Kiley Eberhardt, Daniel May, Arthur Hanket, Charlotte Chanler, Kat Tyszkiewicz and Rebecca Rosenak Phelps in "Machinal"
Why is it important for American theater companies to return to producing dramas with a strong humanist message? Because we are engaged in the most serious war on empathy since the days of the robber barons. Why should this matter to theater artists? Because without empathy a culture is dead in the water and so is the art, which sustains it.
When Sophie Treadwell wrote Machinal in 1927-28, she intended it as a scathing and frightening look at how the combined forces of misogyny and capitalism silence and then destroy the central female character, Helen; and as a stark criticism of the rapaciousness of modern American culture. The America of 1928 was a frightening place—dancing on the verge of disaster, buoyed up to dizzying height by an economic bubble fueled by a deregulated financial sector and expanding global markets. Money was king, and the King was definitely masculine. To be tough was to be admired, and the idea of the self-made-man who could “pull himself up by his own bootstraps” was fundamental to the fantasy.
Barbara Schofield
It was essential—patriotic even—to put your shoulder to the wheels of commerce and push with all your might, or be dutifully crushed in the name of progress. Empathy with those who couldn’t “make it” was derided as “un-American.” And as America’s view of its own “exceptionalism” grew, the cries of those being shut out or sacrificed to the new gods of American and international expansion were effectively silenced. It is rarely remarked upon that the First World War (what a terrifying and telling phrase) was fought in large part over the frustrated ability of Germany to compete for global resources in the new world markets. Ideological differences were actually minor. It was money and power that mattered—and as always, who among the powerful few were going to get to carve up the pie. Sound familiar?
All nations which grow to empire become massive machines for generating power–and all exhibit, proudly, the same dark attributes: patriarchy, militarism, misogyny, racism, economic and social oppression, facilitated by the determined destruction of compassion and empathy. For the will to achieve power and violent control is most seriously challenged by the equally strong, if infinitely quieter, human will to achieve compassion and empathy.
In imperial periods, such as the one we are currently enduring, artists either succumb—producing ever more prurient, violent and shallow art—or dig in their heals and refuse to submit. Defying the ocean of mendacity and mediocrity which passes for imperial art, some artists actively exercise their talents to produce work rich in complex ideas, with a deep respect for humanity, and full of empathy.
Empires require that their citizens embrace simplistic thinking and regimented, callous feeling in order to survive and grow. Empathy is anathema. The current emphasis on black and white thinking—which spawns a host of false dichotomies in the public debate–is a case in point: one is “Either/Or,” “Right or Left,” “Christian or Satan-worshipper,” “For Us or Against Us,” “Weak or Strong,” “Hard-working and Wealthy” or “Lazy and Poor,” “Masculine and Tough” and “Someone you’d want to have a beer with” or “Feminine and Weak” and a “Girlie-Man.”
George Hale, John LeMay, Daniel May and Charlotte Chanler in "Machinal"
Those who try to understand and support the rich complexity of human interaction, and who seek a just and humane society, are openly derided in both the media and in public discourse, and considered naïve. Indeed, understanding anything, in depth, is suspect. To feel empathy with the disenfranchised, to work to alleviate and mitigate suffering, to seek justice and balance and demand fairness—all of these are actions that bring a modern American citizen under suspicion. In a world such as this, the artist committed to the survival of empathy, who works to promote and defend it, is a hero.
Everyone has heroes. Spiritual and social leaders, explorers and adventurers, athletes, philanthropists, even some politicians make the list. Sometimes the hero is also an artist. This is the case with Sophie Treadwell.
Born in 1885 in Stockton, California, Treadwell experienced a childhood marked by her parents’ unhappy marriage. Her father was a prominent lawyer, justice of the peace, city prosecutor and judge. A stern man and a strict disciplinarian, he separated from her mother when Sophie was a child, moving to San Francisco. Her mother, financially and emotionally dependent, never divorced him and spent the rest of her life pursuing him, continuously moving Treadwell between her grandparents’ ranch in Stockton and wherever her father was living at the time.
Obviously affected by these experiences, Treadwell was to spend the rest of her life fighting the prevailing economic, political, and social structures of American paternalism—in an effort “to get free”. Determined to live an independent life, in a world which actively discouraged women’s personal, economic and political freedom, Treadwell pursued the life of an artist and political and social activist with inspiring courage and unfailing passion for more than 70 years. An investigative journalist, war correspondent, ardent suffragist, socialist, and author (40 plays, three novels and hundreds of articles of journalism), her interests were broad, liberal and unfailingly generous to the disenfranchised and suppressed. Her life’s work was to give voice to those silenced by the unforgiving wheels of an industrialized world rooted in male dominance and the capitalist bottom-line.
Her first break-through piece of investigative journalism, “An Outcast at the Christian Door” exposed the prostitution trade’s recruitment of impoverished young women in 1914 San Francisco. Her last great play, Hope for a Harvest warned against the growing wave of selfishness and racism in 1940s America. Throughout her career, Treadwell remained ever vigilant against injustice. In typical Treadwell fashion, upon her death in 1970, all rights to her work were deeded to the Roman Catholic Church of the Diocese of Tucson so that proceeds from her work would be used for the aid and benefit of the Native American children of Arizona.
John LeMay, Charlotte Chanler, Daniel May and Elizabeth Greer
Machinal was first produced on Broadway in 1928 by Arthur Hopkins, receiving its initial expressionist look from America’s preeminent stage designer, Robert Edmund Jones. The Broadway production was quickly followed by productions in both London and Moscow. In 1954 and again in 1960, Machinal was aired on both NBC and ABC. In 1990 it was successfully revived at the New York Shakespeare Festival’s Public Theater, and in 1993, at The National Theatre of Great Britain. Machinal is Treadwell’s most famous work, and its clarity, theatrical vision, and unusually sensitive and courageous style mark it as an American masterpiece. It is a dream to direct, being an almost perfect theatrical vision. But, for all her brilliance, amazing life and enormous output, Treadwell is not yet part of the pantheon of American artists whose work defines what was best in politically aware and culturally astute American theater of the 20th century.
Machinal is unlike many more well-known expressionist dramas — in which the goal of an empathetic response from the audience is frequently subsumed under the effects of expressionist style. Every episode of Treadwell’s play cries out for empathetic response, and an appreciation of complex and intelligent thought. It is as modern in its language, and as relevant in its message today as it was in 1928. If we are to survive as artists of empathy, in an increasingly violent and cynical world, we must recognize the nature of the machine we are living in. My hope is that Treadwell’s insightful play will reach an audience that will be filled with artists inspired to continue the fight for a human and humane world.
Click here to watch the creation of Machinal.
Machinal, presented by Open Fist Theatre Company. Directed by Barbara Schofield. Plays Fri.-Sat. 8pm; Sun. 2 pm. Through Nov. 20. Tickets: $20. Open Fist Theatre, 6209 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. 323-882-6912. www.openfist.org.
***All Machinal production photos by Maia Rosenfeld
Barbara Schofield’s directing credits include — Los Angeles: LA premiere Tom Stoppard’s Rock ‘n’ Roll, also Stage Door, (Open Fist Theatre Co.), Arcadia, Proof (Sierra Madre Playhouse). New York: Great Catherine (Roundabout Theatre/Susan Bloch Theatre), world premiere Uncontrollablelements (The Kitchen), The Maids (Jean Cocteau Rep.); Hamlet, Three Sisters, The Balcony, Endgame, Romeo and Juliet (Independent Theatre Co./House of Candles Theatre); Out At Sea, The Party (New Theatre), Women of Manhattan (Producer’s Club). Her academic credentials include an MA and a PhD in Theatre, from Tufts University and a B.A. in Drama/English from Schiller University/London, Berlin. She has taught acting, directing and stage voice at Tufts University, University of Missouri, Kansas City and the University of California.
