadays documentation on videotapes gives the researcher great possibilities of exploring the performer's art, and our generation, thanks to these living pictures, will be able to hand down to posterity a better understanding of the performing art in the twentieth century than we can ever get of the past.

Today we have not developed the right way to reach an objective reproduction of a performance on videotape. But that won't last long. By then we at the theatre museums won't have to ask ourselves whether we are reviving a myth or not. We can give our visitors a true impression of the art of the performer.


18th Congress

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