At the beginning of the nineteenth century the major American theatre companies in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston relied little on the use of traveling stars. The theatres played a nightly change of bill, three or four nights each week; and the plays were performed almost entirely by the resident stock company. However, by the 1830's the regular use of traveling stars was firmly established. In later years the stars and the starring system were often blamed for the decline of the stock companies, the failure of theatrical managements, and a general deterioration of the theatre.

Considerations of developing realistic acting styles on the English stage between the debut of Macready in 1817 and the triumph of Fechter in 1860 usually focus their attention on Macready, Charles Kean, and Phelps. Although these three men differed significantly in their approaches to acting, their styles shared in common a romantic goal that René Wellek attributes to Coleridge: “to domesticate the wonderful.” The means of attaining this goal varied. Macready relied on developing the audience's appreciation of his conscious artifice at playing domesticated points. He was, consequently, less realistic than Phelps and Kean, who were primarily concerned with trying to make an audience feel what they believed their characters felt. This concern with transmitting character feeling is compatible with Kean's excellence at gentlemanly melodrama and Phelps' ability at playing the pathetic elements in comic characters.

As a victim of “Garrick fever” for all of my adult life I admit to having accepted most modern-day criticism which avers that Garrick's supremacy in his age was due to his superior acting, strict management, rigourous attention to rehearsals, and consequent superiority over his Covent Garden and Haymarket rivals. All this is surely valid, but I remain curious about the “quality” of his casting and ensembles. Could it be that our critics today prefer romanticism to the practical truths of everyday operation of a repertory company in eighteenth-century London? Let us explore the situation once again.

Although the Spanish Inquisition ceased to function formally in 1834, the spirit that made this institution a metaphor for oppression continues to exist, even if in less dramatic fashion. In the broad sense, “inquisition” may mean any strict or arbitrary suppression of persons and ideas considered unorthodox—and consequently dangerous—to the ruling powers. Spain maintains an active force for its current brand of orthodoxy and, to paraphrase George Bernard Shaw, pays dearly for that luxury by being a fourth-rate power politically and no power at all intellectually. Even sympathetic but somewhat condescending Hispanists wonder if contemporary Spanish writers can produce anything of merit in this doctrinaire and puritanical atmosphere. Others, myself among them, believe that several Spanish writers active today would enjoy international prestige were not Spain ignored or shunned due to its present form of government. Despite discrimination from abroad and the lingering shadow of Torquemada at home, a tough breed of Spanish writers, hardened by adversity, manages to write, publish, and even perform. Since theatre is the art form that relies most heavily on the cultural condition of the people, the development of postwar drama particularly has been hampered. Moreover, theatre is the only form still under the yoke of prior censorship.

Alfred Radok, who died of a heart attack in 1976 in Vienna at the age of 61, was perhaps the outstanding Czech theatre artist of the post-war era. An assistant to E. F. Burian in the late 1930s, Radok in his subsequent work reflected not only that major artist's influence but also that of K. H. Hilar, the earlier towering directorial presence of Czech theatre. All three possessed an innate, intuitive sense of theatre as an autonomous art; all three were noted for their reworking of scripts for maximum theatrical impact; all three rejected the theatre of realistic illusion and were responsible for major innovations in total staging, in which all elements of production are exploited to serve the director's vision rather than to maintain fidelity to the surfaces of life.

The best known date in French theatre history between the seventeenth and the twentieth centuries is surely February 25, 1830. On that night and for weeks thereafter, the opposing schools of classicism and romanticism clashed openly and bitterly at the Comédie-Française over Victor Hugo's new play, Hernani. To gain some idea of the significance of the struggle, one must remember that for a century and a half the strict formulae of the grand siècle had dominated the stage, that before the romantics no serious dramatist had dared to challenge the quasi-divinity of Racine and Corneille. Their works served as the unquestioned examples for later dramatists, whose tragedies were expected to follow those of the masters not only in the famous three unities, but in every detail of construction, down to the proper placement of pauses within the rigidly controlled poetic line, the alexandrin. Sterile imitations were the almost inevitable result, leading by the beginning of the nineteenth century to the lifeless neoclassic epics of such now mercifully forgotten dramatists as Antoine Vincent Arnault and Luce de Lancival.

The English actress Fanny Kemble, whose 1832–1834 tour left her unrivaled among female performers in this country and who has been touted by historians as a sterling example of antebellum womanhood, emerges as a far more equivocal figure than previous histories suggest. Indeed, for someone who disdained the spurious histrionics of public life, she routinely exposed her own paradoxical nature: she hated the stage, yet recovered her family's fortunes through a luminous albeit brief acting career; she yearned for the simple pleasures of domesticity, yet castigated American women as “drudges” in her published controversial journal of 1835; she made a fortune performing Juliet and yet was described as “unfemininely masculine” by Herman Melville who, in a letter to a friend in 1849, went on to exclaim, “had she not, on impeccable authority, borne children, I should be curious to learn the result of a surgical examination of her person in private.” Kemble was a woman whose identity was in constant flux throughout the 1830s and 40s, which makes her American career an excellent site for materialist investigations of gender.

Performing Democracy sets out to explain the energetic growth of diverse community-based theatre, to explore its various approaches and challenges, and to promote its sustainability. The impressive range and sheer number of projects discussed in these twenty-three essays make the book a valuable introduction to what editors Susan C. Haedicke and Tobin Nellhaus see as an international movement to “involve, mobilize, and politicize” audiences (1).

Anyone old enough to remember the wailing sirens and portentous footsteps of Gangbusters or the clattering consequences of opening the closet door belonging to Fibber McGee and Molly probably has a soft spot for the radio dramas of the past. Those who never experienced the medium that George Bernard Shaw called “the invisible play” may lack a context. Admitting that you remember those nostalgic broadcasts dates you. In a world of HDTV, GPS, home THX, and digital imaging by cell phone, what good is radio?

When the first serious studies of the homosexual past began to appear in English, they bore titles like Hidden from History and Who Was That Man? Even now such studies may describe themselves as “disclosures,” “the secret life,” “the untold story.” The suggestion is that there has been, if not a deliberate suppression, then a less-than-benign neglect of those aspects of history that revealed the presence of same-sex desire and behavior. To unearth and disclose them was regarded as essential to the struggle for gay liberation. By establishing homosexual individuals as a presence from time immemorial, one could make the study of them respectable and thereby bestow respectability on their practices, sexual and cultural, as well. This endeavor was complicated by the increasingly heated debate between the “essentialists,” who regard a homosexual identity to be innate and ahistorical, and the “social constructionists,” followers of Foucault, who insist on the evolution of a modern homosexual identity as the result of changes in the concept of sexuality. Often the fruits of research have been obscured by contentions over whether they supported one camp or the other. Valuable data, which might have gone to challenge traditional attitudes or conventional postures, fell unheard on ears deafened by the grinding of axes.

In 2004, the Lyric Opera of Chicago celebrated two milestones: its fiftieth anniversary and the premiere of A Wedding. With music and libretto by Pulitzer Prize–winning composer William Bolcom, film director Robert Altman, and Arnold Weinstein, the opera received intense international coverage. Prepremiere articles, major features, interviews, and reviews appeared in Opera Now, Opernwelt, Opera, and Opera Quarterly. The Lyric's A Wedding dominated the August issue of Opera News, occupying the cover and several features, complete with glossy photos of the photogenic young leads dressed in luxurious wedding attire (see Figure 1).

Considering their importance in the history of the English theatre, we know remarkably little about the architectural features of the two Restoration playhouses which Thomas Killigrew and his King's Company built on the plot of ground where the modern Drury Lane now stands. In 1913 Hamilton Bell published reproductions of some designs by Sir Christopher Wren, two of which he felt might have some connection with these buildings, and of these the section view of a “Play House” has been frequently reprinted. The frontispiece to Perrin's Ariane (1674) shows the stage of Drury Lane, and we have two pictures from near the turn of the century depicting Joe Haines (or Haynes) mounted on an ass on the Drury Lane forestage. Other than these five prints, however, pictorial material on these important playhouses has been wanting. Therefore it may be worth considering more carefully what we already have and reporting on several new discoveries.