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The Scenography of Josef Svoboda

Jarka Burian
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THE SCENOGRAPHY OF JOSEF SVOBODA
Josef Svoboda in front of a photograph of his production of Prokofiev's The Engage-
ment in the Cloister ( 194 7) .
THE SCENOGRAPHY
OF
JOSEF SVOBODA
By ]ARKA BURIAN
WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY PRESS
Middletown, Connecticut
Copyright© 1971 by Jarka Burian
ISBN: 0-8195-6032-4
Library of Congress catalog card number: 77-153101
First paperback edition, 1974
The Scenography of Josef Svoboda, by Jarka Burian,

is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-
NonCommercial 4.0 International License
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/legal
code.
Images on page 82 and 134 have been redacted from
this edition.
Publication of this title is funded by the Humanities
Open Book program, a joint initiative of The National
Endowment for the Humanities and The Andrew W.
Mellon Foundation.
CONTENTS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ix
PREFACE xvii
INTRODUCTION xix
PART I. LIFE AND PRINCIPLES
Biography 3
Scenography Rather Than Design 15
Experimentation and the Technical 21
The Aesthetics of Theatre Performance 27
Ideal Theatre Space 32
PART II. REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLUSTRATED
An Introductory Survey 39
Kunala's Eyes ( Ostrcil)
Kala Kabanova ( Jam1cek)
Macbeth (Shakespeare)
Ivanov ( Chekhov)
The Magic Flute (Mozart)
The Wedding ( Gombrowicz)
The Mill (Mahler)
Don Giovanni ( Mozart), Bremen
The Three Sisters ( Chekhov)
The Story of a Real Man (Prokofiev)
Yvone ( Gombrowicz)
Tasca (Puccini)
The Eleventh Commandment (Samberk)
Straying ( Karnet)
No More Heroes in Thebes (Humbalek)
Elektra (Sophocles)
Oedipus (Sophocles)
Dalibor (Smetana)
Il Trovatore (Verdi)
The Theatre of Light 59
An Optimistic Tragedy (Vishnjevski)
Contents v
A Sunday in August ( Hrubfn)
The Sea Gull ( Chekhov)
Svatopluk ( Suchon)
Drahomfra ( Tyl)
Tristan and Isolde (Wagner)
Sicilian Vespers (Verdi)
Projections and Color in Space
A Midsummer Night's Dream (Shakespeare)
Oberon (Weber)
Die Frau Ohne Schatten (Strauss)
Raduz and Mahulena ( Zayer-Suk)
Pelleas and Melisande (Debussy)
Tannhiiuser (Wagner)
Projections and Synthesis 77
Polyekran
Laterna Magika
Diapolyckran
Several Offspring of Polyekran and Laterna Magika 93
Their Day (Topol)
Romeo, Juliet, and Darkness (Fischer)
The Journey (Werle)
The Suzanna Play ( Macourck)
The Soldiers (Zimmermann)
The Last Ones (Gorki)
Intoleranza ( Nono), Boston
Prometheus ( Orff)
Kinetics, Lighting, and Mirrors 108
Romeo and Juliet (Shakespeare)
The Owners of the Keys (Kundera)
The Insect Comedy (Capek)
The Fiery Angel (Prokofiev)
A Curtain of Life 121
The Entertainer (Osborne)

Two Hamlets (Shakespeare) 121
Prague
Brussels
Vi CONTENTS
Teatro Mundi 128
The Anabaptists ( Durrenmatt)

The Principle of Collage
The Tales of Hoffmann (Offenbach)
Wastrels in Paradise (Martens-Obey)
Aibi:fs Action ( Kainar)
Revizor ( Gogol)
Theatre in Scenography 135
A Love for Three Oranges (Prokofiev)
The Makropulos Secret (Janacek)
Rigoletto (Verdi)
Don Giovanni ( Mozart), Prague
APPENDIX A. Selected Group of Svoboda's Production Drawings 147
APPENDIX B. Svoboda's Most Recent Productions 155
APPENDIX c. Register of Svoboda's Productions 172
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 199
Contents vii
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Most of the uncredited photographs were made by Josef Svoboda.
Josef Svoboda in front of a photograph of his production of

Prokofiev's The Engagement in the Cloister ( 1947). Photograph by
Miroslav Pflug, Prague. frontispiece
Svoboda in his combination office-studio; Svoboda at his drawing board.
Photographs by J aromfr Svoboda, Prague. xxi
Preliminary sketches by Svoboda for the unproduced Elektra. 13
Svoboda at his office desk. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 17
Svoboda's model for an unrealized production of Jan Amos Komensky's
The Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the Heart. 20
Svoboda and director Otomar Krejca. 35

Figure 1. Kunala's Eyes.
2. Kunala's Eyes. 40
3· Kunala's Eyes. 40
4· Kala Kabanova. 40
5· Kala Kabanova. 40
6. Kala Kabanova. 40
7· Macbeth. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 41
8. Ivanov. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 42
g. The Magic Flute. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 43
10. The Magic Flute. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 43
11. Groundplan of The Wedding. 44
12. Frontal diagram of The Wedding. 44
13. The Wedding. Photograph by lise Buhs, Berlin. 45
14. The Mill. 46
15. Don Giovanni (Bremen), groundplan. 47
16. Don Giovanni (Bremen), Svoboda's model. 47
17. The Three Sisters. 48
List of Illustrations ix
Figure 20. Svoboda's rendering for Prokofiev's The Story of a Real Man. so
21. Svoboda's model for Yvone. 51
22. Groundplan of Yvone. 51
23. Tosca. 52
24. The Eleventh Commandment. 52
25. Straying. 52
26. Straying. 52
27. No More Heroes in Thebes. 54
28. Svoboda's mechanized model for Elektra. 54
29. Oedipus, groundplan. 55
30. Oedipus. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 56
31. Oedipus. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 57
32. Dalibor. s8
33· Dalibor. 58
34· Dalibor. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 58
35· Groundplan of Il Trovatore. s8
36. Svoboda's model for Il Trovatore. s8
37· An Optimistic Tragedy. 59
38. A Sunday in August, side elevation. 6o
39· A Sunday in August, groundplan. 6o
40. A Sunday in August. Photographs by Jaromir Svoboda. 61
41. The Sea Gull, Svoboda's rendering. 62
42. The Sea Gull. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 62
43· The Sea Gull. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 62
44· Sviitopluk. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 62
45· Sviitopluk. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 62
46. Drahomfra. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 64
47· Tristan and Isolde. 66
48. Sicilian Vespers. 66
49· Sicilian Vespers. 66
so. Sicilian Vespers. 66
51. A Midsummer Night's Dream, Svoboda's model. 68
X LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Figure 52. A Midsummer Night's Dream. 68
53· Svoboda's model for Oberon. 68
54· Another view of the Oberon model. 68
55· A production photograph of Oberon. Photograph by Rudolf Betz, Munich. 6g
56. Die Frau Ohne Schatten, Svoboda's model. 6g
57· Die Frau Ohne Schatten, Svoboda's model. 70
58. Die Frau Ohne Schatten, Svoboda's rendering. 70
59· Die Frau Ohne Schatten, Svoboda's rendering. 70
6o. Die Frau Ohne Schatten. 71
61. Raditz and Mahulena. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 72
62. Raduz and Mahulena. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 72
63. Pelleas and Melisande. 73
64. Pelleas and Melisande, Svoboda's model. 74
6g. Pelleas and Melisande. 74
70. Tannhiiuser. 75
71. Tannhiiuser. 75
72. Tannhiiuser. 76
73· A drawing of the scenic arrangement for the Wartburg scene in Tannhiiuser. 76
74· Gropius's total-theater. Photograph from The Theater of the Bauhaus,
by permission of Wesleyan University Press. 78
75· E. F. Burian's Theatergraph. 8o
76. An early frontal diagram of Polyekran. 8o
77· An early sketch of a proposal for Polyekran. 81
78. Polyekran. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 82
79· Polyekran. First photograph by B. Kocek, Prague. 82
So. Laterna Magika. 84
81. Laterna Magika. 85
82. Laterna Magika. 87
List of Illustrations xi
Figure 83. Laterna Magika. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 87
84. Diapolyekran. 88
85. Diapolyekran. 89
86. Their Day, groundplan and frontal view. 92
87. Their Day. Photographs by Jaromfr Svoboda. 94
88. A model of Romeo, Juliet, and the Darkness. 96
89. Romeo, Juliet, and the Darkness. 96
go. The Journey. 96
91. The Journey. 96
92. The Suzanna Play. 96
93· The Suzanna Play. 96
94· The Soldiers. 98
g6. The Soldiers. 99
g8. The Soldiers. 99
99· The Last Ones. 100
100. The Last Ones. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 100
104. I ntoleranza (Boston), groundplan.

1os.Intoleranza (Boston).
106. I ntoleranza (Boston).
107. Prometheus, groundplan.
108. Prometheus. Svoboda's model.
109. Prometheus. Photograph by Rudolf Betz.
110. Prometheus. Photograph by Rudolf Betz.
III. Prometheus. Photograph by Rudolf Betz.
112. Romeo and Juliet, ground plan.
IIJ. Romeo and Juliet, groundplan.
114. Svoboda's model for the Prague Romeo and Juliet. 109
xii LIST OF ILLUSTHATIONS

Figure 115. Romeo and Juliet. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 110
116. Romeo and Juliet. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 110
ng. Romeo and Juliet. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 111
120. Romeo and Juliet. Photograph by J aromfr Svoboda. 111
121. Svoboda's model for the Cologne Romeo and Juliet. 112
122. Owners of the Keys, groundplan.

123. Owners of the Keys, groundplan. 113
124. Owners of the Keys. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 114
125. Owners of the Keys. 115
126. The Insect Comedy. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 116

127. The Insect Comedy. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 118
128. The Insect Comedy. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 118
129. A model of The Fiery Angel. 120
133. The Entertainer, Svoboda's rendering. 122
134. The Entertainer. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 122
136. The Entertainer. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 122
137. The Entertainer. Photograph by Jaromlr Svoboda. 122
139. Hamlet (Prague), groundplan. 123
140. Hamlet (Prague). Photograph by J aromir Svoboda. 125
141. Hamlet (Prague), Svoboda's model. 125
142. Svoboda's model for the Brussels Hamlet. 125
143. Hamlet (Brussels). Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 125
144- Ham let (Brussels), Svoboda's model. 125-127
145. The Anabaptists. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 128
146. The Anabaptists. Photograph by Jaromlr Svoboda. 128
List of Illustrations xiii

Figure 147· The Anabaptists. Photograph by Jarom:lr Svoboda. 129
148. The Anabaptists. Photograph by Jarom:lr Svoboda. 130
149. The Tales of Hoffmann (Prague). 131
150. TheTalesofHoffmann (Prague). 131-132
151. The Tales of Hoffmann ( Ostrava, 1947). 132
152. The Tales of Hoffmann (Prague, 1959), Laterna Magika. 132
153. The Tales of Hoffmann (Berlin, 1969). 132
154. The Tales of Hoffmann (Frankfurt, 1970). 132
155. Wastrels in Paradise. 133
156. AibiS's Action. Photograph by Miroslav Pflug. 134
157. Revizor. 134
158. Svoboda's rendering for A Love for Three Oranges. 136
159· A Love for Three Oranges. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 136
160. The Makropulos Secret. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 137
161. The Makropulos Secret. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 137
162. Rigoletto. 138
163. Rigoletto. 138
164. Rigoletto. 139
165. Rigoletto. 139
166. Don Giovanni (Prague). Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 140
167. Don Giovanni (Prague). 141
168. Don Giovanni (Prague). 142
169. Holderlin's Empedokles (Prague, 1943). 148
170. Verdi's ll Trovatore (Prague, 1947). 148
171. Verdi's Don Carlos (Bratislava, 1956). 149
172. Hanus'!\ Othello (Prague, 1959). 149
173. Dvohik's Rusalka (Prague, 1960). 150
174. Shaw's Saint Joan ( Pilsen, 1961). 150
175. Martinu's Julieta (Prague, 1963). 151
176. Rossini's L'Italiana in Algeri (Rio de Janeiro, 1963). 151
177. Weinberger's Svanda the Bagpiper (Vienna, 1963, not performed). 152
178. Hindemith's Cardillac (Milan, 1g64). 152
XiV LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Figure 179. Shakespeare's King Lear (Budapest, 1964). 153
180. Bizet's Carmen (Bremen, 1965). 153
181. Gluck's Orpheus and Eurydice (West German television, 1967). 154
182. A rehearsal photograph of Ariadne auf Naxos. 154
183. As You Like It. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 156
186. Waiting for Godot. 158
187. Mother Courage. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 160
190. Mother Courage. Photographs by Jaromir Svoboda. 16o-162
191. Ground plan and frontal view of the Prague Oedipus-Antigone. 163
192. Oedipus-Antigone. Photographs by Jaromir Svoboda. 164
193· Henry V. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 164
194. Idomeneo. 165
195. Berg's Wozzek (Milan, 1971). 166-167
196. A rehearsal photograph of Buchner's Wozzek. 169
List of Illustrations xv
PREFACE
Most of the material for this book was gathered at first hand in Prague, where
I lived for ten months between September 1968 and August 1969 on a research
grant cosponsored by the American Inter-University Committee on Travel
Grants and the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Education. During that time I
had the privilege of extended personal acquaintance with Josef Svoboda and
his work and of access to numerous sources of information relating to his the-
atre world. Professor Svoboda's studio and his archives were made available
to me, and I was able to follow his work from drawing board to model to pro-
duction on more than one occasion. I especially valued the hours that we spent
in conversations focussed on but not limited to his productions and the prin-
ciples that they embodied. I tape-recorded about a dozen of these informal
sessions and have drawn on them in many sections of this book. Since my de-
parture from Prague, I have communicated with Svoboda by letter and by
tape-recording. Consequently, I have been able to refer to significant exam-
ples of his work following the 1g68-6g season. Moreover, I was able to visit
with Svoboda again briefly in Prague in the fall of 1970, at which time I was
brought up to date on his most recent productions, a representative number
of which I have described in Appendix B.
Many people and organizations were generous with their assistance and
suggestions, which I acknowledge with gratitude. The State University of
New York at Albany encouraged my applying for the research grant and
granted me a leave of absence when I received the grant. Clinton J. Atkinson
was instrumental in initiating the Svoboda project and provided encourage-
ment throughout. Howard Miller read the manuscript in its later stages and
offered many helpful suggestions. Impossible as it is to cite all of the countless
instances of scholarly and personal aid that I received in Czechoslovakia, I do
wish to mention at least a few of the people most directly concerned with this
project: Dr. Eva Soukupova, Director of the Theatre Institute in Prague, and
her expert staff of coworkers in research, documentation, and publications
dealing with the Czechoslovakian theatre; Ing. Miroslav KouHI and the re-
sources of the Scenographic Institute; the immediate coworkers of Josef Svo-
boda in the scenic workshops and studios of the National Theatre, especially
Svoboda's secretary, Jaroslav Schneider, and Svoboda's optical and lighting
expert, Ing. Miroslav Pflug.
Preface xvii
A special note of appreciation and thanks is due Dr. Jaromir Svoboda,
the official photographer of the National Theatre, for his gracious permission
to let me use his superb photographs in documenting the major part of this
study.
Above all, I thank my wife Grayce for her practical assistance, produc-
tive criticism, and comfort throughout the entire period of my work on this
study.
0 A note on documentation and translation: quotations from the tape-recorded interviews
with Svoboda are indicated by an asterisk ( 0 ). Among Svoboda's filed material and personal scrap-
books, considerable material appears in the form of clippings that provide little or no indication of
author, title, date, or other identification; I have indicated such documentation as was available.
All translations are mine. I have followed a pattern of translating Czech titles the first time they
appear in this book and thereafter using English titles except in documentary material.
INTRODUCTION
As he passed his fiftieth birthday, in 1970, Josef Svoboda was in mid-career

and at the height of his powers as an architecturally trained stage designer or,
as he prefers to be called, scenographer. His work has been applauded in most
theatre centers of the Western world, and he is without a doubt the most pro-
lific, vital, and sought-after designer in Europe today. The sheer quantity of
his productivity is in itself remarkable: in twenty-five years he has designed
nearly four hundred productions, roughly split between the operatic and dra-
matic repertoires, for most of the major theatres of Europe.
During much of this period Svoboda has been chief designer and techni-
cal director of the National Theatre in Prague, a repertory complex that con-
sists of three ensembles (drama, opera, ballet) and performs in three theatres.
Each season from September to July it presents sixty to seventy different pro-
ductions, of which approximately fifteen are new, the rest being held over
from previous seasons. 1 Although he designs less than half of the productions
and has a large and capable staff of more than three hundred, Svoboda has
been ultimately responsible for all technical and scenic elements in the three
theatres.
He has, moreover, taught at various times, and he is currently Professor
of Architecture at the School of Fine and Applied Arts in Prague. Still another
area of his creativity is evident in his exhibition work at major international
expositions. At Brussels, in 1958, for example, he won three gold medals for
his work displayed in the Czechoslovak pavilion, and his several kinetic and
film projects were among the most popular attractions at Expo 67, Montreal.
Svoboda's name is chiefly associated with a full-scale artistic exploita-

tion of the latest mechanical, electronic, and optical devices, many of which
he and his staff have developed themselves, with the so-called kinetic stage,
with wide-ranging use of sophisticated lighting and projection techniques,
1. A brief indication of the context provided by contemporary Czechoslovakian theatre may
be useful: there are over sixty professional theatres in Czechoslovakia, comprising over one-hun-
dred professional ensembles. All theatres are non-profit and state-supported at an average of two-
thirds of their expenses. All theatres, moreover, consist of permanent companies and perform in
repertory, which means that several productions alternate in a given span of time instead of one
production being performed consecutively. The average theatre presents approximately twelve
different productions each season, of which almost half are new. The repertoire is international,
with approximately half of the productions being native works.
Introduction xix
and with radical assaults on the limitations of the still dominant proscenium
theatre. In this and other respects his work recalls the ideal of the artists
of the Bauhaus school of the 1920s: "a new synthesis of art and technol-
ogY:'2 His work has also been related to that of such giants of modern stage
theory and practise as Appia, Craig, and Piscator, as well as the Soviet avant-
garde of the twenties. All such associations, however, while useful in suggest~
ing the significance and scope of Svoboda's efforts, still require considerable
qualification to define the essential features of his talent.
He is, for example, less a theoretical visionary than were either Appia or
Craig, but he surpasses them in his mastery of sophisticated materials and
techniques as well as in sheer practical experience. Many of his productions
recall the emphasis on scenic dynamics and the stage-as-mechanism evident
in the early post-revolutionary work of the Soviet theatricalists !vieyerhold
and Tairov, but Svoboda's greater technical sophistication and less tenden-
tious approach provide a generally subtler, more emotive experience. 3 Simi-
larly, although some of his most audacious work in the fusion of film and stage
relates to the earlier work of Piscator, Svoboda has attained a more complex
level of creation with a new, hybrid form combining actor and screened image.
In brief, his work represents a synthesis, a refinement, and a masterful
application of the theories and practical experiments that are considered the
coordinates of modern stage design and production. More than anyone else
in contemporary scenography (one is tempted to say, uniquely), he embodies
a union of artist, scientist, and professional theatre worker. Technically a
master of his complex medium, thoroughly conversant with the realities of
theatrical production-the pressures of deadlines, budgets, personnel super-
vision, and inter-artistic cooperation-he is essentially a superb theatre artist
applying his creative imagination to the scenic fundamentals of space, light,
and movement.
To a marked degree his career has been built on a series of inner, dialec-
tical tensions: the new and the old, the radical and the conservative, technical
bravura and poetic humanism. And supplementing his basic synthesizing
method is an inherent pragmatism: he is not committed to any single produc-
tion mode or design theory. Although a striking innovator, he has genuine
respect for traditional forms and simple, limited means when they suit the
occasion. Master of the proscenium theatre, he is nonetheless plagued by its
limitations, which he constantly strives to overcome in order to break through
2. Walter Gropius, introduction to The Theatre of the Bauhaus (Middletown, Conn., 1961),
P· 7·
3· "Svoboda's work in Novosibirsk and Moscow, and the exhibit of his work in 1961 [in
Moscow] reminded the Soviet theatre of its own traditions, Eisemtein's montages, the heritage of
the constructivists and the artists of the Kamemy theatre of the twenties and thirties:' L. P. Soln-
ceva, "Der Regisseur und der Btihnenbildner;' Interscena 68 (Winter 1967), s: 52.
XX INTRODUCTION
Svoboda in his studio-office. Suspended slightly to the left of his head is the model
for his production of The Anabaptists.
Svoboda at his drawing board, as reflected in a prototype version of a pneumatic

mirror that he now uses in his scenography.
Introduction xxi
to new forms which may, ironically, wipe out the basis for many of his most
impressive techniques.
Precisely because even his seemingly extravagant scenic displays are
anchored by a respect for basic craftsmanship and scientific discipline, and
because of his pragmatism, his multiform experimentation, his urge toward
creativity based on synthesis rather than exclusiveness, and above all his re-
jection of the narrow connotations of stage "design" in favor of the more
inclusive demands of "scenography;' he may well prove to be this era's actual-
ization of Craig's ideal, the "artist of the theatre;' as well as the artist-scientist
to realize Piscator's and Brecht's hopes for "a theatre that would truly belong
to our centur/' 4
At mid-career, Svoboda is clearly still evolving and in no way settled into
a neatly definable or predictable pattern, yet the development of his career
is traceable, his artistic principles and methods may be examined, and his most
representative work may be illustrated and annotated. That is the intention
of this book
4· Erwin Piscator, "The Theatre Can Belong to Our Century," in The Theory of the
Modern Stage, ed. Eric Bentley (Baltimore, 1968), p. 473·
XXii INTRODUCTION
PART I. LIFE AND PRINCIPLES
Biography
For the sake of convenience, Josef Svoboda's career may be considered in five
periods, the last of which is still in progress. The multiplicity of his interests
and talents is evident even in the earliest period, which leads up to his twenty-
fifth year.
Josef Svoboda was born of Czech parents on May 10, 1920, in Caslav,
a small but prosperous city lying some fifty miles east of Prague, in the agri-
cultural area of central Bohemia. His father was a cabinet-maker by profes-
sion, but economic conditions forced him to expand his work to general
carpentry and furniture manufacture in the late 1920s.
Josef, an only child, attended the local liberal-arts, Latin-based gymna-
sium, and he was accepted for entrance to the Philosophic Faculty of Prague's
Charles University in 1939. In the meantime, however, his energies had al-
ready been channeled in two significant directions: he had spent two of his
adolescent years mastering the craft of carpentry and furniture manufacture
in his father's small factory, and, as early as his fifteenth year, he had begun
to display marked talent in painting and theatre design, as became evident
in two subsequent exhibitions of his work in 1940 and in 1941. The exhibitions
consisted of oils, chiefly still-life paintings and exteriors, and stage designs
and sketches. A brief newspaper account of the second exhibition contained
a prophetic observation: "scenic work undoubtedly gives Svoboda the great-
est opportunity to assert his rich plastic and spatial imagination:' 1
Before that, however, the fateful year of 1939 had marked the first of
several decisive turning points in Svoboda's career. His schooling and interests
were already versatile, but despite his acquired craftsmanship in carpentry
it was clear that he intended to pursue work in the fine arts and classical uni-
versity studies. In the fall of 1939, however, the German occupants of Bo-
hemia, reacting to student protests against the occupation, closed down the
universities. World War II had begun, and Svoboda's academic career was, at
best, deferred. After family consultation it was decided that he should pursue
a practical education, building upon his early, unofficial training in his father's
factory, and thereby also avoiding forced draft into the German labor camps.
He entered an advanced vocational school for master carpentry in Prague and
completed a two-year course with distinction in 1941; several of his designs
were published in a trade journal during his second year of study. Subse-
1. An untitled, anonymous newspaper clipping (December 1941).
Biography 3
quently, he completed an additional two years of study ( 1941-43) in a special
industrial-technical school in Prague devoted to interior architecture. During
these years he designed and built many of the pieces of furniture and cabi-
netry that are still used in his home in Prague today. His four years of formal
study qualified him as a skilled craftsman as well as a candidate for profes-
sional architectural training.
During the same period, his extra-curricular interest in painting con-
tinued and, more important, his active participation in theatre increased. He
began to work with a group of amateurs in Caslav, and once again we find
references to him in local newspaper reviews, which suggest future direc-
tions. Commenting on a production of a minor Czech play in February 1942,
an anonymous critic wrote, "The use of modern technical elements in scenic
design by the young Caslav designer Josef Svoboda allowed the values of the
play, characters, and actors to emerge:' 2 A subsequent Caslav production, in
May 1942, elicited a review that noted Svoboda's combining scenery with
slide projections and went on to add that "Svoboda's contribution gave the
play a poetic form ... it was the most serious artistic element of the produc-
tion:'3
After the temporary completion of his technical studies in 1943, Svoboda
taught part-time in secondary vocational and craft schools, but was also able
to devote more time and attention to theatre. Supplementing his inherent
interest in the stage was his acquaintance with intensely dedicated young
theatre artists and writers in Prague. \Vith Svoboda as their main organizer,
they formed a semi-professional ensemble known as the New Group and in
the fall of 1943 acquired makeshift theatre quarters in Prague's Smetana
Museum. Theatre activity in occupied Bohemia was an intermittent affair,
heavily censored and short in personnel. Nevertheless, although the significant
prewar avant-gardc, led by such men as Burian, Honzl, and Frejka, had been
disbanded, their influence persisted, if only in temporarily assembled and
shoestring ensembles like the New Group. The ensemble staged two pro-
ductions in the Smetana Museum in 1943: a dramatization of Holderlin's
Empedokles in October, and Strindberg's The Bride in November, both de-
signed by Svoboda, who thus, under wartime pressures and shortages but
perhaps with special incentive for that very reason, began his Prague theatre
career. Within seven years he would be chief designer and technical director
of the National Theatre, but that step was to be preceded by several shifts
of regime, dozens of elaborate productions, and a number of critical personal
decisions affecting his career.
One and a half years after the initial New Group productions, the war
2. An untitled, anonymous newspaper clipping dated 18 February 1942.

3· An untitled, anonymous newspaper clipping dated 9 May 1942.
4 LIFE AND PRINCIPLES

and occupation came to an end. During that time, Svoboda continued his sec-
ondary-school teaching and occasional theatre work Several proposed pro-
ductions never materialized, and, in any case, all theatres in occupied Bohemia
were officially closed during the last year of the occupation. People's efforts
were concentrated on the sheer struggle to survive.
The end of the first phase of Svoboda's career may be considered as coin-
ciding with the end of the war, in May 1945. At that point he had several
options available to him: he could take advantage of his 1939 acceptance by
the Philosophic Faculty of Charles University and pursue his original aca-
demic career; he could complete his architectural studies; or he could devote
himself to full-time professional theatre activity. Characteristically he elected
not one, but two of his options, the second and third, thereby postponing a
final decision on his career. Nor did he abandon his interest in the liberal and
fine arts other than formally: literature, history, music, and philosophy have
remained part of his life and important sources of his creativity.
The period of 1945-50 involved Svoboda in several decisive events. It

was a time of great ferment and artistic release, as a new generation tried to
make up for the six lost years of the war and as the social and political life of
the nation was approaching the crisis and bloodless coup of February 1948,
when the Communist Party took over the regime of the postwar, second
Republic and established the Czechoslovakian Socialistic Republic.
Along with several friends, including some from the New Group, Svo-
boda formed the leadership of a newly created major theatre ensemble, the
Grand Opera of the Fifth of May, which moved into Prague's largest theatre
(formerly the German theatre in Prague) after the war; in August 1946 he
became its chief designer and technical director. In the meantime he began
a five-year, university-level course of study in architecture at the School of
Fine and Applied Arts in Prague. The combined responsibilities and their
demands on time and energy took their toll: more than once, according to
Svoboda, he was found slumped over his drawing board, virtually uncon-
scious after prolonged stretches of sleepless work devoted to production dead-
lines and academic assignments.
In the Grand Opera of the Fifth of May (which despite its name also
performed legitimate drama), Svoboda found the interim period of 1945-48
an especially fruitful one, during which he did som~ of his most creative early
work, especially in collaboration with two of its directors, Alfred Radok ( dra-
ma) and Vaclav Kaslik (opera). Both men represented a continuation of the
Czech prewar avant-garde tradition (which in turn had been strongly influ-
enced by such Russian avant-gardists of the 1920s as Meyerhold, Vakhtangov,
and Tairov)- a tradition of wide-open, liberated, irreverent staging methods
Biography 5
employing elements of cubism, constructivism, and surrealism, with a fre-
quent though not invariable socio-political orientation. Svoboda's work with
Radok and KasHk during these years, as well as his work with JindHch Honzl
at the National Theatre, represented a second wave of these avant-garde ten-
dencies.4 Some of Svoboda's outstanding productions during the years 1945-
48 were The Tales of H ofjmann ( 1946), Kaia Kabanova ( 1947), and Revizor
( 1948), all of which revealed his inclination toward a synthesizing, collage
technique. Tasca ( 1947) indicated his mastery of monumental architectural
scenic effects treated with high imagination, and Rigoletto ( 1947) was a nota-
ble early example of his recurrent theatre-within-theatre treatment. 5
With the change of regime in 1948, all theatres, as well as industry and
commerce, were removed from private ownership and nationalized. The arts
became an official concern of the state and were provided with large subsidies;
an extensive network of repertory theatres began to be organized and cen-
trally administered. Part of the elaborate transformation involved Svoboda's
theatre coming under the control of the National Theatre in the fall of 1948
as one of its three houses and being renamed the Smetana Theatre. Largely
because both KasHk and Radok went along with the merger, Svoboda trans-
ferred as well, even though it meant his stepping down to the position of dep-
uty designer and technical supervisor under Josef Gottlieb, the chief at that
time. Two years later, after Gottlieb's death, Svoboda moved into the position
that he has held to this day, chief designer and technical director of the Na-
tional Theatre in Prague-an incredibly demanding job in which his pre-
viously demonstrated talents for organization and leadership were to be fully
tested. A fe\v months earlier, in June 1950, he had completed his five-year
schooling at the School of Fine and Applied Arts and thus became a fully
c1ualified, degree-holding, professional architect.
The second period of his career again closed at a critical juncture: he
had completed his architectural training and was about to face a new and
major challenge in his theatrical career. A certain fundamental choice was
4· Honzl ( 1854-1953), one of the dominant prewar directors, continued his career in some-
what modilied fashion after the war, becoming increasingly politically oriented and at the same
time more conservative in his staging. It is especially interesting that Svoboda never worked with
E. E Burian ( 1904-1959), the most significant of the prewar Czech directors, who continued to
direct until his death. 1\'evertheless, according to Svoboda, Burian exercised a powerful indirect
influence on him, as he did on virtually all Czech theatre artists between 1930 and 1950. As Svo-
boda puts it, "By watching his rehearsals and productions, I learned how to direct lighting, how
to provide it with a score:' 0
5. Svoboda's work was not immune from criticism, especially in some of the productions
directed by Radok; their radical flouting of conventions frequently sparked considerable scandal
and controversy. Kaia Kabanova was called a "cultural disgrace;' the colors of the scenery in Proko-
fiev's Masquerade "drowneu out the music;' Rigoletto was accused of formalism, Revizor of being
too intellectual and contrived. One of the more wry remarks on a certain Svoboda tendency (at
least in relation to conventional standards of the time) was that, "It would seem that a brightly lit
stage will soon become an almost historic event:'

inherent in the situation, and a brief consideration of some of its conflicting
elements is necessary for an understanding of Svoboda's subsequent artistic
and professional evolution.
One of these elements was Svoboda's attitude toward architecture. Far
more than a challenging technical discipline or a potentially profitable career,
architecture for him became associated with life itself:
Actually it's life, not an abstract discipline-an aspect of life, an organization
of life, the ground plan of life. It consumed my interest. It requires the foresight
of sociology and psychology; you have to know history and how to decipher it.
You must be able to grasp relationships; architecture becomes a kind of puzzle
of life that you have to solve. In the Renaissance it was considered the queen
of the arts, a guiding discipline in relation to other arts and to life itself."
Svoboda's initial attraction to a career in architecture was partially based

on his belief that the new, socialistic regime would allow for maximum crea-
tivity in architecture in the service of society, that architecture would be free
of the commercial, profit-making pressures and attendant compromises that
he associated with the bourgeois capitalism of the Republic. Subsequent
events, however, provided a degree of irony, for it soon became apparent that
the cultural program of the new regime carried its own special pressures that
worked against creative freedom. Whatever its original, theoretical values
may have been, the quasi-artistic doctrine of socialist realism as applied to
architecture resulted in a pattern of official, establishment-approved, mono-
lithic works notable for their tastelessness and lack of imagination or artistry,
a far cry from the ideal and artistic visions of a young architect. They formed,
as the saying went, a "disgrace perpetuated in stone:'
Svoboda, perceiving a relatively greater degree of artistic freedom in
theatre-or, in any case, a lack of permanent evidence of artistic compromises
therein, turned away with some reluctance from a career in architecture, per
se, and for the time being devoted himself fully to his work at the National
Theatre. 6 His architectural training and skill, however, were by no means
wasted. They integrally enhanced his stage designing work, and they rein-
forced his insistence on precision, scientific thoroughness, and the technical
as an instrument.
The third stage of Svoboda's career extended from approximately 1950
to 1956, the "hard" period of Stalinist dogma in socio-political life and socialist
realist dogma in the arts. As practised in the Czechoslovakia of the early fifties,
socialist realism in theatre meant official, unimaginative insistence on near-
naturalism in technique and an optimistic, socially beneficial (i.e., socialistic)
message. Experimental, expressive techniques were denounced as formalism,
6. One observation on this decisive event was that Svoboda became an emigre from archi-
tecture.
Biography 7
and deviations from or criticisms of the basic socio-political line were simply
not tolerated, presumably for the general welfare of society. Few of Svoboda's
approximately sixty productions during this period indicate an advance in his
artistry; in effect, he experienced at least a five-year caesura in his growth.
Exceptions did occur, perhaps two or three a year; a prime example would be
the Radok directed production of ]edenacte Pfikazani ("The Eleventh Com-
mandment"), 1950, a work which contained in embryo the essence of the sub-
sequent sensation of La tern a Magika- the integration of film and living actor.
More typically, several productions were never allowed to be performed, and
Svoboda did a relatively greater number of productions outside Prague, espe-
cially in the early fifties, in theatres where official pressure was not as marked
as in the National Theatre. His work during this period is marked by technical
mastery, impressive monumentality or effective folk realism -depending on
the nature of the script-and a prevailing literalism. 7
Two of his other activities during these years are worth noting: his orga-
nizational work at the National Theatre, and his teaching at the Theatre
Academy. Impelled by what he calls an "aversion to dilletantism;' Svoboda
set himself the task of reorganizing and modernizing the total technical pro-
duction operation at the National Theatre, gradually building up a staff of
specialists, engineers, and technicians to raise the operation to a consistently
professional level and to train new people to take over key positions. The scope
of his task is suggested hy the technical and operational staff of over three
hundred; a workshop aggregate consisting of three carpentry shops, two cos-
tume shops, and one shop each for machines, hardware, fabrics, photography,
and properties; and a repertory system that performs over fifteen different
productions each month at each of three theatres and thus necessitates a dif-
ferent scenic mounting each night, with attendant problems of transportation
and storage. Even more to the point, it means that any designer must work
within a number of strict limits. For example, his settings must be readily
erectable, strikable, and portable; he is not able to assume that once erected,
the setting can remain on stage. In any event, the reorganizational work took
up forty percent of Svoboda's time, "a relatively high proportion;' as he noted,
"but on the other hand an investment that provided a high return because in
the past I had to give up ... a good setting because of a shortage of equipment
or workmanship of poor quality in the stage shops:'"
7· S\·oboda's work during this period was frequently criticized for its "inadequate soeial mes-
sage;' its "pointless descents to formalism"; especially revealing are the following excerpts from a
review of a Radok-Svoboda production as early as 1949, Chodska Nevesta ("The Bride of Chod"):
"The ingenious theatrical ideas can't hide ideological holes and emptiness ... an example of un-
principled cosmopolitanism .... A pretense at a folk drama that dangerously confuses the unaware
spectator:· On the other hand, Svoboda was usually praised in terms of "archetypal realism, docu-
mentarily precise;' "stringently realistic;' "beautifully realistic work completely rid of ... 'expres-
siveness;" and "faithful rendering of landscape:·

His teaching at the theatre division of the Academy of Fine Arts in
Prague, from 1952 to 1958, provided another sort of experience. He taught a
course on scenography for directors, orienting them in principles of design
and stagecraft. Current productions were discussed and analyzed according
to practical considerations of design and staging; secrets of the "kitchen" were
revealed to the future directors. In the informal atmosphere of these weekly
meetings, Svoboda was able to provide an insight into principles of art and
design that were officially unacceptable at the time. According to one of his
students, later a successful director and playwright, he provided them with
a sense of what theatre art and freedom of expression might be; at a time when
the mere use of a black backdrop was condemned as both formalistic and pes-
simistic, such guidance was especially welcome.
The most rigid period of dogmatism began to loosen after the XX:th
Soviet Party Congress and the overt denunciation of Stalin by Khrushchev in
1956. General conditions did not change overnight, but at least relatively
more room for varied production methods became available, and the narrow,
restrictive guidelines of official policy became more flexible. Artists had more
space within which to operate, and they were not slow to take advantage of
the opportunity. Another major period of creativity was about to begin for
Svoboda, one that carried him beyond the point he reached in the early post-
war years. This fourth period of his career, one of particularly rich creativity,
extended from the late 1950s to the middle 1g6os, with no sharp break at either
end. The beginning, of course, was marked by the post-Stalin general thaw.
With the gradual unclenching of official controls, the other, positive side of
a state-supported cultural program had a chance to reveal its potential advan-
tages: money genuinely devoted to culture, large subsidies provided with no
expectation of profit in return, guaranteed artistic employment. For Svoboda
and the directors with whom he worked, it meant a steady nndcrwriting of
ambitious production programs on a long-range basis, with relative freedom
from box-office pressures. An;.· such program has inherent problems, as be-
came apparent-non-dismissable employees, a degree of bureaucratic control
even under the best of circnmstances, and a certain tendency tow-ard com-
. placency and "leveling"-but these difficulties were not intolerable for supe-
rior artists whose creative efforts relied at least in part on extensive budgets.
It was a good period for the Czech theatre as well as for Svoboda, a
period, as Svoboda puts it, when the artists foresaw the wave of liberalization
that began in January 1968. "An artistic potential existed in all fields, one that
had accumulated under the suppression of freedom when ideas were com-
promised and couldn't be expressed. Artists, as well as other people, were
forced to employ a secret language, to communicate in metaphors in order to
Biography g
tell people that there is more to existence than sports and creature comforts.
This compression burst in Brussels:'" Svoboda was referring to the Brussels
World's Fair of 1958, where the Czechoslovakian pavilion became an unex-
pected success. "They proved a sensation because they were full of pressure
and had their first real chance to show the outside world what they could
do;'" he adds.
Besides receiving an award for industrial design, Svoboda received two
other gold medals at the Fair for his share in the creation of two remarkable
new entertainment forms: La tern a Magika and Polyekran. Both are discussed
more fully in a subsequent section ( p. 77), but here it may simply be noted
that they employ a synchronous, multi-screen, multi-projection system of both
slides and film, the Laterna Magika also employing a complex integration of
living performers with screened images. Both forms created a sensation and
made the Czech pavilion one of the most heavily attended at the Fair.
Three years later, in 1961, Svoboda won the grand award for scenogra-
phy at the Sao Paolo Biennale international competition; his success there was
followed up by his lecturing and guest designing in Brazil two years later. 8
The fourth period of his career was also marked by the beginning of his
joint creativity with another outstanding Czech director, Otomar Krejca, a
former actor who, like Radok, also served an apprenticeship under E. F.
Burian. Among the outstanding Krejca-Svoboda productions in Prague during
this period were Hru bin's Srpnova N edele ("A Sunday in August") in 1958,
Topol's ]ejich Den ("Their Day") in 1959, Chekhov's Sea Gull and Tyl's Dra-
homira, both in 1960, and above all the productions of Romeo and Juliet in
1963 and Hamlet in 1965 (Bmssels), in which Svoboda achieved at least a
temporary peak in that phase of his work involving the interplay of space,
architecture, and movement.
Equally satisfying at the beginning of the same period was Svoboda's
work with his other favorite and long-time director, Alfred R1dok, on Leonov's
Golden Carriage and Osborne's The Entertainer, both in 1957. Their associa-
tion had its most overt success in Laterna Magika.-the product of their close
cooperative effort, with Radok providing the direction and scenario. Because
of complications and misunderstandings attendant on Laterna Magika's sub-
sequent Prague production history, however, Svoboda and Radok parted
company for a number of years in the early and mid-sixties.
Both Radok and Krejca are major artists, directors who create on a large
scale almost of necessity, who are able to use Svoboda's design and technical
contribution masterfully, with all stops out, in the service of the script. Svo-
boda is frank in admitting his need of significant directorial co-artistry; he
8. The Czechoslovakian representatives dominated the Sao Paolo competition for a number
of years. In 1959 the scenographic award was won by FrantiSek Tri:ister, and in 1963 by Ladislav
Vychodil.

considers himself lucky to have had such outstanding people to work with as
Radok Krejca, Kaslik, and, earlier, Honzl-to name only those who have af-
fected him most. These directors, and others, have extended his awareness,
his "index;' as he puts it, as a result of their respective approaches and special
methods: Krejca, with his exhaustive analysis of a script, his large sweep and
feel for an architectural, dynamic setting, can fill out a big production, but
can also work most effectively on more intimate works; Radok is a more intui-
tive, romantic, perhaps capricious artist who puts greater emphasis on the
special contribution of the actor and is more likely to strive for a near "magi-
cal" theatricalized effect. (It is worth noting that Svoboda's most special work
with projection techniques has been done with Radok, whereas his most strik-
ing work with kinetic scenery has been done with Krejca.) In l(aslik, Svoboda
respects the completely professional opera director, one who knows not only
music but also drama, and who recognizes the positive, creative contribution
that scenography can bring to an operatic production.
With all three directors, Svoboda feels a sense of association, of un-
derstanding and communication sometimes based on only half-articulated
thoughts. His ideal would be to do virtually all of his work in Prague with
such directors and with the first-rate technical staff that he has built up, in a
cultural environment that he knows intimately in its pressures and rhythms.
In other \YOrds, scenography is not a completely transportable commodity for
Svoboda. Although he has clearly demonstrated his ability to produce with
great success far from his native stages, there is no doubt that he feels most
organically right in his homeland, with his long-time creative associates. Nev-
ertheless, for a number of reasons, chiefly involving economics and availability
of materials, Svoboda, despite his preference for working at home, ironically
finds that during recent years he is more nearly able to actualize his artistry
abroad, as the register of his productions at the back of this book will indicate.
In any case, the years between 1957 and 1965 formed a crest in Svoboda's
creative output and brought him increasing international recognition. Among
a host of offers to design abroad was his one assignment in America to mate-
rialize thus far, 9 a production by the Opera Group of Boston of Luigi Nonno's
Intoleranz;a in early 1965, for which he employed a very ingenious variation
of his projection techniques- the use of live television projection on a large
screen simultaneously integrated with the stage action.
Svoboda's earlier experiments with lighting, stage. kinetics, and special

projections ascended to new levels of sophistication and complexity by 1965.
Since that time, in his most recent period, he has refined still further on many
g. Several projects in America did not materialize, including a dramatization of The Iliad,
intended for Lincoln Center in 1967, and Salome for the Civic Opera in Chicago in 1968.
Biography 11
of these techniques, especially those involving lighting and projections, has
done some of his most notable design work with technically rather simple but
highly imaginative settings, and has devoted himself with more intensive
speculation to the chronic problem of a new theatre space. With various nota-
ble exceptions, he has seemed more content with ripened and economical use
of tried and mastered techniques than extravagant experimentation with new
ones. A case in point was his first production with Radok after many years, an
adaptation of Gorki's The Last Ones ( 1966), which, as he put it, "rehabili-
tated" the Laterna Magika principles after their commercial debasement by
others and suggested the powerful artistic possibilities of the hybrid medium.
Both the Bremen ( 1966) and Prague ( 1969) productions of Don Gio-
vanni, on the other hand, illustrated Svoboda's poetic, intuitive, highly meta-
phoric sense; both were technically uncomplicated; both gained their power
from the poetic conceit that underlay their realization on stage. Much the
same could be said, with obvious variations, of the London production of
Chekhov's The Three Sisters ( 1967) as well as the Prague production of Di.ir-
renmatt's The Anabaptists ( 1968). A number of outstanding productions were
based on refinements of previous techniques in lighting and projection: asso-
ciated with the use of a Svoboda specialty, intense low-voltage lighting, are
Tristanundlsolde (Wiesbaden, 1967) and Sicilian Vespers (Hamburg, 1969);
with a matured, lyrical use of projections, Die Frau ohne Schatten (London,
1967) and Pelleas and Melisande (London, 1969); and with a starker, more
graphic system of projections functioning as critical commentary, Hra na
Zuzanku ("The Suzanna Play;' Frankfurt, 1968) and The Soldiers (Munich,
1969).
Svoboda's theatre-related exhibition work has also continued, notably at
Expo 67 in Montreal where he again helped to make the Czechoslovak pavilion
one of the most popular with several projects, especially a dazzling new multi-
screen, synchronized projection system known as Diapolyekran, which pre-
sented a highly imaginative short program, The Creation of the World. 10
Additional honors and prizes testified to a growing recognition of his
accomplishments. In 1968 he was granted his own nation's highest honorary
artistic title of National Artist. In 1969 he received an honorary doctorate from
England's Royal College of Art as well as the annual Sikkens Prize of the
Netherlands, previous winners of which include such men as Le Corbusier.
In 1969 he also had the honor of having his production of The Flying Dutch-
10. In the summer of 1969, Svoboda began work on a commission to design a special exhibit
to open at Nuremberg, Germany, in March 1971 in celebration of the sooth anniversary of the
birth of Diirer. Svoboda has been given a free hand to create a scenario, function as director, and,
of course, design all technical elements. His intention is to create an audi-visual confrontation of
the works of Diirer with 500 years of Nuremberg's subsequent history by means of mobile and fixed
projection screens, live TV, and other devices within a two-story space of Nuremberg castle.

,-~
I
Preliminary sketches by Svoboda for the unproduced Elektra.
Biography 13
man open the Festival season at Bayreuth and be the season's sole premiere.
It is apparent that the freshness and variety of Svoboda's creativity show
no signs of abating. If anything, his talents seem constantly to seek new or
ever improving forms of expression. In a discussion of forms in art, Stark Young
once observed, "\Vhat counts is this force of life as it goes discovering, creat-
ing, and fulfilling the forms that reveal and express it. By this a work of art is
alive:'u It is precisely this force of life that marks Svoboda's creativity, as it
does his temperament. A man of medium stature, Svoboda gives an impres-
sion of restrained alertness, of energy banked and well controlled. Occasion-
ally, Svoboda's manner may even convey an impression of mildness and a
certain remoteness, but such impressions are superficial and finally mislead-
ing, for Svoboda is a man of glowing intensity once his interest is aroused and
he warms to his subject. Then his features become animated, his eyes brighten,
and his voice suddenly acquires added range and expressiveness. \Vith a spon-
taneous, intrinsically histrionic flair he often proceeds to reinforce his verbal
account with dynamic gestures and movements as he strives to communicate
the precise, essential quality of a given production and the concept it em-
bodies. Such moments reveal how deeply rooted in feeling and, indeed, pas-
sion is Svoboda's creativity, and how important a role the intuitive plays in
shaping his art.
11. Stark Young, The Theatre (New York, 1954), pp. 57£.

Scenography Rather Than Design
Any consideration of Svoboda as a stage designer runs into a basic semantic
problem: finding an appropriate term to describe what he considers his profes-
sion to be. He does not believe the English-American term "designer" to be
adequate, and other general terms such as "buhnenbildner" or "decorateur"
are even less satisfactory because, according to him, they all imply a person
who conceives a setting for a play, renders it two-dimensionally on paper-
perhaps stunningly-and then in effect retires from the field, having fulfilled
his commission. Svoboda's concept of his work involves much more than this;
hence his preference for the term "scenography":
My great fear is that of becoming a mere "decorateur:' What irritates me most

are such terms as "Biihnenbildner" or "decorateur" because they imply two-
dimensional pictures or superficial decoration, which is exactly what I don't
want. Theatre is mainly in the performance; lovely sketches and renderings
don't mean a thing, however impressive they may be; you can draw anything
you like on a piece of paper, but what's important is the actualization. True
scenography is what happens when the curtain opens and can't be judged in
any other way."
Similarly, he goes on to say, scenography is ever and always-a means
toward an end: "We aren't circus performers or stage magicians; we're theatre
workers, and for us scenography is a means toward actualizing a play and not
the opposite:'"
It is not surprising, therefore, that Svoboda is less than enthusiastic about
exhibitions of scene design which feature static, two dimensional preconcep-
tions of a setting. He considers a scene design as merely a temporary aid that
will undergo many changes before it is actualized. Only a final photographic
record of the scenery on stage in production begins to be authoritative, and
even that is ultimately inadequate, especially for most of Svoboda's work. For
this reason, exhibits of Svoboda's work rely heavily on kinetic models, and he
himself would prefer using films for exhibition purposes.
Returning to the basic problem of defining his work, Svoboda goes on
to say:
r m looking for a word to describe the profession, not the person, the profession
with all of the means at its disposal, with all its various activities and responsi-
bilities in terms of the stage and the creative work done in close cooperation
with direction, with special emphasis on the free choice of all available means,
not merely the pictorial and painted. For example, scenography can mean a
stage filled with vapor and a beam of light cutting a path through it."
Most assuredly, part of the scenographer's responsibility is his knowl-
edge of all the technical instruments and materials with which he works:

lighting, construction, mechanics, mathematics, optics. "A lack of familiarity
with these elements simply means a restriction of creativitY:' In a larger sense,
"scenography also implies a handling of total production space, which means
not only the space of the stage but also the auditorium in terms of the demands
of a given production:'" Observations such as these clearly suggest the strong
influence of Svoboda's own vocational training and architectural orientation.
Related to these basic issues are the specific approach of a scenographer
to his task and also his relationship to the other elements of production, chiefly
the directorial. Central to the first point, the approach to any given produc-
tion, is Svoboda's basic pragmatism, his rejection of a priori theories or meth-
ods. As early as 1947 he expressed a fundamental principle:
We don't promote any artistic discipline, that is painting, architecture, sculp-
ture, as the central one. \Ve synthesize-that is, we choose the artistic principle
that corresponds to our theatrical concept. ... Priority on the stage belongs to
the theatrician and only then to the designer or director. 1
Although Svoboda welcomes the potential contribution of the latest
available techniques and devices and is able to derive maximum benefit from
them, their use or non-use is really not essential:
What is essential is the approach to the job: I would be delighted to create a
setting of cheese if it best suited the play. You have to use expressive means
that precisely fit the production concept. And that's where the true beauty of
my work lies, for me."
Svoboda has been criticized at various times for a seeming lack of con-
sistency in his extraordinary range of materials, techniques, and approaches;
the question of pinpointing a style to fit his work becomes a problem. His
answer is characteristic: "Style is a matter of solving each work by the given
conditions, which means not only consideration of the specific author, but also
the given director, the theatre building itself, the main actor or actors: each
element is unique, and you have to consider the features special to each one:'"
He then goes on to give an example: his prize-winning set for the Old Vic pro-
duction of Ostrovsky's The Storm in 1967. After study of the text and consulta-
tion with the director, he prepared a design based on projections. But once
he had seen the British company in rehearsal he threw out the original design,
and made up an entirely new set of projections, simply because he perceived
an incompatibility between his design and the performance the English actors
were clearly going to give; the point is that he adapted his work to them. By
the same token, as he is frank to admit, the relative heaviness or col!lplexity
of scenography also depends on the actors; for example, if he is to design a set
1. Svoboda, quoted in E. Bezdekovii, "Reportaz skoro pohadkova" [An almost magical sto-
ry], Stfedoskolak [The High School Student] ( n.d.), p. 10.
16 LIFE AND PlUNCIPLES

Svoboda at his office desk under various posters advertising exhibitions of his work.

in which someone like Olivier will play the central role, he certainly isn't going
to provide scenography that will in any way divert attention from a great
actor who will clearly be the center of interest. Svoboda expresses the broader
point in this way: "It's the law of theatre: theatre is a synthetic, componential
phenomenon that ideally needs balancing-if it's short here, say in acting, you
add there, in the scenography-or the opposite:'"
On a more subjective level, one of the elements that enters into the given
circumstances of a production for Svoboda is its context beyond the confines
of the theatre: that is to say, the prevailing cultural mood or climate of the
day, its socio-historical moment, and the response it awakens in him.
It's easy to turn out routine designs and etudes; I can pour them out of my
sleeve. But it becomes hard work when the project is meaningful. I like to put
all that I know and feel of the world into a given work, and my biggest prob-
lem is when I can't find the right connection or establish a relationship with a
work I especially like to capture the flavor or scent of the specific time and
place of a production; that is, not only in terms of the original script but also
in terms of when and where we produce it."'
Svoboda's point here seems related to a more general observation: "Only
that which is contemporary on stage can thoroughly interest the spectator and
affect him strongly .... Contemporary art should present a ground plan of life,
the life-style of its time:'"
Svoboda's humanistic conception of architecture clearly applies to his
conception of scenography; its ultimate significance is to be measured by its
relation to human experience. Needless to say, it is not always possible to take
significant socio-historical events into consideration; the nature of the external
circumstances, Svoboda's schedule of production assignments, and the degree
to which he and the director are attuned all affect the matter. Nevertheless,
intangible and fugitive as this element may be, it can make the difference
between a good production and a superb one. Examples of some productions
that succeeded in expressing a genuine sense of their time, according to Svo-
boda, are The Entertainer ( 1957), Romeo and Juliet ( 1963), Hamlet ( 1965),
The Last Ones ( 1966), and The Anabaptists ( 1968).
Still another example of the adaptability and range of Svoboda's ap-
proach, as well as what he considers to be the essence of scenography, is to be
found in his projected version-as yet unproduced-of Goethe's Faust, with
Alfred Radok as director. The production concept involves the dual identity
of Faust's domestic servant and Mephistopheles; how to distinguish the two
identities instantly becomes crucial. The setting would consist of a huge room
virtually empty except for the thousands of books lining its walls. Svoboda's
chief scenographic contribution would be invisible: a floor designed to pro-
duce either a heavy, hollow sound of steps or else absolutely no noise, depend-

ing on who walked on it and precisely where he walked. As Svoboda describes
it:
The servant walks to the door, and we hear the hollow sound of his steps in the
vast room. He turns just as he reaches the door, and starts back-and sud-
denly-silence!-and we know, instantly, that it's the devil. Nothing is visible,
but this is scenography and is what I think sets me apart from most other de-
signers. It's scenography raised to scenographic direction. 0
Above all, of course, scenographic work implies a very close tie with
direction. As Svoboda puts it: "A good director is one who understands design,
and a good scenographer can only be one who is also a director, at least in
terms of his knowing the principles of blocking, movement, rhythms, and the
expressive forces of the actor:' 0 Svoboda feels that a good deal of his approach
to a play is based on directorial principles, and he appreciates directors who
are able to accept this approach on his part, just as he welcomes their ideas
on scenography. When referring to the interplay of director, scenographer,
and all the other elements of a production, he likes to cite the analogy of an
orchestra; he sees scenography as one section of the orchestra, and the direc-
tor as conductor: at times scenography will simply play along with the rest,
at times virtually disappear while another section dominates, at still another
time the scenography will, as it were, play a solo, and, finally, there are times
when all the elements combine for a crescendo or grand finale.
When pressed, Svoboda admits that he must be able to agree with a
director on the basic interpretation of a play, or else they part ways.
But I'm open to persuasion and ready to accept the director's interpretation as
better than my own-or else to go along with a director who wants to play it
by ear-but I must be able to accept it and make it my own, very much like
an actor and the interpretation of his role, in relation to the director."
It is clear that Svoboda's approach to his profession is a highly flexible,
pragmatic one, but one that nevertheless insists on certain principles, chief
among which is the premise that a scenographer must be more than a de-
signer2 and that a theatrical production is an organic, existential process, the
specific configuration of which will inevitably vary each and every time, de-
pending on the given elements:
The basic principle is what happens on stage, the quality of its rendering, its
relation to the play, and whether the expressive means that were used are ap-
propriate to the objectives that the director and designer agreed upon. The
2. In fact, Svoboda questions the wisdom of schooling that is specifically intended to pro-
duce designers or scenographers, as such. He believes that basic training in some other, broader,
essentially more "philosophic" field is of greater value, one that would provide wider horizons,
such as a sense for "the drama inherent in space, people, the occasion-stage 'detq.ils' are only
secondary:'"

Svoboda's model for an unrealized production of Jan Amos Komensky's The Laby-
rinth of the World and the Paradise of the Heart. The free-form panels were to move, to
fold, to take projections; their shape was intended to suggest the human brain. Svoboda
designed the stage for touring, hence the special construction.
question is whether they've managed to concretize their idea. This is the big
issue .... Scenography must draw inspiration from the play, its author, all of
theatre. The scenographer must be in command of the theatre, its master. The
average designer is simply not that concerned with theatre. 0

Experimentation and the Technical
Forming the background or, perhaps more accurately, the foundation of Svo-
boda's scenography, both at its boldest and its simplest, is his profound, scru-
pulous respect for the painstaking experiment and research that precede its
ultimate appearance before the public. It is easy enough to appreciate the
intricate calculations that lie behind Laterna Magika or the related Polyekran
system and their derivatives, but even such seemingly artless productions as
The Sea Gull or The Entertainer rely to a considerable degree on techniques
or materials that can result only from patient, precise, truly scientific work in
advance. Although many people, both critics and artists, sincerely believe that
science, technology, and systemization are inherently hostile to art and crea-
tivity, Svoboda is most emphatically not one of their number: "My father, a
carpenter, always told me that if you want to do something new, you first have
to command the old:''" Svoboda has, if anything, a rage for order, for pre-
cision, for the laws that underlie his work because, as he puts it, "it means that
the given element has been mastered and can be used as an instrument:''" His
feelings about music are significant in this respect:
I admire its order, its purity, its cleanness-this is what I would like to establish
in scenography. I know it's impossible but at least I want to aim for it. I'd like
to eliminate dilettantism and make theatre truly professional. Scenography is
a discipline .... I've been pursuing an ideal for twenty-five years: precision,
systemization, perfection, and control of the expressive means available to sce-
nography, even the ordinary means. Why shouldn't this age make the most of
its technical developments as previous eras did? that is, the machinery of the
baroque era, the electric light at the turn of the century. 1
It is precisely because of his efforts to approach the ideal of scenography
as a discipline, as a systematic instrument, that Svoboda places such emphasis
on experiment, which he considers as nothing less than a responsibility:
What we're concerned with is method, its logical development: something
which has disappeared from our work. A method can become exact only by the
concrete solving of problems. Concrete problems are a necessary etude. No art
can be satisfied with only theoretical solutions .... Principles arrived at in the
past reveal nothing of the possibilities in today's solutions, and the passive
employment of finished creations would mean artistic stagnation for the pres-
ent.... Theatre means creating, seeking, experimenting. 2
1. Although Svoboda's temperament and frame of reference in most respects vary signifi-
cantly from those of Piscator and Brecht, his campaign for a theatre that truly reflects its age and
its scientific spirit, in production techniques as well as in subject matter, echoes one of their favor-
ite themes.
2. Svoboda, quoted in "Scena v diskusi" [Discussion about scenery], Divadlo [Theatre]
(May 1g66 ), p. 3·

He is even more explicit in the following passage; his emphasis on the
taking of risks may seem strange coming from the man who places such stress
on scientific precision, but actually the two values go hand in hand in Svo-
boda's work:
Experiment is an obligation. The sole means of regeneration for real creativity
and a voluntary acceptance of risks. This applies with double force in theatre,
because a theatre artist has never had and will never have the possibility of
testing his experiment "uncommitedly" in some remote laboratory beyond the
perimeter of the stage. 3
One of the innovations introduced by Svoboda in his supervision of the
scenic and technical operation of the National Theatre was an experimental
laboratory or workshop precisely in order to provide the necessary research
for effective experimentation. 4 In doing so, he appreciated the irony inherent
in making the established National Theatre the home of experiment, rather
than, as is more usual, confining experimentation to a marginal, semi-amateur
studio. In short, the flow of innovation and its results has been from the estab-
lishment theatre to the small theatre, rather than the other way around as was
the case before World War II. But Svoboda understands the reason for the
reversal: "Today's stage experiment ... can only grow from firm economic
foundations, from a wide circle of co-workers, experts, and from financial
security that provides at least relative thoroughness in the experimental pro-
cess:'5 Svoboda's present staff includes specialists in chemistry, electronics,
mechanics, and optics, as well as draftsmen and recent graduates of archi-
tecture.
Another avenue of experiment for Svoboda has been his exhibition work,
which he frequently uses as a technical proving ground. Almost invariably,
exhibitions provide larger budgets than those available for theatre produc-
tion; in effect, Svoboda takes advantage of the money invested in the exhi-
bitions to develop certain instruments or techniques, which he then brings
back for use in the theatre. When ideas or materials have proved their worth
before the public, the people in charge of theatre budgets are more likely to
be persuaded to underwrite their use in productions. The Laterna Magika and
Polyekran systems were a case in point, as was the more recent Diapolyekran
in Montreal, which was subsequently used in two German productions by
Svoboda in the 1g68-6g season, The Suzanna Play and The Soldiers.
3· Svoboda, "Moznosti a potreby" [Possibilities and needs], Divadlo (September 1967), p. 8.

4· The Scenographic Laboratory was founded in 1957 as pmt of the National Theatre's sce-
nic and technical workshops; its immediate supervisor was Miroslav Koul'il, who had been E. F.
Burian's designer. Subsequently, in 1963, the Laboratory, under KouHI's direction, became an
autonomous research and consultative organization known as the Scenographic Institute, an iden-
tity that it has maintained to the present.
s. Svoboda, "Moznosti a potl'eby;' p. S.

Svoboda's attitude toward experimentation and a scientific foundation
as necessary ingredients of scenography is closely bound up with his basic
assumptions about the role of technology in the theatre. Two of his most well
known statements on this issue are: "It all depends how you use technology:
an electric current can kill a man or cure him. It's the same in a theatre pro-
duction: the technical element can harm it or be used to help prepare a mas-
terpiece";" and again: "Modern technical progress belongs in the modern
theatre just as an elevator or laundromat belongs in a modern building:' 7 Off-
setting what may seem to be an excessive preoccupation with the technical in
such statements, especially when they are taken out of context, is Svoboda's
equally characteristic observation that the technical is solely a means: "My
dream would be not to have it there; but I have to use it now because certain
things would not otherwise be possible. In five years there may be other means
and other results:'" Perhaps most directly to the point is Svoboda's simplest
assertion, "Knowledge of the technical makes creativity possible:'" To con-
tinue the chain of reasoning, one might add that knowledge of the technical
derives from experiment, and experiment is meaningful only when scientific
or systematic. The example that Svoboda frequently cites of the relationship
between the technical and the creative concerns some of his projection sys-
tems: not until the development of an electronic apparatus to synchronize a
number of projection machines could Laterna Magika or Polyekran progress
beyond its initial, limited stage.
A few other technical elements recurrently employed and frequently
devised by Svoboda warrant at least brief attention, for they exemplify the
kind of research and development projects undertaken by the theatre labora-
tories, and they figure prominently in some of Svoboda's most important sce-
nographic work. One is a low-voltage unit which he has used to great artistic
advantage in lighting many of his productions. Each lighting instrument has
its own transformer, which makes feasible a much smaller lamp filament in
conjunction with the reduced voltage. The resultant beam of light is more
intense, "whiter;' and more controllable than one cast by traditional units. The
advantages of the low-voltage unit are especially evident in Europe's 220-volt
system, for the drop in voltage allows for a proportionately greater reduction
in filament size than would be possible in a no-volt system. Two variants of
the unit are what Svoboda calls the low-voltage lighting "thread;' and low-
voltage "sector lamps:' The "thread;' a unit with a lens, casts a beam of light
6. Svoboda, quoted in "Rozhovor o inscenacnim stylu" [A conversation about production
style], Informaenf Zpravy Scenograficke Lahoratofe [Informative news of the scenographic labo-
ratory] (April 1959 ) , p. 2.
7· Svoboda, "Nouveaux Elements en Scenographic;' Le Thedtre en Tchecoslovaquie, ed.
Vladmir Jindra (Prague, 1962), p. 6o. This booklet was published in French and Russian; my cita-
tions are translations from the Czech manuscript copy, but I am providing reference to the pagina-
tion of the French edition.

that remains essentially parallel and highly efficient (most lighting units in-
variably throw a cone-shaped beam); the unit found its optimal use in Ma;itele
Klicu ("Owners of the Keys"). The low-voltage "sector lamps" are similar to
the "threads" but their beams do have a slight spread; they employ parabolic
mirrors but no lens, and are placed in units of six or nine each. They have been
used extensively by Svoboda in such productions as The Sea Gull, Drahomira,
Sviitopluk, and above all in Sicilian Vespers. Their effect is to create a curtain
or wall of light; Svoboda sets them in a counter-lighting position, that is at an
angle from high at the rear of the stage aimed down toward the front; in this
way, they pass through a greater distance of air and thus create the maximum
effect of light-as-substance. The effect can be heightened in certain circum-
stances, if desired, when the low-voltage units are combined with an aerosol
spray, which of course makes the air much denser; when the extremely high-
intensity light beam passes through such hyper-dense air, the result truly ap-
proaches the paradox of insubstantial solidity. The most striking use of the
combination occurred in the Wiesbaden production of Tristan und Isolde, in
which a column of light figured prominently. 8
Film and slide projections are almost a Svoboda trademark; yet before
he could employ them effectively to achieve his exceptional results, several
peripheral problems had to be solved. For example, the basic problem with all
projections on stage is how to project a clear and bright image while at the
same time providing enough light for the actor or scenery in front of the pro-
jection screen; rear projection is only a partial answer. For a long time Svoboda
assumed that the real answer lay in increasing the intensity of the projected
image-that is, in the efficiency of the projection instrument. It was only after
many years and a variety of experiments that he realized the answer lay in the
projection screen, its color and reflectibility; subsequent research led to spe-
cial screens developed for maximum reflection and minimum diffusion. Before
the projection problem was adequately solved, however, a solution was re-
quired for the auxiliary problem of parasitic light-that is, the light reflected
from the floor surface, which weakens the light and image on the projection
screen. The answer lay not only in having a non-reflective, velvet-like covering
on the floor, but in tilting the floor backwards at a slight angle, plus providing
8. The development of the aerosol technique is a saga in itself. The basic principle consists
of a fine spray of droplets that form on the particles of dust that are so readily available in most
theatres; the droplets are electrostatically charged to repel each other and thus avoid clustering
and falling in a fine rain. The basic problem was that the stirred-up dust became a health hazard,
but this was remedied by the addition of a medically-approved, throat-soothing liquid as the basis
of the spray. A further problem became apparent almost at the same time, however; the unusually
high degree of heat given off by the special lighting units evaporated the droplets much too quick-
ly. This was solved by adding an oil emulsion to the droplets to offset the rapid evaporation. A final
problem: how to get rid of the droplets once they had served their purpose? Solution: altering the
electrostatic charge so that the droplets attracted each other, formed larger drops, and fell.

the floor with a slight series of lateral ridges; these combined measures, in
conjunction with the specially developed projection screens, enabled Svoboda
to achieve the effective interplay of screen and living actor that was essential
to several of his major artistic successes, especially Laterna Magika and Their
Day.
A list of similar technical projects could soon fill a sizable technical man-
ual, but two very recent technical breakthroughs are worth noting. Although
they were yet to be used in production at the time of this writing, Svoboda
incorporated them in his designs for two specific productions during the
1969-70 season. In a number of previous productions Svoboda used mirrors
in highly dramatic fashion, particularly in Ze zivota hmyzu ("Insect Com-
edy") and the Brussels Hamlet. He hoped to heighten their effectiveness by
using newly devised pneumatic mirrors-mirrors whose reflective surfaces are
bonded to a flexible material that by remotely controlled changes in air pres-
sure forms either a convex or a concave surface. By this means the images
seen by the audience can be radically reshaped. The device was originally
intended for use in the Milan production of Prokofiev's The Fiery Angel. The
other innovation involves laser beams and holograms: the formation of visible
but incorporeal forms in space. These are, in effect, projections without pro-
jection screens, or projections in air: shapes or images that can be walked
through but remain undisturbed and visible. 9 Svoboda intended to use this
hardly credible innovation for the ordeal of fire and water in his production
of The Magic Flute in Munich in 1970, but final technical matters were not
perfected in time. He still plans to use laser beams for a new form of projec-
tion in this production, but he is putting off the combined use of lasers and
holograms until the Munich production of Goethe's Faust in 1971.
Even this brief listing of technical devices should indicate the extent
to which Svoboda relies on contemporary materials and techniques in his ef-
forts to make today's theatre representative of its age; as things stand, accord-
ing to Svoboda, theatre needs to catch up. In 1959 he wrote: "Stage technology
has always dragged behind the general technical advances of the time ...
we're still at the luna park and merry-go-round stage as far as I'm concerned:' 10
Two additional points must be kept in mind in trying to make a proper
assessment of Svoboda's exploitation of a whole range of technical elements:
g. The essential process begins when a laser beam is split by being partially passed through
and partially reflected by a special mirror. Part of the original laser beam registers on photographic
film directly (no camera or lens is necessary) ; the other part of the original laser beam is reflected
from the object to be reproduced before registering on the fihn. In effect, the film "captures" two
different focal points of the laser beam. A slide is made from the exposed film. When another or
subsequent laser beam is passed through the slide, a three-dimensional image is produced, one
which can be projected on a screen or else exist at a pre-determined focal point in space.
10. Svoboda, "Selma pi'itomnosti a budoucnosti" [The setting today and tomorrow], Ochot-
nicke Dtvadlo [Amateur theatre] ( 1959), s.s:lOg.

he always conceives of such elements as instruments, as means to an end, not
as ends in themselves. Moreover, he always conceives of them as organically
related to the total production, as dramatically integral elements: "the tech-
nical is an organic, synthetic element; it acquires poetry and metaphoric
power:'<> Nevertheless, one may still ask, why so much emphasis on the tech-
nical? One response is that, in fact, a great many of Svoboda's productions
involve a minimal use of technical devices. Those productions that do employ
a heavy complement of the technical usually manage to hide the fact, and even
when they don't, their underlying intention is not to provide technical spec-
tacle but to serve the production, to provide maximum expressiveness for the
production concept.
Otomar Krejca, closely associated with Svoboda for over ten years as a
director, sees Svoboda's relation to the technical from still another perspec-
tive: "What interests him above all is the effect of the scientific-technical
eruption of our century on man. He is not only aware of but also respects the
humanism, the cultural and philosophic relevance, of all of today's technicism,
but he also sees its cruelty, folly, and monstrousness. He does not use the stage
to propagate a technicized religion; his basic value is always the relation of
man to man, the human equation: the ability of artistic talent to create an
authentic new reality that testifies to more important discoveries about the
human spirit than any technical characteristics may provide:'n
• 11. Otomar Krejca, from a speech, the text of which was printed in Zpravy Divadelniho
Ustavu [News from the Theatre Institute], Ko. 8 ( 1967), p. 26.

The Aesthetics of Theatre Performance
Trying to classify Svoboda's scenographic mode as primarily symbolistic, con-
structivistic, expressionistic, cubistic, or even illusionistic is ultimately a fruit-
less exercise. The fact is that his work exhibits instances of each of these modes
as well as combinations of them. What underlies all of his work, however-
except the literalism or monumentalism of some productions during the Stalin
era-is his search for the intangible essence of the work and his attempt to
express it in the most appropriate manner, on the stage, in theatrical terms,
which, for him, implies a synthesis of expressive elements. 1 Almost without
exception, moreover, he sees dynamism as fundamental to any work of theatre
art; if nature abhors a vacuum, Svoboda abhors a fixed, static stage, which
strikes him as being a perversion of the essence of theatre. Quite inadvertently,
perhaps, he approaches the Aristotelian position that regards action as the
very heart of the drama; not action in the crude sense of the word, but in the
sense that drama means responsiveness, change, and movement, when broadly
conceived as ranging from a quiet, steady flow to abrupt, radical revolution.
One of his relatively early recorded remarks on the subject is revealing: "A
tree sways and trembles; it's a dynamic organism. That's why a setting can't
be done naturalistically, because it's precisely the details of nature that can't
be slavishly imitated. The naturalistic theatre is a corpse:' 2 Putting the matter
positively, he stated at another time:
In the old theatre the scenery was erected and usually remained fixed without
change throughout the entire scene. But what is fixed in the stream of life that
we see represented on the stage? Is the room in which we declare our love the
same as the one in which we scream curses? ... That's why we abandon a static
space with its restricted means and instead create a new one ... more appro-
priate to the life-style of the present and the mentality of our viewers. 3
In recent conversation, he reiterated this central principle:
I don't want a static picture, but something that evolves, that has movement,
not necessarily physical movement, of course, but a setting that is dynamic,
capable of expressing changing relationships, feelings, moods, perhaps only by
lighting, during the course of the action. 0
1. Svoboda would not even reject a mode that seems hopelessly out of date: "The problem
with painted scenery was not that it was painted, but the way it was painted. The descriptive real-
ism of the nineteenth century has its place in history, but not in today's world and not in today's
theatre.... But if the entire performance and the entire creative team that thinks through and pre-
pares the performance came up with a concept based on a painted scene and provided it with a
unified principle revealing new 'laws' that we're unaware of at this point, there might be tremen-
dous results:' Quoted in Jaroslav Dewetter, "Pi'ed objektivem" [In front of the lens], Divadlo
( 1962), 3:26.
2. Svoboda, quoted in "Rozhovor o inscenacnim stylu;' p. 2.
3· Svoboda, "Nouveaux :£Iements;' pp. sgf.

The last phrases are very important, for it is all too easy to assume that
Svoboda is obsessed with sheer movement, an assumption that is somewhat
encouraged by the term "kinetics" that has been applied indiscriminately to
his scenography in general. As he likes to point out, perhaps only thirty of his
more than 330 productions have involved material, tangible movement. But
most of his productions, if not indeed virtually all of them, have indeed em-
ployed a subtler form of kinetics that accompanies the action as an expressive,
responsive reinforcement, most often, perhaps, by lighting: "lighting as a
dramatic component, not merely illuminating the scene or providing atmo-
sphere:'" Kinetics, in short, is a matter of the given production: both of his
Hamlet productions, his second Insect Comedy, and his latest Dalibor, for
example, have all employed variations of a physically kinetic stage; Their Day
and Soldiers depended on kinetics via projections; but The Sea Gull and The
Three Sisters have relied solely on subtle, suggestive changes of lighting to
accompany their action.
"Suggestive" is perhaps as close as any single term can come to describing
the fundamental scenographic effect that Svoboda seeks. This is to say that he
steers clear of both illusionism and alienation; instead, he would rather prompt
the viewer's imagination. In this as in so many other respects, Svoboda avoids
extremes, instinctively preferring to reinforce and vivify the theatre's tradi-
tionally evocative, inherently metaphoric power with as much leeway as pos-
sible in the specific scenic mode that would seem most relevant for a given
production. What remains constant, however, is Svoboda's conviction that the
setting must not foreshadow the action or provide a summary illustration of it;
it is as if he were allergic to a setting, no matter how impressive otherwise,
that seems to announce the heart of the play in one brilliant image: "Theatre
means dynamics, movement; it is a living thing; therefore, scenography should
not be fixed and tell all at once, as expressionistic design tends to do:'"
The setting should evolve with the action, cooperate with it, be in har-
mony with it, and reinforce it, as the action itself evolves. Scenography is not
a background nor even a container, but in itself a dramatic component that
becomes integrated with every other expressive component or element of pro-
duction and shares in the cumulative effect upon the viewer. And it is pre-
cisely in order to heighten the expressive, responsive, and dynamic power of
scenography that Svoboda so often draws from the whole range of technical
instruments and materials that he is able to handle so masterfully. In the hands
of a lesser artist, many of the technical elements employed by Svoboda would
become extraneous and cumbersome, and would call attention to themselves.
Indeed, it sometimes happens that even Svoboda is unable to achieve com-
plete success in integrating the technical with the spine of the action, but in
the great majority of his productions he has the imagination and sheer com-

mand of his medium to be able, not only to add scenography to the other ele-
ments, but to fuse it with them and thus form a total artistic, dramatic, and
above all theatrical entity that has far greater power than the sum of its parts.
It is, of course, an essentially imaginative, poetic process, one that de-
mands an innate capacity for synthesis and metaphorical thinking. Svoboda's
perceptive statement on the essential character of a modern theatre produc-
tion suggests the extent to which he possesses this capacity:
... the individual elements [of production] are becoming more precise and ...
tending to join in a new, more polyphonic creation, in a multi-branched com-
position possessing several levels of significance among which a dialectical and
contrasting oscillation develops, as much in the resultant theatre work as a
total creation as in the individual scenes, situations, and characters, because
a theatrical work is a stream of artistic images and a refined projection of their
ideas far more than a tangible product. Because the point above all is the com-
munication of a poetic message, not mere information. 4
It is likely that one of Svoboda's basic tendencies-a metaphoric, imagis-
tic, collage-like scenography (The Tales of Hoffmann, Wastrels in Paradise,
The Last Ones, for example) -is related to his association with Alfred Radok,
with whom he has done so much work on the integration of film and stage. In
any event, a certain orientation toward the techniques of the film medium is
evident in remarks like the following:
We're at a disadvantage in relation to film; we can't use rapid cutting tech-
niques or enlarged details; we always have to work with the scene as a whole.
We manage to create focus and tension by a contrapuntal accord between
action and props, movement, sound .... Modern directional methods call for
an open, free stage; it can't allow itself to be bound by a static ground plan; the
setting has to become adaptable to the action without strain and instantly. 5
Actually, something more fundamental to Svoboda's sense of theatre is
involved here. He is fond of illustrating his concept of the very essence of the-
atre by referring to a single chair set on the stage, as a result of which the chair
already acquires a new and special identity; it does so all the more when it is
lighted in a certain way, and especially when it is then juxtaposed with other
objects. Such objects may in themselves be quite banal, but when imagina-
tively placed and illuminated, they may reveal new aspects of their being and
perhaps even their poetry. It is this highly charged potential-this "contra-
puntal accord" in even the most ordinary of theatrical configurations-that
Svoboda loves and that forms the basis of his inherent sense of theatre.
Still another indication of the imaginative, poetic cast of Svoboda's ap-
proach is evident in the following remark:
4· Svoboda, "Moznosti a potreby;' p. 7·
S· Svoboda, quoted in Dewetter, p. 27.

Each of these [scenographic] elements must be flexible and adaptable enough
to act in unison with any of the others, to be their counterpoint or contrast, not
only to project a two or more voiced parallel with the other elements but to be
capable of fusing with any of the others to form a new quality. 6
Svoboda, like most artists, is not much given to theorizing, especially
about his own work. Nevertheless, he has thought through the interrelation-
ship of his premises, principles, and methods to the point of formulating a
relatively abstract but clear set of statements that amounts to an aesthetics if
not a metaphysics of his work. The following set of statements is significant
in several ways: in providing a rationale for the main line of Svoboda's pro-
digous creativity, in clearly suggesting not only the scope of his talent but also
its complexity, and in relating him implicitly to the central stream of what
could be called the modern scenographic tradition (i.e., Appia, Craig, the
Russian avant-garde), while at the same time indicating the distinct evolution
of that tradition in his work.
... the relationship of scenic details, their capacity for association, creates from
the abstract and undefined space of the stage a transformable, kinetic, dra-
matic space and movement. Dramatic space is psycho-plastic space, which
means that it is elastic in its scope and alterable in its quality. It is space only
when it needs to be space. It is a cheerful space if it needs to be cheerful. It
certainly cannot be expressed by stiff flats that stand behind the action and
have no contact with it. 7
The goal of scenography cannot merely be the creation of a tangible picture ...
and in itself [scenography] is not a homogenous totality. It separates into a
series of partial elements, among which certainly belong form, color, and also
tempo, rhythm-in a word, the elements that are at the disposal of an actor.
And it is precisely by means of these elements that the scene enters into close
contact with the actor, becomes capable of dynamic transformation, and can
advance in time just as the stream of scenic images created by the actor's per-
formance. It can transform itself synchronously with the progress of the action,
with the course of its moods, with the development of its conceptual and dra-
matic line ... the elements that possess this dynamic ability are, first, space
and time, and then rhythm and light ... elements that were revealed for sce-
nography by Craig, Stanislavski, and Appia. They are intangible elements and
they indicate the essential characteristics of scenography. And, if Craig, Stani-
slavki, and Appia simply referred to these elements as space, time, rhythm and
light, then we today must speak of them as dramatic time, dramatic space, and
dramatic light. 8 And if these elements were positivistically lined up next to
6. Svoboda, "Scena v diskusi;' p. 2. Italics mine.
7· Ibid.
8. In one of his later works, The Work of Living Art, Appia made use of terms that went be-
yond merely space, light, color. He referred, instead, to living time, living space, living color, which
more nearly anticipate Svoboda's dramatic time, and so on.

each other in a row, then today they enter into synthesis. First of all space and
time in order to form time-space, the fourth dimension of the stage, in order
to overcome their traditional antithesis and replace it by the duality of matter-
immaterial energy, which is precisely as real as any tangible object on the
stage, and the visible manifestation of which is movement. Dramatic move-
ment implicates space and time. And thus the translational movement of the
elements completes the circle. According to my judgment, that's the utmost
point and highest degree of scenic development that it's possible to achieve at
this time: the combined action of the parts reveals the dynamic principle of
the entire system, which is characterized by the intermeshing of configurations
that continuously form and dissolve. 9 The goal of a designer, according to this
premise, can no longer be a description or a copy of actuality, but the creation
of its multidimensional model. That's what I tried to accomplish in the produc-
tions of Their Day, Owners of the Keys, Drahomira, and Dalibor, and then
primarily in the production of Capek's Insect Comedy and Shakespeare's Ham-
let in Brussels, and in Gorki's play The Last Ones. The basis of a theatrical
presentation is no longer the dramatic text, but the scenario, the evidence of
the fusion between direction and scenography, and their aiming toward a
common goal. 10
These extended quotations have the virtue of placing the easily misun-
derstood kinetic principle of Svoboda's scenography in proper perspective.
The purpose of Svoboda's stage kinetics, whether physical and overt or subtly
intangible (i.e. lighting), is not a mere theatrical coup, but the formation of
what he calls psycho-plastic space: three-dimensional, transformable space
that is maximally responsive to the ebb and flow, the psychic pulse of the dra-
matic action. The underlying premise is the belief that theatre is distinguished
from all other arts precisely by what Svoboda emphasizes as its intangible
forces: time, space, movement, non-material energy-in a word, dynamism.
And it is precisely to the enhancement and intensification of this end that all
of Svoboda's technical resources are dedicated.
Equally illuminating in the cited material is the conception of the sce-
nario as a working script that integrates the dramatic text with expressive
stage directions and dramatically functional scenography. This Craigian vision
of a union of scenography and direction has approached reality in the close
co-creative work of Svoboda and directors like Radok and Krejca. It is obvi-
ously a concept that demands not only great individual gifts and skills but
also a true fusibility of temperaments and creative methods.
g. In many places, but especially here, Svoboda's creative concept is strikingly akin to that
expressed by Coleridge in his classic definition of the Imagination: "It dissolves, diffuses, dissi-
pates, in order to recreate.... It is essentially vital, even as all objects (as objects) are essentially
fixed and dead:' Biographia Literaria, Chap. XIII. ,
10. From a speech by Svoboda, the text of which was printed in Zprdvy Divadelniho Ustavu,
no. 8 ( 1967), pp. 28-zg.

Ideal Theatre Space
Both the concept of the scenario and that of psycho-plastic space imply a
highly responsive, flexible, expressive theatre that is built on the principle of
synthesis, not only between the various elements of scenography but, in a
larger sense, between scenography, direction, acting, and dramatic text. The
final, materially all-inclusive element yet to be considered in Svoboda's total
concept of scenography is the theatre building-more precisely, the enclosed
space that contains all the other elements.
I hope to design and construct a theatre in which we can truly create during
rehearsals, in which we can improvise the building of dramatic space, and only
then, secondarily, worry about constructing the necessary decor. We need a
theatre in which we can create psycho-plastic space by means of flexible ele-
ments; the ideal is that not only the stage but the entire theatre becomes an
instrument on which an artist can play." 1
Before elaborating on Svoboda's ideal theatre, it is interesting to note
that of all the existing forms of theatre structure (specifically, existing forms
of stage-auditorium relationship), Svoboda somewhat ruefully prefers the
proscenium form. If conditions were different, he would prefer the three-
sided form of Chichester or Stratford, Ontario; but as things are he finds such
theatres too inflexible because they are not able to transform their space for
different productions. ''They are not yet an instrument for varied tasks; they
are still a cembalo rather than a piano:'" Moreover, as a chief limitation, they
are incapable of becoming frontal, which Svoboda finds necessary for many
productions: "certain plays are written with a certain space in mind; some-
times you want the proscenium theatre, deliberately:'" For essentially the
same reasons, Svoboda is even less enthusiastic about the arena or central
staging form; his reasoning is indicative of the traditional side of his theatrical
orientation:
Ancient plays had a known, familiar ceremony and ritual; the spectator didn't
have to see as much in order to participate. But Chekhov, Hellmann, and oth-
ers, their plays are not designed for this-all the spectators need the same view,
need to share a common communication. Arena means that each person has a
different experience, receives a different message."
To put the matter in another way, the proscenium theatre space, as in-
adequate as it is in many ways, still approaches the needs of today's produc-
tion methods more closely than do its alternatives. "This;· says Svoboda, "is a
fundamental dilemma:' 2 The dilemma is a painfully ironic one for Svoboda,
1. Svoboda's metaphor of theatre as instmment is, of course, a familiar one, and not restrict-
ed to designers. Eugene O'Neill, for example, speaks of "the instmment (the theatre as a whole)
on which one composes:· Cited in Lee Si~onson, The Stage is Set (New York, 1932), p. 118.
2. Svoboda, Zpravy Divadelniho Ustavu, p. 31.

for although most of his greatest work has been done within (if not because
of) the limitations of the proscenium form, he would obviously prefer to em-
ploy his inventory of materials and devices in a totally different space than is
now available to him. He has put the matter with notable frankness:
Most of my devices and what I do with pictorial techniques are intended for
what I hope will be the theatre of the future. At present they are still far from
what I want; I still use them as decoration in the baroque, proscenium theatre,
and it offends me to do so. The auditorium space and sight lines of the old
theatre ruin me; they force me to radical experiments that sometimes result in
mere spectacle; they are bad and go against my convictions. Many of them are
simply improvisations forced by outmoded theatres."
In other words, "the baroque theatre was true to its day in terms of its
values, methods, and materials; it was contemporary then. But today that
same architecture still dominates our theatre, as if it were contemporary:'"
And that is why Svoboda's ideal theatre would be one in which there would
be no architectural division of stage space and auditorium space. Instead,
there would be a totally flexible space which Svoboda calls "production space;'
by which he means a transformable configuration of stage and seating space
according to the production concept most appropriate to each work; it is the
concept of psycho-plastic space applied to the theatre as a whole. This, to
Svoboda's mind, would be a theatre true to its day, as the baroque was true
to its day.
Svoboda's ideal theatre does not yet exist and is not likely to exist in the
near future. His own ideas about it are not spelled out to the point where they
can be set down in blueprint form, nor are the instruments and materials that
he thinks necessary yet readily or commercially available; moreover, the nec-
essary funds for launching such a project are lacking. For all these reasons,
Svoboda, ever the realist when it comes to such matters, prefers not to make
fanciful sketches or models that cannot be actualized. Nevertheless, he has at
different times expressed a sufficient number of basic ideas about such an
ideal theatre to enable us to form a reasonably clear impression of its domi-
nant characteristics.
It is significant, for example, that Svoboda does not ignore its cultural,
social context. It would be a relatively small theatre with a seating capacity
of not much more than five hundred. Furthermore, ideally, it would be de-
signed for a specific director and ensemble: "a theatre should evolve from a
specific group with specific features and aims and values, not as a result of
administrative, official decrees:'" At the same time, the theatre should be
capable of subsequent evolution; but in no case should it be approached as
a permanent, established institution.
A certain area of the theatre ought to be designed to function as a tran-

sition between the everyday world and the theatre's production core, an area
that would provide "a caesura between the entrance of the visitor into the
theatre building and into the production space, a pause that would facilitate
his shift from visitor to spectator ... as necessary for the theatre as the trans-
formation of actor to dramatic character:'a
The production space would be based on the principles of modules, en-
tities capable of certain functions:
They would be mobile and able to join in various combinations so as to form a
transformable, psycho-plastic space. Moreover, they would also be self-con-
tained energy sources (electrical) and function as lighting instruments. And
they would have the further capacity of carrying other objects on and off with
them."
The modules would be flexibly related to an electronic gridwork or plug-
board, and the total would form one powerful electro-mechanical apparatus
designed for the more complete realization of production ideas by making
possible various arrangements of stage and audience. The nearest analogy to
this module system would be the Diapolyekran system employed by Svoboda
at Expo 67 in Montreal, and subsequently adapted for his Munich production
of The Soldiers in 1969. Central to both was a system of mobile cubes which
functioned as projection screens with built-in projectors; some of the cubes
in the Munich version had the added capability of functioning as mobile
stages or acting areas. Both systems were, of course, primitive beginnings in
terms of Svoboda's ideal theatre modules, especially in being limited to the
stage (the audience space was unaffected), but they do indicate the direction
of his vision. Another analogy would be a great, mechanized film studio de-
signed to film a stage drama; that is, a sufficiently large space with virtually
infinite possibilities in terms of lighting and projection as well as stage-audi-
ence arrangement.
A feature that would most certainly be essential to such an ideal atelier,
as Svoboda calls it, would be the use of small, specially designed components
to take the place of traditional stage machinery, which, except for its labor-
saving function, Svoboda regards as virtually dead weight in the modern the-
atre: "an absolutely useless investment without a glimmer of imaginative
potentiai:' 4
Svoboda's most recent general attitude toward such an ideal total theatre
space again suggests the essential balance of his thinking:
It may seem utopian but it is practical in that I know exactly what I want it to
do. And it's important to remember that it can be used to create traditional
theatre forms. It is not a total-theatre in the Gropius sense; in fact, it might
3. Svoboda, "Moznosti a potfeby;' p. 10.
4· Ibid.

Svoboda and the noted Czech director Otomar Krejca in Svoboda's Prague studio in
the fall of 1970. Between them is Svoboda's model for the Oedipus-Antigone production
on which they collaborated during the 1970-71 Prague season.
take the form of a series of little baroque theatres: perhaps we might construct
several stages and seating areas and have an audience of less than three hun-
dred that would move to a different stage after each scene. And finally, we
would of course not be restricted from doing very simple things .... It would
ultimately become a generally used thing. Fifteen years ago my contra-beam
lighting units were an innovation; now they are generally adapted. In other
words, some aspects of this theatre might be special and solely applicable to
it, but others would be taken over by theatres generally."
A fundamental question relating to any ideal theatre concerns the dra-
matist. As envisioned by Svoboda, it is not a self-sufficient artistic organism;

it is, as he emphasizes, an instrument. Moreover, it is not an instrument to
be used solely by the scenographer or even the director. It should be used
by the playwright as well, used in the active sense of his designing his works
with this sort of theatre in mind. Part of the problem in any theatre, Svoboda
believes, is that most playwrights are ignorant of the theatrical means avail-
able to them; or, to put it another way, the theatre, especially one such as that
envisioned by Svoboda, needs texts that allow or indeed demand the range
and variation of scenography which it makes available. "Texts;' of course, is
not the best term, but rather "scenarios;' a word which in its fullest sense
implies an organic, cooperative creativity among author, director, and sce-
nographer-a creativity, moreover, at least part of which occurs during the
rehearsal period with the actors, in a theatre space that evolves into a specific
production space during the total creative process.
It is this final vision, poetic in its very nature yet grounded in an exploita-
tion of the technical-thus reflecting the creative duality of his own tempera-
ment, conceiving of theatre as a medium of fullest synthesis and devoted to
making that medium responsive and expressive in the highest degree-that
most aptly defines the career of Josef Svoboda at this point in its evolution.
Providing energy for its future course is an inner tension between his
satisfaction, indeed happiness, with the traditional theatre and its techniques,
even the oldest and simplest ("I don't reject the old techniques of theatre, I
respect them; they may have a purpose in a given production; they are of the
theatre. I'm happy to work in a limited, old theatre and do simple designs.
I have a love for it" 0 ) and what he calls his "restless spirit, from childhood;'
that inner force that compels him toward breakthroughs and new frontiers,
toward what remains to be discovered, not only through new materials and
techniques, but through what he calls "the great secret and mystery of space-
the next five years may decide crucial matters affecting space in the theatre.
It would be a great thing, even if it meant suppressing or rejecting my entire
output up to that time:'" It is ultimately his profound dissatisfaction with the
traditional theatre, his desire to transcend it and achieve some new form, dif-
ferent in kind, that is likely to continue impelling Svoboda's creativity into
the uncharted future.

PART II.
REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLUSTRATED
Neither chronology nor order of importance forms the basis of grouping the
following annotated illustrations. I have attempted to arrange them so as to
provide a reasonably clear and thorough survey of Svoboda's main artistic
and technical achievements. For this reason, several productions are some-
times grouped together, and at other times a production is presented by itself.
Two of Svoboda's observations are relevant to any examination of illus-
trations of his work:
There is a danger in seeing pictures of my productions. All of the elements in
a production tie in with each other and are truly dynamic, so that no picture
can truly capture them with fidelity, even if no overt or material movement
is involved."
There are two basic errors of criticism: the senseless mania of searching for
previously used elements in new productions: the real question is whether the
work is alive or dead, has an effect on the viewer or not. Equally erroneous is
the idea that every artist, in fact every production, has to arrive with com-
pletely new revelations."
An Introductory Survey
The following section is devoted to numerous examples of Svoboda's work,
some early, some recent, some marked by a dominant scenic image, some by
special scenographic techniques, others by variations on a similar theme. They
do not display Svoboda's craft at its most striking or complex, but they do
provide a useful introduction to the essential components that have charac-
terized his scenography since its beginnings: poetic creativity, theatrical intui-
tiveness, and technical mastery.
Several productions illustrate Svoboda's use of a single, powerful scenic
image to represent the essence of a given work. Rarely, if ever, does such an
image remain either static or merely visual; that is, it usually alters its shape
or composition in response to the action, and it is usually functional in one or
more ways rather than a mere element of decor.
Svoboda's first work after the war was also his first opera and his first
Figs. 1-3 major Prague production, Kunalovy Oci ( "Kunala's Eyes") by the Czech com-
poser 0. Ostrcil (December 1945). As the photographs illustrate, the set con-
sisted of a massive, austere, temple-like structure that was placed in various
positions to correspond to the basic turns of the plot.
Another of Svoboda's early works was his first encounter with a Janacek
Figs. 4-6 opera, Kaia Kabanova (based on Ostrovsky's The Storm), which was per-
formed in Prague in January 1947. The production is one he remembers very
fondly, and his remarks on it provide another example of his creative process,
especially its synthesizing character:
Figures 1-3. Kunala's Eyes. One monumental scenic element dominates stage space
in three different ways.
Figure 4· Kaia Kabanova. The basic tree unit placed on a turntable and starkly sil-
houetted against the sky cyclorama.
~~
Figure 5· A shift of the turntable, the fence, and the lighting creates a new effect.
Figure 6. Kaia Kabanova. Still another shift of the turntable reveals the blending of
exterior and interior, the realistic and the deliberately theatrical. Note the shadows cast on
the "sky:'
Figure 7· Macbeth. A blue-black scaffold stage enclosed by blood-red curtains and
disintegrating walls reinforces the murderous action of the play.
There was no distinct interior or exterior, but one basic idea: I saw the charac-
ters as related to or moving in a tree, and so constructed a huge tree that could
be walked on. It was supported by columns and posts so that the interior was
formed by the space under the tree; that is, the tree roots, covered with ikons,
establish the interior. The ancient tree became a space for playing, a space for
acting. The effect was almost surrealistic, yet had a realistic basis in terms of
Russian practices with ikons.
Exteriors were played on the tree, and by putting a fence on the tree we
were able to suggest a bridge; there was also some action around the tree.
Moreover, the tree was on a turntable and could be placed in different posi-
tions, thereby acquiring different aspects of reality; constant but always subtle
changes were possible-kinetic stage effects. The interior and exterior blended
with no sharp division between the two. Many differences were also estab-
lished by lighting: when the interior was not important, it was simply played
down, subordinated, largely by changes in lighting. The set offered great pos-
sibilities for projections, as well: the lighting instruments were placed so as to
cast shadows of the branches as well as impressionistic color past the branches
onto the cyclorama. And at the end, when Kata leaps into the river, the cyclo-
rama slowly slid off to the side to reveal a stage depth of blackness. The effect
was typical of the entire production, which was done metaphorically, poeti-
cally. 0
Fig. 7 A recent production of Macbeth in Prague (June 1969) also reveals a

focus on one dominant scenic element that is both symbolic and instrumental,
in this case a platform that suggests both a stage and an executioner's scaffold,
and, indeed, functions as both during the play. On the one hand it ties in with
Figure 8. Ivanov. The photograph can only faintly suggest the symbolic juxtaposition
of bark-covered fence and the velvet plush that covered virtually all interior objects. The
contour of the fence also suggested elements of a Russian skyline, such as onion-shaped
church towers.
some deliberate theatre-in-theatre effects in the production, and on the other

hand it is the site of the multiple murders that punctuate the play, including
Macbeth's final execution at the hands of Macduff. Intensifying the impact
of the blue-black platform are the totally red, velour-covered surfaces that
surround it: floor, monolithic walls, and curtain fronting the platform. The
wall itself contributes to the drama in still another way: it gradually disin-
tegrates during the course of the action, chunks of it being removed during
numerous scene changes.
Fig. 8 One of Svoboda's more recent projects, Chekhov's Ivanov (Prague, Feb-
ruary 1970), demonstrated his sensitivity to scenic materials and textures and
their symbolic use. According to Svoboda, "the production was based on the
contrast of two materials, rough-hewn, unpainted wood with the bark still on
it, which formed a fence encompassing the entire scene, and a vibrantly green
plush velvet material that covered both floor and furniture:' o The wood was
a valid epitome of the external environment: late 1gth century provincial
Russia. And the plush velvet covering connoted the essence of the domestic
interiors: an oppressive, queasy-making, bourgeois spirit pervading the action
and infecting the characters.
Figs. g, 10 One of Svoboda's recurrent scenic devices is the mirror, which he em-
ployed both before and after its illustration here in Mozart's The Magic Flute
(Prague, 1961). The slightly distorted mirrored surfaces functioning as walls,
ceiling, and floor created startling alterations of space and a marvellous fictive,
theatrical world. Svoboda mentioned still another purpose for the mirrors:
"You can't escape the feel of the Rococo period in the music. The mirrors were
42 REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLUSTRATED

Figure g. The Magic Flute. The triangular pattern of mirrored surfaces breaks up
space and creates multiple fantastic images.
Figure 10. The Magic Flute. The addition of a ceiling piece adds still another dimen-
sion. Some of the mirrored surfaces reflect the rococo embellishments of the eighteenth-
century theatre auditorium itself. Note the vertical triangular pieces at the left of both
photographs.
3
Figure 11. Groundplan of The Wedding. 1-Rear projectors: two slide projectors,
s,ooo watts each; 2-mirrored wall, so% transparent; 3-rear projection screen; 4-acting
area at stage level; s-raked acting area, 10% incline; 6-movable wagon stage; 7-posi-
tion of mirror for second half of the performance; 8-forestage.
Figure 12. Frontal diagram of The Wedding. 1-Actor in front of mirror; 2-mirror
image of actor, which may be replaced by another live actor behind the mirror; 3- so%
mirrored screen (transparent mirror) ; 4- actors behind the mirror; s-lighting bridge.
used to reflect period objects off-stage in the wings-flats, props, and so on.
Also a ballet off stage, which normally might disturb or get in the way of stage
business:'"
A considerably more sophisticated mirror technique was employed in
Figs. 11-13 the Berlin production of W Gombrowicz's The Wedding (1968). Here the mir-
ror was semi-transparent and extended the full width of a larger-than-prosce-
nium turntable (Figure u). The action of the play concerns a soldier at the
front who shifts between reality and illusion, past and present. Both states
were captured by the special employment of the mirror in conjunction with
flexible lighting. "For example, we could place a table and chair behind the
mirror, plus another chair in front of the mirror, and align them in such a way
that the frontal chair seemed part of the rear arrangement, as well as being
isolated in front of the mirror. The actor, in short, could be placed within his
family circle while also still remaining solitary. The actor could be trans-
planted from reality to dream, and back again:'"
Two productions, performed within less than a year of each other, reveal
certain interesting similarities in Svoboda's embodiment of a basic dramatic
theme, especially one that he can respond to personally. Both a modern Czech
play, Mlyn ("The Mill"), by Z. Mahler, and Mozart's Don Giovanni have fate
or destiny as a strong thematic element. Svoboda himself has distinct feelings
about fate or determinism in events; he refers to the significant Brussels ex-
perience (see pp. g--10) in terms of the sense of freedom and release he felt

Figure 13. The Wedding. The protagonist experiences one of his visions. Real actors
appear behind the mirror, and are themselves backed by a rear-projected image.
there, and also to an almost mystic sense of the relationship of all things: "I felt
that all things are connected, related, as if part of the same pulse or blood-
stream, and that even the things we encounter have an influence on otir de-
cisions, somewhat fatalistically. It became an idee fixe:' 0
Fig. 14 Svoboda's scenography for The Mill, produced in Bratislava in May 1965,
stressed the element of fate in the play and established a pattern that later
appeared in the Bremen production of Don Giovanni. All the scenic objects
and props, mostly everyday items, were arranged haphazardly at the rear of
the stage and were moved into place as needed, quite openly and in a theatri-
cal manner. "These objects;' as Svoboda explains, "created a fated space, just
as man's actions in certain situations create certain, fated consequences. The
scenery became an actor in the drama, not merely a description of locale:· 0
But the overpowering scenic moment was saved until the end of the play:
At the end the scenic objects formed the wall of a firing squad: a culminating,
poetic effect -all the objects from life massing together as a backdrop for the
end of life. And we were prepared for this absurd collage of a firing squad wall
by the theatrical manner in which the objects had been handled throughout
the play. We could accept the ending as fated. The wall held the entire signifii-
cance of the play. Ordinary, routine objects arranged in various relationships
to create poetic, metaphoric insights-that is what I love in theatre, what is
unique in theatre, what sends chills down my spine. It's not a matter of truth
but of a higher reality, something ur-natural in its very simplicity. This sort of
Figure 14. The MiU. The setting is based on an accumulation of everyday objects that
are shifted by the actors and finally form a deadly wall.
theatre will never die, but always be. There can never be no theatre; it's part
of humanity, existence, and culture. 0
Figs. 15, 16 The subsequent Bremen production of Don Giovanni (January 1966)
was externally influenced by two factors: the unusual depth of the stage in
the Bremen theatre and the relatively low budget that Svoboda promised to
work with (to compensate for a very expensive Carmen production he de-
signed there earlier in the season). Both factors actually contributed to the
effectiveness of Svoboda's scenography. His basic scenic image or device was
a huge chess set; specifically, two chess boards ranged in the depth of the
stage. The similarities to the production of The Mill then became apparent:
All the props and furniture were stacked deep in the rear of the stage; at the
beginning, the pieces formed the impression of a town, and then came apart.
The individual pieces were not in the shape of chess pieces, they were realistic
and natural; but they were moved like chess pieces. As if in a game of chess,
the pieces began to move into pre-determined positions, certain pieces for each
scene. Once the scene was over, the pieces were removed (all the movement
being handled by members of the ballet). Finally, one piece was left-the

~ Ladder
§ Wall with door
~ Wall
[g Fountain
B Bench
~ Tree
~ Decorative tree
C House
0 Arbor
I!!J Streetlamp
~ Clothes stand
0 Candelabra
CJIII] Podium-orchestra
• Statue
~ Table
[J1J Sepulchre
~ Mirror
Figure 15. Don (Bremen) . A groundplan of the stage showing one set of
the fated moves of the scenic pieces during the action; hundreds of such moves had to be
planned in advance.
Figure 16. Don Giovanni (Bremen). Svoboda's model of the set indicates the depth
of the stage as well as parts of the set extending over the orchestra pit.
Figure 17. The Three Sisters. Act IV, an exterior, lauded by critics for its evocation
of shadowy autumnal woods by means of the stretched cords and special lighting.
Figure 18. The Three Sisters. A close-up of one of the window frames placed be-
tween two layers of cords.
Commendatore's statue. It was brought all the way to the front. Giovanni was
checkmated. The whole effect was very suspenseful and theatrical. I mapped
out every move precisely, a terrific labor that had to be figured out step by step
with the music, and all of this had to be done in advance of rehearsals.
Why the chess image? That's something for which I have no clear answer
right now; sometimes it takes me years to discover the point of a set, in that
sense. Certainly, it had something to do with the manipulation of fate, each
action having certain pieces assigned to it. Something to do with the law of
opera plus the laws of games, or chance. Drama, like chess, has its precise logic
and laws. Something about the idea of pre-determination attracts me; every-
thing done has an influence on what follows, one act calls up another; a chain
reaction is no accident. Giovanni kills the Commendatore; a stupid act, but
his fate becomes settled. 0
Three more examples of special scenographic elements or techniques
devised by Svoboda deserve at least brief mention and illustration.
Svoboda has used the scenic device of stretched cords on more than one
occasion, but probably never as successfully as in the London production of
Figs. 17-19 Chekhov's The Three Sisters, directed by Sir Laurence Olivier (July 1967).
The cords were strung tightly from the floor up to the flies, more often than
not in several layers. Scenic objects and furniture were sparsely placed in
front of the cords, and window frames actually in between two layers of cords.

Figure 19. The Three Sisters, showing one of the few projections on the setting of
strung cords.
Depending on how the cords were lit, from the front, rear, or above, they
formed the impression of a solid wall, delicate bars, or shimmering depths
without precise limit. Occasionally, also, some projections were used on the
cords, for example the suggestion of buildings, but projection was a limited
element in the production. According to Svoboda, the use of cords was related
to an attempt to achieve a sense of "never-endingness;' something that is
reached for but impossible to touch, thereby of course reflecting a central
theme of the play. More precisely, however, the starting point, the key to the
scenography, were the windows:
Windows are very special things in Chekhov; the thoughts and desires of the
characters fly out through the windows, but life and its realities fly in the other
way. The windows must be created by means of light, like that of the French
impressionists - light dispersed in air. And this was captured by the strings in
Figure 20. Svoboda's rendering for Prokofiev's The Story of a Real Man, an interest-
ing combination of stretched strips and curved planes. Projections were used on the strips.
front of and behind the window frames: light streams in from behind and in a
different relation to light from the front; the shifting balances add to or lessen
the sense of reality and dream. Originally, I tried scrim, but cords finally solved
the whole problem, starting with the windows, but working for the entire set
and all the scenes. The final result is style: the windows lead us to all of Chek-
hov's atmosphere. The interiors are not bordered or limited, but diffused."
The set was eminently successful, a splendid actualization of the under-
lying production concept. Olivier said, "It was exactly what I dreamed of:' In
the course of time, however, the technical execution of the subtly arranged
and designed lighting cues became slipshod; the necessary freshness and ar-
tistry of the technical accompaniment was lost. Svoboda has nothing but con-
tempt for the school of theatre technicians to whom running a performance
is a matter of routinized numbers, counts, and points. "I urged Olivier;' he
50 REPRESENTATIVE PROD UCTIONS ILLUSTRATED

........... ······· ............. .
...........·· ...··
..
...~··· : .···::: .~:· .......
..
.~·:~~
/W
Figure 21. Svoboda's model for Yvone, one of the latest examples of his use of
stretched cords or strips. One hundred twenty-five miles of dyed cord was used in this
production.
Figure 22. Yvone. Svoboda's groundplan sketch illustrates the placement of the cords
and possible paths through them.
says, "to have it dropped from the repertoire or else to have special rehearsals
to bring the production back to where it belonged:' 0 His point is twofold: the
finest setting must always be supported by the technical, but the technical
cannot afford to become merely routine.
Two variations of the stretched cord technique are worth at least brief
Fig. 20 mention. Prokofiev's opera The Story of a Real Man (Prague, 1961 ) featured
strips three centimeters wide in different planes and at different angles. "They
took projection decently;· 0 according to Svoboda.
Figs. 21,22 W. Gombrowicz's drama Yvone (Berlin, 1970) illustrated the complex
evolution of the technique. The scene was enclosed by layers of stretched
cords two millimeters thick, spaced one and one half centimeters apart. The
cords extended a depth of some twenty feet in twelve layers and were dyed
a vivid green, thus creating "an indefinite space, a green fog:•o The striking
effect was intensified by a floor covering of artificial grass turf of the same
color. Svoboda considers the technique of stretched cords or strips a good
example of "a principle that can be worked in various ways to create new
expressive effects. Many of my basic techniques are never finalized, but con-
tinue to evolve and thereby underlie my entire work:' 0
Fig. 23 Svoboda's setting for the Prague production of Tasca (May 1947 ) was a
definitive example of monumental architectural scenery deliberately distorted
in construction:
I aimed at a more direct, less experimental, dramatic creation of more or less
static space embodying a stifling baroque quality. The b asis was a deliberately
distorted perspective, created plastically, and designed to b e practicable. The
atmosphere was one of repression by church and nobility, a lack of freedom
A n Introductory Survey 51
Figure 23. Tosca. A two-dimensional, painted perspective of the sky in the back-
ground accentuates the distorted, oppressive mass of the church.
Figure 24. The Eleventh Commandment. The first actual use of the Laterna Magika
principle. The cinema screen in the background was in ironic interplay with the live action
on stage. Frequently the same characters appeared in both places at the same time, as can
be seen in this illustration of the young man.
Figure 25. Straying. The tubular elements of gauze represent the formations inside a
cavern, in which a group of adolescents become lost.
Figure 26. Straying. A transparent projection screen formed the rear of the stage.
The images cast on it by rear film and slide projectors were to represent the actual word in
confrontation with the symbolic straying of the youngsters lost in the cavern. The gauze
tubes created an interesting effect of multiple layers and varied texture.
that can be felt in the music itself. Only one scene used a painted perspective,
of heaven; it was appropriate in terms of representing the real sky of freedom,
in contrast to the castle. The total set created a great dramatic effect; it was
the first set of mine to be applauded at the opening of the curtain. 0
The operational ancestor of Laterna Magika was the Prague production
Fig. 24 of The Eleventh Commandment in June 1950, a musical version of an 188os
play by Nestroy, directed by Alfred Radok, and updated to the turn of the
52 REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLU STRATED

century. It was the first joining of theatre and film by either Radok or Svoboda.
Only one screen was used, but its use was synchronized with the play of the
actors.
It was the full Laterna Magika principle except for technical sophistication.
Unlike the Brussels production, moreover, an actual play text was used as the
basis of production here. A movie was made especially for the production, but
it was meaningless without the actors on stage, and vice-versa. The play was
produced in the film studio theatre, and we had the further advantage of their
doing the expensive film work and loaning us projection equipment for the
film, which was used throughout the play. A piquant fact was that the critics
were not aware of the significance of what was done, which was typical of the
critical level of awareness of the time [the peak period of pedantic socialist
realism]."
Anticipating even The Eleventh Commandment as a forerunner of La-

terna Magika was a Czech play that was never produced because of wartime
censorship, J. Karnet's Bloudeni ("Straying"). Svoboda worked on the project
in 1942-43; in fact, Svoboda hoped to direct the play and therefore drew up
a scenario for it. "I wanted to use what later became the Latema Magika prin-
ciple;' Svoboda says, "but it remained only an idea because necessary tech-
niques and equipment were not yet developed. Visual images of the stage and
of external reality were to be placed in new relationships and create new dra-
matic elements and a new theatrical reality. The idea reached partial realiza-
tion in 1950 [The Eleventh Commandment] and full realization in 1958, with
La tern a Magika at Brussels:'"
Several productions that shared a theme from Creek tragedy illustrate
the range and adaptability of Svoboda's scenography. For a production of
Fig. 27 Hrdinove v Thebtich Nebydli ("No More Heroes in Thebes"), a modern adap-
tation of Antigone presented in Prague's tiny Balustrade Theatre (November
1962), he designed a simple but powerfully expressive set based on an all-
white cube. No curtain was used; instead, the audience faced a blank wall
before the beginning of the play. Then the play began and the wall retreated-
space was revealed as it would be if a cork were pulled out of a bottle. The
wall moved silently and unobtrusively, on wheels; it stopped a few feet behind
the end of the side walls, thus allowing room for entrances and exits on either
side of the stage. Sometimes the wall moved forward and backward during
the action, but always parallel to the curtain line. The few items of necessary
furniture were pre-set in the surface of the floor and were raised and lowered
as needed.
An elaboration of the same principle was evident in Svoboda's plan for
Fig. 28 an unproduced version of Sophocles' Elektra, which was to have been per-
formed in Rome in 1965. The piston-like rear wall is here supplemented by a
"----
L
( • ~I
r
r1
r ---
-- ••••••••
L
rl
..-
r r
r
r
Figure 27. No More Heroes in Thebes. A stark, white set featuring a pistonlike rear
wall that moved upstage and downstage during the course of the play.
Figure 28. Svoboda's mechanized model for Elektra, showing three of the set's many
possible configurations. It is interesting to compare the scenography of this kinetic setting
with that of the Brussels Hamlet (Figures 142-144).
similarly moveable, three-dimensional frame of irregular outline. Each unit

could move separately or in conjunction with the other.
Figs.29-31 Simpler in principle, but very well suited to play and theatre building
was Svoboda's set for a production of Sophocles' Oedipus in Prague's largest
theatre, the Smetana (January 1963). The setting consisted of a vast flight of
stairs the full width of the stage, starting in the orchestra pit and reaching
almost out of sight, which prompted one critic to describe the effect as "a sense
of space without beginning or end and reaching from the chasms of the under-
world to unseen heights-from primordial myth to time still to come:' 1 The
1. Jan Kopecky, untitled review in Rude Pravo [Red justice], 19 January 1963.

I
.-.---4
3
F=F
~~
~~
I=~
=~
=~
=~
=~
--.r-
l +-- ,__ -~ 2
3
I
i
!
5 I
I
i
I
Figure 29. Oedipus, showing the ground plan of the giant staircase and its special fea-
tures. 1-a practicable platform that could be thrust out or withdrawn under the stairs;
2-a practicable platform that could move laterally across the entire width of the stage;
3-fixed acting platforms; 4- entry connecting top of stairs to fly gallery; 5 -orchestra pit.
stairs were occasionally punctuated by flat resting places that thrust out from
the stairs themselves.
At the end Oedipus was left alone. Virtually all the flat levels disappeared. He
climbed an endless staircase, into sharp counterlighting. Ideally, I would have
preferred an inclined plane rather than stairs, but I had to have them because
of the actors. In other words, the stairs were not crucial; I wanted the audience
to forget their presence. 0
Figure 30. Oedipus. The title figure is seen on platform no. 3, with platform no. z
behind him.
S6 REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLUSTRATED

Figure 31. Oedipus, showing the final scene of the play. An orchestra accompanied
the action from under the stairs. In order for it to be heard properly, the risers of the stairs
were made of acoustically "transparent" material similar to that found on the front of many
loudspeaker enclosures.
Figs. 32-34 The Edinburgh production of Smetana's opera Dalibor (August 1964) ,
provided a classic example of Svoboda's dynamic concept of stage space in a
materially kinetic form. The setting consisted of two rectangular towers, each
placed off-center on adjoining turntables, thus allowing for a virtually infinite
variety of spatial relationships for the many scenes of the opera, and no loss
of time for scene shifts. Indeed, the movement of one or both of the towers
was often rhythmically integrated with the music. The basic device of rotat-
ing towers was supplemented by several asymmetrically placed projection
screens in the background, and projections were also occasionally used on the
towers themselves. The massiveness of the towers and their inexorable move-
ment contributed to the power and magnitude of Smetana's music and the
romantic tragedy of the libretto.
A later variation of the scenographic principle in Dalibor was to be found
Figs. 35,36 in Svoboda's set for Verdi's Il Trovatore (E. Berlin, December 1966). Instead
of adjoining circular turntables at stage level, the basic device consisted of
two overlapping, rotatable squares slightly above stage level. Each had a
tower citadel placed off-center, representing the fraternal struggle at the core
of the opera. Additional scenic variety was provided by a rectangular acting
board behind the squares that operated on a see-saw principle and by a rear
wall with a craggy relief surface, which, when illuminated by angled lighting,
provided numerous dramatic effects of highlights, shadows, and color.
Figure 32. The Edinburgh production of Smetana's Dalibor, indicating the combin~
tion of rotatable towers and rear projection screen.
Figure 33· Dalibor, showing the towers on adjoining turntables and their twenty-four
different positions.
Figure 34· Dalibor, the finale-no projections, but strong low-voltage counter-light-
ing.
Figure 35· Groundplan of ll Trovatore, showing the varied positions of the rotatable
squares and their tower citadels for the different scenes of the opera.
Figure 36. Two views of Svoboda's model for Il Trovatore. The frontal view clearly
reveals the angled rear acting board (tiltable) and the dramatic relief surface of the rear
wall.
--
Figure 37· An Optimistic Tragedy. The setting and stage space were determined by
two surfaces variably slanted in relation to each other, with the top surface occasionally
receiving simple projected images. The bottom unit was on a turntable.
The Theatre of Light

A number of Svoboda's productions may be studied in terms of his evolving
use of light for the creation of space as well as atmosphere. A brief survey of
some representative productions based primarily on lighting as the key sce-
nographic element reveals progressive refinement in Svoboda's scenic prin-
ciples, as well as in the technical elements available to him.
Svoboda has frequently made use of a wedge-shaped arrangement of
Fig. 37 planes which, illuminated in various ways, creates visual and spatial effects
far beyond the possibilities seemingly offered by its components. As early as
1957, in the Prague staging of Vishnjevski's Optimistic Tragedy, Svoboda
demonstrated the almost limitless spatial possibilities offered by two surfaces
slanted toward each other against a plain black background. In this case, the
lower surface was a slightly raked stage turntable containing necessary scenic
objects; the upper surface was an asymmetrically shaped flat capable of as-

i
--------+-----~----
2
Figure 38. A Sunday in August, side elevation. 1, 2-scrim projection surfaces; 3-

fixed acting platform; 4-orchestra pit; 5, 6-opaque projection screens, diffusive surfaces;
7-frontal slide projectors; 8-rear slide projector.
Figure 39· A Sunday in August. Groundplan.
suming various angles in relation to the floor. Simple projections were used
on the upper flat to heighten the sense of open sky.
A marked refinement on this technique was evident in the Prague pro-
Figs. 38-4o duction of an original Czech play by E Hrubin, A Sunday in August, in April
1958. Svoboda described the scenography this way:
A sky made grey by the hot summer air, and the motionless surface of a pond
were here created by projections (front and rear) on the surface of two large
flats that met each other horizontally at an angle of forty-five degrees, with a
thoroughly diffused light being formed near the line of their meeting. This
method produced a visual impression of unusual depth on a stage that was
actually quite shallow, as well as a great sense of the surface of water. 1
The actual technical arrangement was more complex than Svoboda's
description suggests. As the diagrams reveal (Figures 38 and 39), four pro-
jection surfaces were used, two of them of variably transparent scrim ( Num-
bers 1 and 2) forming an angle of forty-five degrees and two others of opaque
material (Numbers 5 and 6) backing up the first two at obtuse angles. Each
of the surfaces had at least one projector assigned to it alone, and the potential
variety and subtlety of spatial visual effects was enormous.
The scenography of both productions-An Optimistic Tragedy and A
Sunday in August-depended primarily on the skillful and imaginative use
of lighting, per se; although projections were employed, their function was
essentially supplementary.
1. Svoboda, "Nouveaux J;:Jements;' pp. 6sf.

Figure 40a. A Sunday in August.
Figure 40b. A Sunday in August.

• I
Figure 40c. A Sunday in August.

Figure 41. The Sea Gull, Svoboda's rendering.
Figure 42. The Sea Gull, Act II, exterior.

Figure 43· The Sea Gull. The entire set was enclosed in black drapes; the branches,
a unifying element, remained fully visible throughout the play.
Figure 44· Sviitopluk, suggesting the stark simplicity of the setting and the powerful
effect of counterlighting and minimal scenic elements.
Figure 45· Sviitopluk. The curtains of light combined with the light-reflecting mate-
rial of the costumes to create special effects of space and color.
Figs. 41-43 Svoboda's development of special low-voltage lighting instruments led
to still richer expressive possibilities from lighting alone, virtually without the
aid of projections. The Prague production of Chekhov's The Sea Gull (March
1960) was a striking early example. A basic scenographic element consisted
of clusters of leafy branches that evoked the natural surroundings of a lake
and unified the four scenes of the play. A review of the production noted one
of its chief characteristics:
The newness of the handling of space results from the lighting, which creates
an atmosphere of silver-greyness that envelops and yet also penetrates the
entire area, so that one almost forgets the fact that everything is being played
within black drapes ... or perhaps you think that the stage is enveloped in
scrim, but this is a scrim that is woven by low-voltage lighting units concealed
behind the branches. We see beams of light but think of them as sunlight
streaming through the leaves. What persuades us is the coloration of the light-
its sheer whiteness, which is the chief mark of spectral differentiation of this
new, low-voltage illumination. 2
Svoboda described his own approach to the problem in a brief statement:
The production of The Sea Gull presented us with the challenge of creating
a summer garden in full sunlight in such a way that this light, the heat, and
the dense atmosphere of a summer day on stage would have an actually physi-
ological effect on the viewer. We reduced all the possibilities that offered them-
selves for the creation of this atmosphere to a stage enclosed in black, a basic
curtain of light in the proscenium frame angled toward the audience (thereby
creating an equivalent for the traditional scrim), and an additional ten cur-
tains of light placed variously in the depth of the stage, each one only five to
seven feet wide. The "curtains" are formed by specially constructed, low-volt-
ag<:; lighting units placed in strips and concealed by fragments of tree branches;
the resulting picture of a garden and its atmosphere is evoked simply by the
penetration of "sun" light through the branches of a tree. 3
A fuller, more absolute use of the low-voltage curtain or wall of light
marked two scenographically similar Prague productions, a contemporary
opera on legendary material, Svdtopluk (April 1g6o), and a classic Czech
drama, Drahomira (June 1g6o). Svoboda's remarks on the former apply to
both works: "The modern music and the fact that the work was being pro-
duced by the National Theatre led to the rejection of all traces of naturalism
and the stressing of high stylization. The technical conditions themselves,
given by the sheer number of performers and the complexity of the musical
demands, led us to strip the stage of everything not directly involved in the
action .... We were successful in exploiting the possibilities of low-voltage
z. Miroslav Koui'il, "Ceskoslovensk{l scenografie;' Informacni Zprdvy Scenograficke Lahora-
toie (May 1g6o), p. 134.
3· Svoboda, "Nouveaux Elements;· pp. 66, 68.

Figure 46. Drahomira. A suspended scenic element conveys a sense of massiveness
without disturbing the open, fre e quality of the set. Both Drahomira and Sviitopluk, like
The Sea Gull, were played within black drapes.
lighting and ordinary light sources to create curtains of light that have an
absolutely physiological effect on the viewer-without his becoming aware
that the rear and sides of the stage are covered by nothing more than black
drapes:' 4
In another article, Svoboda added further details:
4· Svoboda, "Scenicky textil v opere, Svii.topluk;' lnformacni Zpravy (June 1g6o), pp. 147f.

To a great extent we solved the problem of scenic space in both ... by the use
of curtains of light. For both, we divided the stage into five planes demarcated
by strips of light placed across the entire width of the stage. Transversely, the
stage was divided into three sectors, so that we were able to organize dramatic
space here directly by changing the walls of light (just as in Ham let [Prague,
1959] we organized it by the movement or reflecting panels). An important
element in both of these productions, in which we used the same technical
construction for the light sources, were the costumes, which helped create the
sense of dramatic space in conjunction with the changes in the value and
intensity of the lights; the surface of the costumes caught the light and re-
flected it into space, and their color created the desired scenic atmosphere. 5
Recent technical advances in materials and instruments, especially

abroad, have provided two further examples of Svoboda's creative imagina-
tion in the use of lighting. The aerosol technique ( p. 24n), used to enhance
the visual effect of low-voltage lighting beams, achieved vivid results in the
Fig. 47 Wiesbaden production of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde (December 1967).
Svoboda's setting was based on a spiral platform set inside a cyclorama cre-
ated by tightly strung ropes, onto which semi-abstract projections were cast.G
In the center of the spiral, however, Svoboda managed to create a seemingly
substantial column, or circular curtain, of light.
Even more gratifying to Svoboda was the success of his production of
Figs. 48-so Verdi's Sicilian Vespers, in Hamburg (May 1969), during which he reached
at least a temporary peak in his creation of space by light. No projections at
all this time, and no assistance from aerosol; only, as he put it, "clean kinetic
architecture and clean light achieved the desired purity and point of this pro-
duction:'" Improved technical equipment led to curtains of light significantly
more effective than those employed in any of his previous productions.
The scenography of the production was an example of pure architecture:
flights of steps that are divided into sections that move laterally, supplemented
by circular walls that rotate into the scenic area along with the movement of
the stairs. But the main element was the diffuse light that created a kind of
foggy ambience for the steamy Sicilian scene, the broiling sun and sweltering
climate. The effect was that of light as a substance, light materialized, result-
ing from the special new lighting instruments that we designed. I think that
we achieved a new level of lighting technique. And I think that Appia and
Craig, especially, would have marvelled at the outcome."
5. Svoboda, "Nouveaux ElementS:' p. 68.

6. The use of strung ropes recalls a similar technique in the London production of The Three
Sisters (July 1967), and the Prague production of Prokofiev's The Story of a Real Man (April
1961 ).

Figure 47· Tristan und Isolde. A vivid though insubstantial column is created by
high-intensity light and Svoboda's especial aerosol technique.
Figure 48. Sicilian Vespers, a production that Svoboda esteems for the advanced and
pure state of its two dominant scenic elements: lighting and kinetic architecture.
Figure 49· Sicilian Vespers.

Figure so. Sicilian Vespers.

Projections and Color in Space
A notable offshoot of Svoboda's recent work with lighting has been a variety
of experiments with color projection in the creation of stage space, experi-
ments which hearken back to the relatively simpler scenography of An Opti-
mistic Tragedy and A Sunday in August (Figures 37-40). The result of the
later experiments might be called colored space or spatial color; in either
case, the emphasis is on a three-dimensional use of color, primarily through
the use of expressive surface forms and impressionistic projections. Svoboda
sees his work in this area in terms of two main types, the first of which may
Figs. 51,52 be illustrated by several productions beginning with A Midsummer Night's
Dream (Prague, 1963).
Svoboda's scenography for Shakespeare's Dream employed several ex-
pressive elements, chiefly a series of leaf-shaped cutouts hit by colored light
and projections. "The leaves, golden on one side and black on the other, were
suspended in different planes and at different angles, thus enabling the actors
to move within the projections rather than against a cyclorama. These leaf-
like projection screens could be variously folded or tilted and, if necessary,
removed from the scene entirelY:'" This key element complemented the more
stable part of the set, a raked floor that curved up at the rear to form a cyclo-
rama-like wall (Figure 51). The construction was of horizontal metal grating
covered with wooden lathes. Three leaf-shaped disks could tip out from the
floor to provide entrance space for the elves.
The lighting was based on two principles. The space behind the special
rear wall and under the floor was counter-lighted, thus projecting light rays
through the spaces between the lathes. The second principle involved slide
projections, which covered the floor of the set as well as the leafy projection
screens.
Figs. 53-55 Svoboda's setting for Weber's opera, Oberon (Munich, 1968 ), was essen-
tially a repeat with elaborations of the setting for A Midsummer Night's
Dream, as well it might be, of course, since the subject matter of the two works
is so similar. Although many more suspended leaf forms were used, as well
as other organic forms, the overall goal was the same: the creation of space
by the usc of colored lighting and projections on stylized natural forms.
A more sophisticated version of the same scenographic principle was
Figs. s6-6o evident in the London production of Strauss's Die Frau Ohne Schatten (June
1967), but it still aimed primarily at the creation of colored space rather than
colored decor. "The principle was the same, but its execution was not com-
plicated by shaped screens at odd angles. Instead, I hung them parallel to the
proscenium opening. In addition, the forms were more abstract and not mere-
ly floral or vegetative:'" The forms and colors were abstract embodiments of
the forces of good and evil in the opera, as were the two half-moons of stairs
Projections and Color in Space 67

Figure 51. A Midsummer Night's Dream. The side and frontal views of Svoboda's
model reveal the basic scenic elements: suspended leaves and a grated floor curving into
the rear wall.
Figure 52. Two views of the Dream production that suggest the way the projections
and suspended forms created a new sense of space.
Figure 53· Svoboda's model for Oberon. The numbering on the separate screens sug-
gests the increased complexity of the system in relation to that of A Midsummer Night's
Dream. Note also the repeated use of leaf-shaped disks in the floor.
Figure 54· Another view of the Oberon model, showing the more elaborate scenic
units employed in the production.
Figure 55· A production photograph of Oberon that clearly reveals the huge size of
the cutouts. Foto Rudolf Betz, Munich.
Figures 56-60. Die Frau Ohne Schatten. The series of renderings and models shows
the basic elements of varied cutouts, slide-projected abstract forms in color, and two half-
moon flights of stairs. Certain scene-changes were effected by the lower stairs lifting to
form the roof of a dwelling revealed underneath the stairs.
Figure 57· Svoboda's model with abstract, non-organic cutouts representing the
forces of evil.
Figures 58 and 59· Two of Svoboda's renderings of the different cutouts with projec-
tions on them.
JO REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLUSTRATED

Figure 6o. A production photograph of Die Frau Ohne Schatten.
that represented the real and poetic worlds that are finally bridged and meet
when the protagonist gets back her shadow.
Previous productions usually approached the opera with banal, conventional
fantasy, for instance a road leading to heaven. I wanted to create colored space
and a sense of mutability in order to suggest the atmosphere of the work-not
theatrical decor suggesting would-be fantasy and magic. There were no inter-
missions or scene-shift pauses, but a constant flow of music and action: a simul-
taneous kinetic scene with great variability and fine quality slides [ 18 x 18 em.]
to produce brilliant colors."
Figs. 61, 6z Raduz and Mahulena (Prague, 1970), a Czech folk melodrama with mu-
sic, provided Svoboda with still another opportunity to work a variation on
this basic principle. This time, instead of floral or abstract forms suspended
in space; the shaped forms taking the projections were extensions of the stage
floor and represented mountain peaks. The triangular, curved, sail-like forms
"created a sense of unending natural space (the Tatra mountains) and of
varied moods and locales (forests, cliffs). Moreover, the peaks of the triangles
could be raised or lowered, thus providing a relatively flatter or more peaked,

Figure 61. Raduz and Mahulena, showing the protagonist chained in a hostile envi-
ronment.
Figure 62 . Raduz and Mahulena, suggesting the notably different effect created by
a change in lighting and projection.
J2 REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLUSTRATED

Figures 63-69. Pelleas and Melisande, a further evolution in the creation of colored
space or, perhaps better, spatial color. Loosely hung, plastically shaped pieces of wire-
scrim material, a cyclorama of special material permitting transmission of colored projec-
tion, and abundant use of additive colored lighting, front and rear, were the chief scenic
elements. The black-and-white, two-dimensional photographs can only faintly suggest the
actual results.
ominous environment. The use of this scenic principle also allowed the many
scenes of the opera to follow each other with virtually no interruption:'"
According to Svoboda, the second main type of scenography employing
projections and color in space could be seen in two productions that were both
staged in December 1g6g: Pelleas and Melisande in London, and Tannhiiuser
in Hamburg. Each production had several distinctive features.
Having progressed as far as Die Frau Ohne Schatten with color and light,
Svoboda vowed not to do any more with colored settings until he had control
of more sophisticated materials and lighting instruments. The opportunity
Figs. 63-69 came with the production of Pelleas and Melisande, the chief new technical
element being a special cyclorama screen that took not only front and rear
projections but also allowed projections as well as additive lighting to pass
through it to create startling new combinations of color tones and shapes.
Another significant difference in technique was found in the shift from delib-
erately formed, primarily opaque cutouts to loosely hung materials to shape
the colored space. Specifically, wire screening was deliberately twisted and
squeezed into shapes that didn't need frame supports, thereby creating in
space a series of irregular nets that could take projections from the sides as
well as from the front or back. Moreover, the raked stage floor had at its up-
stage end a surface of freely curved, mirrored material that reflected the cyclo-
rama and thereby "pulled" the cyclorama's images and colors to the front; the

Figure 64. Pelleas and Melisande: the model.
Figures 65-69. Pelleas and Melisande: production photographs.
Figure 70. The forest scenes of Tannhiiuser were represented by strips suspended in
various layers into "pockets" formed by the angles of elevated paths that ran upstage. Pro-
jections created the effect of intensely colored autumn foliage.
Figures 71-73. Tannhiiuser, illustrating the complex scenographic principle of mul-
tiple projections reflected in multiple, specially shaped mirrors.
mirrored surface also eliminated the hard line that usually divides the cyclo-
rama from the floor. Speaking in advance of the production, Svoboda said,
The goal is the creation of "pseudo" space almost entirely by colored lighting,
with virtually no projection of shaped, defined images. Music is again the
source of the scenographic design concept, even more than is usual with me;
the lighting accompanies and responds to the rhythms of the music. The rear
projections and additive lighting through the special cyclorama screen to-
gether with the front projections result in a three-dimensional blend of colors
and projections and thereby produce a finer quality than was possible in Frau
Ohne Schatten."
Figs. 7o-73 The production of Tannhiiuser was marked by still further elaboration
of the principle of spatial color and projections. Essentially, Svoboda coupled
the projection techniques with a varied use of mirrors to multiply and inten-
sify the final effect: a giant collage of images in pseudo-plastic space.
The basis of the scenography was the groundplan. The front peak of the
forestage extended partly above the orchestra pit; from this point, the stage
extended backward via two sharply angled paths that inclined upward to a
height of over six feet at the rear. The angled paths therefore formed several
pockets in which actors or dancers could be placed and be "hidden" from the
audience. Moreover, the floor of these pockets had a specially treated surface
that enabled it to take projections vividly. The mirror technique, mainly em-
ployed in the Venus berg sequence, consisted of a series of mirrors of vaguely
erotic outline that were suspended at special angles above the paths and their
pockets, thus reflecting both the figures in the pockets as well as whatever was
projected onto the floor of the pockets. This basic device was multiplied and

Figure 72. Tannhauser.
Figure 73· A drawing of the scenic arrangement for the Wartburg scene in Tann-
hiiuser.
amplified by several others. The front of the mirrors, for example, was covered
with scrim and thus could blend a reflected image with a projected one; more-
over, the rear surface of each mirror was a projection screen which took rear
projections; these in turn were reflected toward the audience by one or more
of the other mirrors that happened to hang behind the given mirror. Com-
pleting the projection-mirror techniques were direct projections on the raked
paths themselves, as well as rear projections on the cyclorama. The resultant
collage consisted of the onstage principal performers, a multi-angled projec-
tion of colors and images, the multiple reflection of those colors and images,
and the reflected images of other performers out of direct view of the audience.
A relatively simpler, non-mirror technique was employed' in the forest
scenes. Strips of a special scrimlike material, in widths from one to four feet
representing trunks of trees, were suspended into the pockets formed by the
paths (Figure 6g). Projections of color and of leafy patterns were then cast
on this vertical "forest" to offset the verticality of the strips when desired.
The final effect of setting and projections was not unlike that of parts of the
Pelleas production.
Similarly, the scenography of the interior Wartburg scene, employing
neither mirrors nor projections, resembled that of Sicilian Vespers (Figures
48-50) in its use of pure architecture and counter-lighting: architectural units
slid into the pockets formed by the paths, and illumination was provided by
banks of low-voltage lighting instruments (Figure 73).
In the broad context of Svoboda's recent work, the mirror techniques
used in this production resemble those used in The Insect Comedy (Figures
126-128) but even more those planned for the Milan production of The Fiery
Angel (Figures 129-132) because, like the techniques in the latter, they are
primarily intended to reflect what is not on stage.
76 REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIO N S ILLUSTRATED

Projections and Synthesis
A still more complex branch of Svoboda's innovations with light, optics, and
projections involves the dramatic interplay of cinematic and slide projections
with stage action and scenery. As distinct from the projections discussed in
the previous section, these not only represent a far greater range of phenom-
ena but are also more inextricably part of the establishment and flow of the
dramatic action. As early as 1942 Svoboda had used slide projections in an
amateur production, and in 1943 he was already experimenting with a sce-
nario that would combine Rim projection and live action in a manner directly
foreshadowing their union fifteen years later in Laterna Magika: see the sec-
tions on Straying and The Eleventh Commandment (pp. 52-53). Central to
Svoboda's use of projection techniques in whatever form are his theatrically
oriented concerns with space and synthesis: "We in theatre are constantly
aware of space, ard we can enhance it by many means, whereas Rim can only
transcribe space. In fact, in theatre we can enhance space by the use of film;
that's why theatre is the art of greatest synthesis:' 1
Before proceeding to a closer consideration of several examples in which
this type of projection work is crucial-Laterna Magika, Polyekran, and a few
of their derivatives-it would be useful to make a brief survey of certain his-
torical predecessors of these more fully evolved forms. Experimentation with
static projections that attempt to provide a sense of drama and movement may
be traced back as far as the seventeenth century and the crude but vivid use
of successive slides devised by the Jesuit, Athanasius Kircher. 2 In the early
days of the motion picture, on the other hand, the influence of theatrical scenic
conventions on film is evident in the capricious, inventive work of Melies at
the turn of the century. Later, a more sophisticated, reciprocal influence be-
tween film and stage becomes apparent in the pioneering work of the Russian
avant-garde, especially the indirect, aesthetic influence of film on theatre; that
is, the gradual adoption by the theatre of those characteristics and techniques
that are specifically cinematic, such as the plurality of film: its use of multiple
perspectives and a multiplicity, rather than unity, of time, place, and action,
as well as the resulting tendency toward montage effects and a rapid, dynamic
tempo that captures the rhythms of contemporary life. Such indirect influence
is clear in Meyerhold's avant-garde productions in postwar Russia. But the
first truly significant adoption of Rim by theatre is to be found in the work of
Ervin Piscator.
1. Svoboda, quoted in "Entretien sur Ia Lanteme Magique;' Thetltre en Tchecoslovaquie,

PP· 53f.
2. Jan Grossman, "0 kombinace divadla a filmu" [The combination of theatre and film],
Late1'1UJ Magika, ed. JiH Hrbas (Prague, 1968), p. 38. Grossman's article provides a very useful
survey of the background and context of work on Latema Magika.

View into the
auditorium
from above.
PLANS AND MODEL OF THE SYNTHETIC

"TOTAL THEATER," 1926
This theater provides a stage in arena form, a proscenium and a back stage, the
latter divided in three parts. The 2,000 seats are disposed in the form of an amphi-
theater. There are no boxes. By turning the big stage platform which is solidary
with part of the orchestra, the small proscenium stage is placed in the center of
the theater, and the usual set can be replaced by projecting scenery on twelve
screens placed between the twelve main columns supporting the structure.
Plan showing the use of the deep stage.
Plan showing the use of the proscenium stage.
Plan showing the use of the center stage.
Figure 74· Gropius's total-theater that allowed for front and rear projection on twelve
screens surrounding the audience. The project was never realized.
The episodic, fragmented composition of Piscator's dramatic texts, for
example, frequently reveals the indirect effect of cinematic montage tech-
niques. Drawing upon his extensive experience with film and slide projection,
he also proposed three overlapping uses of these techniques in stage produc-
tion: the documentary or instructional; the dramatic (when incorporated with
the action either as transitional links or simultaneously with stage action); and
the editorial, addressing the spectator directly while accompanying the ac-
tion.3 His involvement with film even led to a consideration of new forms of
theatre structure to accommodate the joint action of film and stage, most not-
ably in the project for a total-theater, on which he worked with Walter Gro-
Fig. 74 pius. The results of their deliberations were described by Gropius:
I accepted his [Piscator's] request to install projection screens and machines
everywhere with great interest.... I counted on the possibilities of film pro-
jection not only on the curved cyclorama of all three depth stages, but I could
also project in the entire audience space-on the walls and even the ceiling.
For this purpose, projection screens were fastened between twelve supporting
columns of the auditorium, on the translucent surfaces of which we could also
project from the rear from twelve film projectors .... The projections could be
supplemented by another cluster of instruments from a projection tower that
could project images on the same screens from within the auditorium .... In
other words, we substituted projection space for the former projection screen.4
The projections employed by Piscator, Brecht, and the subsequent Amer-
ican Federal Theatre's Living Newspapers were primarily designed for their
instructional, documentary, or alienation purposes, rather than for the crea-
tion of atmosphere or emotion, per se. It was precisely a desire to produce an
essentially emotive effect, however, that guided the significant projection
Fig. 75 work of the Czech director, E. F. Burian, during the 1930s. Burian, the most
immediate predecessor, if not the inspirer, of Svoboda and his co-artists,
staged several productions that made complex and integrated use of film and
slide projection in order to create a poetic, lyrical atmosphere, perhaps most
notably in his production of Wedekind's Awakening of Spring in 1936, de-
signed by Miroslav Koufil. The production stayed within the limits of a regu-
lar proscenium theatre, placing the stage action between two projection
screens, the front one a transparent scrim that curved across the entire pro-
scenium opening, the rear one, opaque and smaller, in the upstage left posi-
tion; a black cyclorama enclosed the stage. A total of four projection machines
were used: two slide and one film projector at the rear of the auditorium pro-
jected onto the front scrim, and one slide projector offstage right projected
onto the screen at upstage left; the film projections were black and white, the
3· Piscator, Politische Theatre (Hamburg, 1963), pp. 169-171.

4· Gropius, quoted by Piscator, p. 128.
Pro;ections and Synthesis 79

Figure 75· E. F. Burian's Theatergraph. 1-black drape cyclorama; za-front pro-
jection scrim; zb-opaque projection screen; 3-slide projectors; 4-film projector; s-
slightly elevated acting platforms. Based on a drawing in Acta Scaenografica (March
1g66),p. 163.
Figure 76. An early, frontal diagram of Polyekran, which, with minor adaptations,
was the basis of the popular exhibit at the Brussels World's"Fair of 1958.
slides were in color. A great variety of combinations was available as a result

of judiciously blending the intensities of lighting and projections, from the
selective lighting of actors in darkened space to the full orchestration of light-
ed actors against a projected background, as well as seemingly within the
projection on the scrim in front of them. Sometimes, figures on stage would
be dramatically juxtaposed with the projected image of another character,
who was being discussed; or the action on stage would be blacked out and a
close-up of one of the characters would be projected onto the front scrim as
his speech concluded. The action on stage was complete and coherent in itself,
however; the projections were supplemental, and no true interaction occurred
between stage and screen. The total system was later named the Theater-
graph.
Of the two primary projection systems or forms devised by Svoboda,
Laterna Magika and Polyekran, the latter is relatively simpler, and although
its evolution is difficult to disentangle from that of Laterna Magika, it was
Polyekran that contributed to the final form of Laterna Magika, rather than
the other way round, according to both Svoboda and his creative partner
Alfred Radok. For these reasons, Polyekran (literally, "multi-screen") will be
described first.
Figs.76-79 Polyekran, as a form, was Svoboda's own contribution to the Brussels
World's Fair of 1958; originally, he asked Alfred Radok to prepare a scenario
for it and also expected that he would direct it, but as events turned out,
Radok's brother, Emil, provided both the scenario and direction.

Figure 77· An early sketch of a proposal for Polyekran.
Polyekran is fundamentally a pure projection form; it is not combined

with live acting or scenic elements. Its origin is related to Svoboda's response
to the development of various wide-screen film techniques in the 1950s; in
contrast to such techniques, all of which attempted to eliminate the impres-
sion of a screen and to give the spectator the sensation of being part of the
picture, Polyekran deliberately emphasizes the presence of the screen, or,
rather, screens. Its principle is a simultaneous and synchronous projection of
slides and film on several static screens, during which the images on the indi-
vidual screens are in dramatic interplay with one another in the creation of a
total, organic composition. Svoboda adds:
Polyekran offers the possibility of free composition, a free shaping and crea-
tion on several screens. Real objects and people are projected, but the rela-
tionships among them are not realistic, but rather supra-realistic, perhaps
surrealistic. Essentially, it's the principle of abstract and pure collage, which
is an old and basic technique of theatre. "Op 11.rt" is perhaps simply a more
recent name for it. In any case, the contrast of varied things on stage is basic
to theatre: the objects thereby acquire new relationships and significance, a
new and different reality. 0
Technically, the elements of the Brussels production consisted of eight
screens of various sizes and shapes suspended at different angles from hori-
zontal steel wires in front of a black velvet backdrop. Eight automatic slide
projectors and seven film projectors, synchronously controlled by electronic
tape, threw images upon these screens. The visual collage was accompanied
by stereophonic sound (also carried on the electronic tape), the total ten-
minute performance being thematically unified by its depiction of the annual
Prague Spring Music Festival.
In form, Polyekran had one somewhat distant forerunner: in 1927, Abel
Gance employed a three-screen, triptych-like arrangement for his film Napo-
leon. For the most part, however, Gance did relatively little with complex and

This image has been redacted from the digital edition.
Please refer to the print edition to see the image.
Figure 78. Polyekran employs only projections: simultaneous, multiple images from
;lides and film.

Figure 79· Polyekran. The photographs illustrate the collage-like interplay of images
that defines the form. The variously angled screens were static and essentially in the same
plane.

varied juxtaposition of images; moreover, he used the technique for primarily
literal, narrative ends.
Polyekran, in slightly revised format, was subsequently presented at the
Brno Fair in 1959; more important, its principles formed the scenographic
basis for one of Svoboda's major productions, Their Day, by Josef Topol, in
1959 (pp. 92-95).
In describing the relation between Polyekran and Laterna Magika, Svo-
boda said: "In comparison with Polyekran, which is totally a film spectacle
and technically a concern of film, Laterna Magika is theatre with living actors,
singers, dancers, musicians .... On the one hand, we used familiar sceno-
graphic techniques such as slide and film projection. New expressive possi-
bilities were added by panoramic film and projection with multi-exposure on
several screens at once. A second feature is the use of mobile screens that are
joined to the performance of a live actor:· 3
Still another essential element, in addition to mobile screens and live
actors, is film that is produced specifically and solely for its use in the given
production, rather than film previously made for some other purpose and sub-
sequently incorporated into a separately created stage work.
Svoboda describes the work leading up to Laterna Magika in this way:
"Our Laterna Magika arose on the basis of more than fifteen years of joint
work with director Alfred Radok. We experimented with some elements of
Laterna Magika soon after World War II during productions at the Grand
Opera of the Fifth of May, later on the stage of the Tyl theatre, and then espe-
cially on the stage of the former theatre of the Czech film organization, where
we staged the first production that fully exploited the combination of film and
theatre, a dramatization of Samberk's Eleventh Commandment. For this pro-
duction we even shot a special film" 6 (Figure 24).
Commenting on the essential non-autonomy of each medium, film and
living actor, in Laterna Magika, Svoboda added: "The play of the actors can-
not exist without the film, and vice-versa-they become one thing. One is not
the background for the other; instead, you have a simultaneity, a synthesis
and fusion of actors and projection. Moreover, the same actors appear on
screen and stage, and interact with each other. The film has a dramatic
function:'"
Laterna Magika becomes, in effect, a new, hybrid medium, the potential
force and expressiveness of which are perhaps suggested best in some remarks
by Marshall McLuhan made without reference to Laterna Magika, when he
writes of "true hybrid energy": "The hybrid or the meeting of two media is a
moment of truth and revelation from which new form is born .... The moment
5· Svoboda, quoted in "0 svetelnem divadle;' Informacni Zpr6vy (September 1958), p. 5·

6. Svoboda, "Problemy sceny Laterny Magiky;' Laterna Magika, p. g8.
Projections and Synthesis 8:3

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Figure 8o. Laterna Magika as presented at the 1958 Brussels World's Fair, ground-
plan and frontal view. ! - projection screens hinged along vertical axis; z -projection
screens hinged and rotatable along vertical axis and movable laterally across width of
stage; 3-treadmill; 4-circular projection screens rotatable on vertical axis; s-projec-
tion screens movable downstage from the cinemascope screen; 6-cinemascope screen for
frontal, wideangle projection, composed of vertical, elastic strips to allow for passage of
live actors; 7 - cinemascope screen for rear projection; 8-projection booth with three fully
synchronized film projectors and one slide projector, these being synchronized with one
film projector (behind all the screens ) for rear projection; g-main curtain; 10- two-sided
shutter frame curtain; u-projection screens, laterally movable; 12 - scrim curtain; 13-
rear projection.
Figure 81. Latema Magika, a simple juxtaposition employing only the wide screen.
Few photos exist of the more complex, multiple image sequences.
of the meeting of media is a moment of freedom and release from the ordinary
trance and numbness imposed on them by our senses:' 7
Figs. Bo-83 Like Polyekran, Laterna Magika was devised for the Brussels Fair of
1958, where it enjoyed a spectacular success. It consisted of three film and two
slide projectors, synchronously controlled, plus a device that enabled deflec-
tion of one projection beam to any desired spot, including a moving screen.
In a stage space measuring approximately so' x 24' x zo' were arranged eight
types of mobile screens with special, highly directional reflecting surfaces;
they could rise, fall, move to the side, fold up, rotate, appear and disappear
in precise rhythm with the actors. The stage itself was provided with a moving
belt to accommodate the need for virtually instantaneous live action in re-
sponse to the film. One of the screens, moreover, was equipped with a dia-
phragmatic framing shutter curtain that could alter both the size and shape
of the screen. And the total presentation was enhanced by multi-speaker
stereophonic sound.
Jan Grossman, himself a theatre director as well as critic, was involved
with the theoretical groundwork of Laterna Magika, and his remarks on the
new form elaborate on some of its potentials: "Laterna Magika offered the
dramatist, film scenarist, poet, and composer a new language: a language that
is more intense, sharply contrasting, and rhythmic; one which can captivat-
ingly project statistics as well as ballet, documents as well as lyric verse, and
is therefore capable of absorbing and artistically working over the density
and dynamics, the multiplicity and contrariety of the world in which we live:' 8
Alfred Radok, director of Laterna Magika, suggested its special quality
7· Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media (New York, 1966) , p. 55·
8. Grossman, p. 76.

in this way: "Above all, Laterna Magika has the capacity of seeing reality from
several aspects. Of 'extracting' a situation or individual from the routine con-
text of time and place and apprehending it in some other fashion, perhaps by
confronting it with a chronologically distinct event:' 9
That Laterna Magika was not without its special problems, however,
became evident even while it was experiencing its greatest success, if not,
indeed, even earlier. For example, the complicated integration of film and liv-
ing performers demanded a formidable amount of time and money. A related
though less obvious difficulty was that the filmed portions had to be prepared
far in advance of their integration with the live performers, which meant that
many artistic decisions had to be made and became binding long before there
was any way of knowing how they might work out months later. In other
words, the film had to be made in advance, and if the combination with live
dancer, for example, didn't work, there simply wasn't time to re-shoot the film
to adapt to the dancer. If the dancer, in this situation, couldn't make the nec-
essary adjustment, it meant that the particular sequence probably had to be
scrapped. The more profound problem inherent in this situation was that the
film virtually enslaved the live performer, whose margin of variability in per-
formance approached zero because the film was a prefabricated element to
which the performer must inflexibly adapt. Svoboda put it this way: "It means
that Laterna Magika is to a certain extent deprived of that which is beautiful
about theatre: that each performance can have a completely different rhythm,
that the quality of a performance can be better or worse, that a production
can expand its limits:' 10 A more material problem was that of appropriate
space and facilities both for the preparation of Laterna Magika and for its
eventual performance. "All attempts with the medium have occurred in space
designed for conventional theatres;' said Svoboda, "and such space is not suit-
able for the medium. It's necessary to build entirely special seating arrange-
ments and stages in order that the principle might be given the widest scope
in which to evolve:' 11 The nearest approach to a special home for Laterna
Magika was a permanent adaptation of a moving picture theatre for Laterna
Magika's Prague premiere in May 1959. The resulting structure had some
advantages-permanently installed electronic equipment for projections and
sound, a specially rigged stage, and optimal sight lines-but it was still re-
stricted by existing and inflexible dimensions.
Again, on a more fundamental level, Laterna Magika never experienced
the ultimate test of presenting a work that was written especially for it; that
is, a work other than a revue or cabaret entertainment. In its original version,
g. Radok, quoted by Grossman, p. 77·
10. Svoboda, "Problemy sceny;' p. 103.
11. Svoboda, quoted in "Entretien sur Ia Lanterne Magique;' p. 54·
86 REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIOXS ILLUSTRATED

Figure 82. Latema Magika. The live performer and the screened images are mutually
dependent; they function together simultaneously.
Figure 83. Laterna Magika. Five previously filmed projections of the young man at
the piano were synchronized with his stage p erformance.

Figure 84. Diapolyekran top and frontal views. 1-3-movable projection cubes with
screens for rear projection; 4-two 35mm slide projectors mounted one above the other at
the rear of each cube, the multiple projections and movement of all cubes being electroni-
cally programmed.
as an entertaining propaganda piece for Czechoslovakia, it was a success. Its

original creators had thoughts of eventually using the form for Shakespeare
or explorations of challenging contemporary realities, for example the Eich-
mann case, but managerial and administrative elements viewed Laterna
Magika in terms of economics and politics, with the result that its subsequent
artistic career was aborted. A version of Martinu's opera, The Opening of the
Wells, was pre-screened and not allowed to be released, apparently because
it offended the residual socialist realist criteria of those who sat in judgment.
Svoboda subsequently started work on a version of Offenbach's The Tales of
Hoffmann but withdrew from the production when he felt that it was being
artistically compromised. The original creative team split up for several years,
and those who remained or later took over the process have not to this day
been able to produce anything more than tourist-level entertainment with it.
It is, indeed, a painful and ironic saga, redeemed in part by the opportunity
it offered for testing a number of new materials and techniques and for ap-

Figure 85. Diapolyekran. The photographs suggest the variety of visual effects ob-
tainable; a distinct rhythm characterized the How of images.
proaching the realization of a striking new form. Svoboda himself believes

that his subsequent work with Radok almost ten years later, on Gorki's The
Last Ones ( 1966), partly "rehabilitated the form with new proportions and
dimensions and perhaps brought it a few centimeters closer to the goal of a
teatro mundC Other productions that employed a basic feature of the form
were Intoleranza ( 1965) and Prometheus ( 1968).
One other noteworthy and recent variant of Svoboda's projection tech-
niques is the Diapolyekran system, which had its first public exposure at the
Montreal Expo 67 as a ten-minute feature entitled The Creation of the World.
It, too, is a multi-screen, multi-projection system reminiscent of Polyekran in
its pure film, non-actor features, but in a tighter, shallower, and more stable
form. As the illustrations suggest, the projection screens form a wall composed
of cubes, 112 in all. Each cube has two automatic 35 mm slide projectors
mounted at its rear, capable of flashing five images per second, even though
the actual rate was considerably slower; a total of 30,000 slides were used, and
the whole operation was computerized. Moreover, each cube was capable of
sliding forward or backward approximately twelve inches, thus providing a
Projections and Synthesis 8g

Figure 85. Diapolyekran.

surface in kinetic relief for the projections. The basic technique is of cour:.e
a collage or montage that allows for a great range of visual effects: the entire
wall of cubes may unite to present one total, conventionally coherent picture,
or else literally disintegrate that picture in definitively cubistic fashion, or,
indeed, present a surrealistic collage of disparate images. And all of this occurs
in a dynamic, rhythmic flow ideally suited to projecting process as well as
startling, abrupt confrontation. The original presentation was an eloquent,
sensitive expression of wonder at the miracle and mystery of creation, evolu-
tion, and civilization.
Like Polyekran and Laterna Magika, Diapolyekran has also had its the-
atrically adapted offspring, chiefly The Suzanna Play in 1968, The Journey in
1969, and The Soldiers in 1969.
What is common to all three of these projection techniques is fundamen-
tal to virtually all of Svoboda's work: the principle of synthesis, which implies
a vivid sense of separate elements imaginatively combined to express new
insights into reality. It is a principle that may take a variety of forms, includ-
ing, for example, cubism, especially as defined in the following remarks by
Marshall McLuhan: "Instead of the specialized illusion of the third dimen-
sion, cubism sets up an interplay of planes and contradictions or dramatic
conflict of patterns, lights, textures .... [It] drops the illusion of perspective
in favor of instant awareness of the whole .... Is it not evident that the moment
that sequence yields to the simultaneous, one is in the world of the structure
and of configuration?" 12
The principle of synthesis, especially as seen in Svoboda's projection
techniques, also suggests (somewhat ironically) a classic literary antecedent.
The words of Samuel Johnson in describing metaphysical wit (an essentially
verbal phenomenon) seem singularly appropriate not only to Diapolyekran
but, with reservations, to many of Svoboda's other visually oriented works:
"Wit ... may be more rigorously and philosophically considered as a kind of
discordia concors; a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult
resemblances in things apparently unlike .... The most heterogeneous ideas
are yoked by violence together; nature and art are ransacked for illustrations,
comparisons, and allusions; their learning instructs, and their subtlety sur-
prises:'13
12. McLuhan, p. 13.

13. Johnson, "Abraham Cowley;' Lives of the English Poets.

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Figure 86. Their Day, groundplan and frontal view. 1, 2-movable platform acting
areas; 3- black velvet curtain; 4-projection screen with four-sided shutter curtain; 5, 6-
projection screens rotatable along their horizontal axes; 7-projection screen movable
laterally across stage; 8, 10, 11-projections screens rotatable along their vertical axes;
g-projection screen foldable along its vertical axis; 12-free hanging projection screen.
"The appearance or disappearance of the screens was accomplished by their being
flipped along either their horizontal or vertical axis, or else by their being folded open or
shut. One screen ( #3) had a four-sided, diaphragmatic shutter curtain that enlarged or
diminished the projection surface of the screen. Another screen ( #7) could be moved
laterally across the stage, parallel to the proscenium arch.... The automatic changer car-
tridges of each projector were operated by an electronic brain installed directly into the
projector. The automatic mechanism was controlled by the switchboard for stage lighting.
A change in current to the projection bulb was picked up by the electronic brain in the
projector and was translated into an impulse that activated the mechanism of the changer.
Each cartridge contained ten 13-x-13-cm slides .... The stage floor and the special wagons
were covered with a s-mm-thick black felt, which thoroughly dampened the sound of the
actors' movements and absorbed the beams of stage light relatively well. Care was taken
to maintain a so-called shadow zone between the actors and the projection screens, which
enabled us to reduce the level of parasitic light and thereby maintain a necessary qualicy
in the projected pictures. The proper choice of materials in scenic objects anJ costumes
also contributed to this end:'-Svoboda, "Nouveaux Elements;' pp. 63-64.
Several Offspring of Polyekran and Laterna Magika
Within a year after the introduction of Laterna Magika and Polyekran at
Brussels, Svoboda began to apply their techniques to conventional theatre
production. After its initial and partial employment in a production of The
Flying Dutchman in Prague in February 1959, Polyekran became the basic
scenographic principle in the National Theatre's production of a new Czech
Figs. 86,87 play, Josef Topol's Their Day, in October of the same year. The play, a study
of the aspirations and disenchantments of youth in the late 1950s, was notable
for its impressionistic, episodic manner.
In Brussels, the Polyekran system was based on fixed, stable screens; in
Their Day, Svoboda added a Laterna Magika technique: mobile screens that
appear and disappear in rhythmic relation to the movement of other scenic
elements: namely, three specially prepared stage wagons that transport such
objects as furniture and properties. The basic principle, however, remained
that of Polyekran, this time with nine screens distributed in space, in dif-
ferent planes, with two slide projectors covering each screen. Three of the
screens, moreover, had film projectors assigned to them; the result was a
great flexibility in the choice and blending of pictures at will. Svoboda's sub-
sequent remarks on the production point up its chief characteristics:
Why Polyekran for this production? The play presents a mosaic of city life, a
mosai~ that evolves with the action of the play. We deliberately avoided a
simultaneous scene because yon can't get rid of its scenic elements when you
don't want them, no matter how sharp the lighting. Besides, here we wanted
changes in the dimensions of space as well as rapid shifts of scene. Because we
could project various images at various angles, we could create space and spa-
tial relations at will. My essential point in using projections is the creating of
new stage space, not as a substitute for decor or establishing a locale .... We
do not want to do away with traditional painted or plastic scenery and sub-
stitute scenery created by lighting-an idea that is not in any case a new one.
But we want to attempt composing individual, separate, and distinctive visual
perceptions into a new total-image according to a given theme: to convey a
given intention by a composition of images, their inter-relationship, their tem-
poral and spatial rhythm. 1
The projections in conjunction with the use of mobile wagons created a good
kinetic scene, one that gave us the possibility of great selection and accent, and
also provided for changes and adjustments of elements during rehearsals. An
1. Svoboda, "Nouveaux Elements;' p. 64.

Figure 87. Their Day. The several illustrations reveal a sophistication and adaptation
of the Polyekran technique, especially in the mobility of the screens and the combination
of live actors and screened images.
important fact about this production was that the original text was essentially
a sketch, which was then shaped in the process of rehearsal by author and
director, chiefly the latter [Otomar Krejca]. He was mainly responsible for
new bits of action, business, and movement that prompted the Polyekran ap-
proach. For example, the text may have had people sitting indoors, but the
director had them walking outdoors.
For such scenes and others, we projected whole sections of the city the full
width of the stage, onto the black velour that enclosed the stage, the images
thereby being invisible. But then a traveling screen picks up different parts of
the projected image as a character walks along, for instance a row of billboards
as he paces back and forth while waiting for someone. The technique is the

obverse of film panning; it is as if you were looking through a window at part
of your environment, and then the window frame started to move laterally,
revealing new surroundings. In another scene, a juxtaposition of projected
images creates a special emotive composition. We could use all the screens or
only one, not merely to describe a locale, but to establish different relations.
The result is a tremendous selectivity that becomes poetic. Interiors, for exam-
ple, had typical domestic details projected, but in fragmented, distorted per-
spectives, to eliminate any merely naturalistic illustration. Actors were seen in
one perspective, projections frequently in another. Or these scenes could also
disappear and suddenly we'd have night, moon, and clouds; that is, the stage
would be empty except for two people and one screen. The result is real psy-
cho-plastic space created by transforming the dimensions of space in response
to the nature of the scene.
The basis is a confrontation of selected realities: actions, objects, people,
plus the accenting of things. For example, an object or projection functions
and then disappears, very much like the film techniques of cutting and tran-
sitional blending. The method is essentially more persuasive, because more
theatrical, than painted sets and usual stage constructions.
VVhere can the Polyekran technique function uniquely in communicating a
point? A good example was the scene of a man being hit by a car. On stage, the
man's last steps are accompanied by two film projections behind him. The first
slowly pans along the edge of the road; the second, in the opposite direction,
is as fast as an auto going full speed. We get the sound of squealing brakes and
tires, the rising sound of the engine. The man falls. The auto drives away. The
projection becomes that of green grass and primroses.
The larger point is the creation of a total instrument to be used on stage like
a concert piano. I've been pursuing this goal for twenty years. Krejca says that
so far it's an instrument that can only play a child's nursery tunes. But eventu-
ally it may be much more. I think, for example, that The Last Ones and The
Soldiers show progress. We must keep on learning to play the instrument."
Two subsequent productions that reveal descent from Polyekran are the
Figs. 88, 8g operas, Romeo, Julie a tma ("Romeo, Juliet, and the Darkness"); performed
in Prague (September 1962), and The Journey, in Hamburg (March 1g6g).
At the same time, both reveal distinct innovations. The former employed a
pipe-rack, scaffolding construction of cubes covered on one or more sides by
scrim.
The construction system of cubes was very mobile, the individual cubes being
capable of movement in one or more directions. The projections (all black and
white slides) on the scrim-covered cubes were mostly single pictures projected
on the entire scene; the projected image on several layers of scrim in the vari-
ous planes of the cubes, especially when the cubes were in motion, achieved

Figure 88. A model of Romeo, Juliet, and the Darkness, showing the scrim-covered,
mobile cubes.
Figure 8g. Romeo, Juliet, and the Darkness. The photograph suggests the striking
effect of a full-stage projection on several layers of scrim in widely separate planes.
Figure go. The Journey, still another descendant of Polyekran, this time with massive
cubes and opaque projection surfaces.
Figure 91 . The 1ourney. Front and rear slide and film projections v:ere used; this shot
illustrates the strong effect achieved by the projection of negatives.
Figure g2. The Suzanna Play, a wall of immobile screens and rear slide projections.
Figure 93· The Suzanna Play, illustrating another bizarre effect possible with the
Diapolyekran method.
an effect that was more theatrical and poetic than the more precise, composi-
tional method of projections in The Journey, for example. I was able to achieve
high intensity projections by using four projectors simultaneously, each one
projecting a quarter of the total image. The use of cubes in this production was
related to the subject matter of the opera, the Nazi occupation of Bohemia; the
cubes suggested the life condition of the time, a series of tragedies. For exam-
ple, in one scene all the cubes except one disappear; the remaining one con-
tains the heroine, alone in a hostile, destructive world."
Figs. go, 91 The Journey had a smaller number of cubed projection surfaces, all of
which were static; they tended to encompass the action in that several were
placed at the sides of the stage, perpendicular to the curtain line. At the same
time, they presented an essentially solid configuration, as distinct from the
framework effect of Romeo, Juliet, and the Darkness; this feeling of solidity
was enhanced by a complementary production device- the placement of
small "rock" orchestras on top of five of the cubes. The theme of the opera-
today's civilization confronted with its own emptiness of soul, the grinding
down of man by mass media, transport, and industry-lent itself well to the
contrapuntal form of the Polyekran system.
The screens in Their Day, directly related to those of the original Poly-
ekran, were widely distributed in space; to this characteristic was added mo-
bility. Two very recent, sophisticated variants of Polyekran, The Suzanna Play
(Frankfurt, November 1g68) and The Soldiers (Munich, March 1969), reveal
the cross-breeding influence of Diapolyekran- a system of rear projections
on a multi-screened wall built of relatively small cubes that possess only mini-
mal, back-and-forth mobility. The symmetry and relatively dense concentra-
tion of the cube-screens allowed for a special forcefulness of patterned visual
imagery.
Figs. 92,93 The Suzanna Play production was a direct descendant of Diapolyekran:
forty-eight cubes were symmetrically and linearly arranged in an eight-by-six
pattern; eighty slides were devoted to each screen. "The grotesque effects
attainable by projecting realities in startling relational patterns;'" as Svoboda
expressed it, were particularly suitable to this satiric, capricious comedy of
the absurd, dealing with the life cycle of a female product of our civilization.
An unusual feature of the projection system was its means of control, with the
cueing of the projections composed as a musical score and then controlled
electronically from a piano keyboard.
Figs. 94-98 Zimmermann's opera The Soldiers is the latest product in the evolution
of the Polyekran and Diapolyekran forms; it follows the latter more closely in
that its screens are, with one dramatic exception, immobile and rather tightly
clustered together in parallel planes. They depart from the Diapolyekran
model, however, in being far fewer (thirteen), much larger ( as much as 18'

Figure 94· The Soldiers, showing virtually all of the screens being used, and a juxta-
position of photographs and Goya drawings depicting wars in several different periods.
x 12'), and in several planes. Another distinctive feature is the placement of

two box-like spaces in the midst of the screens, spaces which may be used as
interior acting areas or curtained off to form two screens. Rear projection is
employed on all the screens, and the two acting areas just mentioned have
front projections as well. Black and white slides form the basis of projection,
with film projection being available for three of the screens.
A striking example of the evolutionary process in Svoboda's creative
work with a given form is the kinetic variant of the Diapoly'ekran principle
employed at the climax of the opera: the total cluster of screens literally dis-
integrates, the screens separating from one another and moving off stage. As
they sink below stage level, rise up out of sight, or move off laterally, a huge,
futuristic "war machine" grinds forward toward the footlights, accompanied
by a pulsating, increasingly blinding light and ear-shattering dissonant music.
With the help of improved instruments and materials, and with new placement
and composition of the screens, I was able to create a concentrated, massive
visual impact, a collage of military life from Rome to the Franco-Prussian War
in confrontation with World War II and Vietnam. Especially effective was the
juxtaposition of Goya's etchings with photographs depicting intolerance and
martyrdom today. The sheer size of the stage and auditorium [the Munich
g8 REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLUSTRATED

Figure 95· The Soldiers. The two acting spaces within the screens are revealed, the
back wall of each receiving rear projection. The photograph suggests as well the interest-
ing effects derived from different proportions among the screened images and between the
images and the live actors, seen here in silhouette in the acting spaces.
Figure 96. The Soldiers. Both acting spaces are in use as well as the stage floor in
front of the screens.
Figure 97· The Soldiers. A fine example of the sheer impact of a stark repetition of
the same image on all the screens.
Figure 98. The Soldiers. The climax and ending of the opera, when all the screens are
withdrawn, and a futuristic war-machine grinds toward the audience accompanied by light
of blinding intensity.

Figure 99· The Last Ones. The basic scenic elements of production, including a de-
liberately crumpled projection screen and an incongruously placed upper alcove for small
orchestra.
Figure 100. The Last Ones, showing a full-screen projection functioning as indirect
comment on the stage action. The curtain outlining the screened-off alcove is deliberately
retained.
Staatsoper] was another factor: aiming at psycho-plastic space, I designed

everything with the proportions of the theatre in mind. 0
What is especially interesting is that Svoboda does not feel that he has
yet found the right dramaturgic material for the Diapolyekran system:
The form has yet to be employed with a congenial artistic-poetic text, at least
not in the same sense that other forms or devices reached full realization, for
example the use of mirrors in The Insect Comedy, or Laterna Magika in The
Last Ones. The Soldiers comes closer to it than Suzanna, but the ideal comple-
ment would be an opera by Luigi Nonno called Fabrika, written specificaily
with this form in mind. But it has yet to find a producer. It is a work that places
its chorus in the orchestra pit, and replaces the conventional orchestra with
taped electronic, concrete music. Moreover, Nonno is a composer who, like
Orff, is willing to make certain adaptations in having his work produced with
new forms. 0
A production that particularly satisfied Svoboda during recent years was
Gorki's The Last Ones, done by Prague's National Theatre in September 1966
Figs. 99-103 under the direction of Alfred Radok. It was the first work they did together
after a lapse of several years, and it featured, in Svoboda's words, "a revision,
a refinement of Laterna Magika;' 0 the idea of which had interested him more
than twenty years previously, and on which he had worked with Radok as
early as 1950, in The Eleventh Commandment.
The Last Ones indicts a whole era and regime in depicting a family domi-
nated by a tyrannical, insecure career officer. The deterioration of values, the
shabbiness of life, the compromises and stupidities, the cruelties inflicted and

Figure 101. The Last Ones. Another example of the varied emotive effects derived
from the juxtaposition of related but strongly contrasting elements.
Figure 102. The Last Ones. The photograph illustrates the composition in depth
characteristic of the production: three separate though metaphorically related actions (the
last one screened), with a fourth ambivalently related to them, detached from the action
yet clearly responsive to it.
endured, all of these social deformations are mirrored, with frequent irony,
in the family's material and spiritual bankruptcy. The inherent duality of the
subject, the family and its larger social frame, blended superbly with the
Laterna Magika form, the very nature of which is rooted in a juxtaposition and
interplay of elements: the dramatic integration or counterpoint of screened
image and live actor, of the same character on film and on stage, and the pow-
erful, implicitly ironic comment of the one on the other.
Radok's comments provide a useful perspective:
The production leaned on Gorki as a psychologist and philosopher. But be-
cause Gorki as a dramatist placed his characters in a realistic room missing
only one wall, we had to bring the characters onto the stage. Some means em-
ployed by the production are illogical on the plane of life-like probability. But
it's possible to understand them on an emotional level. Frequently a dual, anti-
thetical action will operate on several levels. For example, on stage and on
film, in the text and in the music that accompanies the text. ... What re-
sults is a collage of numerous realities: a white wall, a balustrade with chan-
delier and a small theatrical curtain, a heavy wooden door supported by
columns, a cracked piano, and an empty, raked stage platform. On it, cere-
monially, the actors place the objects of life: a table, bed, screen, wheelchair.
Invisible doors appear or disappear ... they emphasize the dynamics of en-
trances and exits. 2
Svoboda's observations on the production suggest its significance for
him:
2. Radok, "Zrod Laterny Magiky a jeji inscenacni principy" [The birth of Laterna Magika
and its principles of production], Laterna Magika, pp. 24, 27.

Figure 103 . The Last Ones, providing the most direct example of the evolution of the
Laterna Magika principle: the same actor on screen as on stage; the action of the screened
image directly related to that of the live performer. As this photograph suggests, however,
the principle was treated with much greater subtlety and complexity in The Last Ones
than in Laterna M agika.
102 REPRESENTATIVE PROD UC TIONS ILLUSTRATED

In effect, we rehabilitated the Laterna Magika principle after its discreditation
by commercial interests; this production expressed our credo, an honest appli-
cation of Laterna Magika, with certain changes and the addition of new tech-
niques. Originally, Laterna Magika operated with a lateral format of images
and stage action, but in The Last Ones we changed this to a depth principle
in order to create a cumulative effect, to increase the impact rather than dis-
perse it, to intensify. We stacked things, people, scenes behind each other; for
example, action around the wheelchair downstage, above that a girl in a tub
being stroked by twigs, "in front" of her a boy being flogged on the screen;
then, suddenly, a drape covering part of the screen opens and we see a small,
live orchestra playing a waltz, with pomp-an image of the regime. A space
collage using a triptych principle, truly a dramatic poem-what I want to do.
A clear spatial aesthetic is formed by the contrast of stage action, flat projec-
tion, and live orchestra behind the screen on which the images are projected.
It's all structured like music, and a law is present. Break it and a new one is set
up. This is what attracts me-leitmotifs and repetitions, then sudden contrast;
plus tempo indications. Themes disappear only to crop up again later. Radok
is especially good at this. Why the crumpled projection screen? I wanted to
prove that you can project on a relief surface with a depth of more than 15 em
and create the effect of a smooth surface; and then, too, the surface at other
times suggests the deteriorated conditions depicted by the play."'
Other variations of the Laterna ~Iagika principle have included the Bos-
ton production of Luigi Nonno's opera, Intoleranza (February 1965), and the
Figs. 104-106 Munich production of Carl Orff's opera, Prometheus (August 1968); both pro-
ductions employed closed-circuit, live television projection and videotape
recording, thus solving one of the inherent problems of Laterna Magika by
freeing the actors from slavery to a previously made, inflexible film. Svoboda's
description of the Intoleranza production is thorough:
Instead of film I used television techniques in such a way as to project a TV
image onto many screens placed on the stage, np to a size of 16' x 12'. We were
able to transmit parallel actions that were performed in adjoining studios, in
fact in studios as far as three miles from the stage. All of these studios were
joined with each other by audio and visual monitors, so that the actors could
see the conductor in relation to themselves, the actors in the studio could see
what was being played on stage, and on the contrary the actors on stage could
see what was played in the studios. In this way, the conductor was absolute
master of the rhythm of the performance. Moreover, television provides the
possibility of transmitting actual scenes onto the stage screen, for instance a
street in Paris, or wherever else on earth; and it's possible to preserve this pic-
ture or image on tape, which is what we did. In fact, we used a thirty-second
delay to project onto the stage an action that had already taken place there;
in other words, I confronted the actor with a recorded picture of his former
action, and so on. It's also possible to transmit an actual picture of the audience

Figure 104. Intoleranza (Boston), groundplan. 1-stage with projection screens for
television projection (live and on videotape) and rear projection by film ; z-orchestra pit;
3-auditorium; 4-projection booth; s-monitoring and control center; 6-studio used for
chorus scenes; 7-studio for special effects.
Figure 105. Intoleranza (Boston), a combination of multiple projections (front and
rear) and multiple screens. Here we see a projected live negative image of the performer
herself.
Figure 106. Intoleranza (Boston). A live chorus on stage, their live video image pro-
jected above them, and their imminent "drowning" indicated by rising beams of light.

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Figure 107. Prometheus, groundplan. 1-Forestage extending over orchestra pit;

2-stairs; 3-movable shaft- Prometheus is bound to its front surface; the metallic, trape-
zoidal surface also functions as a projection surface for live television projection.
onto the stage. In all such cases you can also project a negative image, which
proved very effective in visual comments on racial prejudice. The director is
able to work with live images from the very first rehearsal. The pictures pro-
jected onto the screens can be filmed with exactness and set down on tape. We
can try out parallel actions precisely, those that are going on in appropriate
settings on adjoining stages or in adjacent rehearsal rooms. 0
Intoleranza also made use of the low-voltage curtains or walls of light,
but in a new and special manner. A prime example was the use of such light

to "drown" a mass of people on stage; in the wings at each side of the stage,
a strip of low-voltage units was placed in a horizontal position, aiming across
at the other side of the stage, in the identical plane as its mate. Then, with
the crowd on stage, the two strips were slowly raised and created the effect
of a sheet of water slowly rising, above the knees, the waist, and so on.
Figs. 107-111 Intoleranza was essentially a production based on Laterna Magika prin-
ciples, but employing television instead of film techniques. Prometheus, rely-
ing much less on projections, also made more economical and concentrated
use of live television, and used the intense, low-voltage lighting principle in
still another dramatic fashion, as Svoboda's description makes clear:
The chief problem in any production of Prometheus is that the protagonist is
immobilized for two and a half hours while discussion dominates action. There
is real danger of boredom, even when, as in this case, fine music is involved;
the problem is how to express it. Orff's music conveyed an image of metal to
me, resonant metal planes and angles. I recalled the principle of steps that I
used in Oedipus- steps being a "key" for me with Greek drama-and I adapted
it here, covering the steps with a metallic surface. But I added a notch in the
top of the stairs, and a diamond-shaped, piston-like shaft, some fifty feet long,
that rested in the notch, the front surface of the shaft presenting a rock-like
metal surface to which Prometheus is nailed. The shaft slides out slowly to a
height of some twenty-five feet above the orchestra pit; the chorus is on the
stairs, about fifteen feet below Prometheus. I used projections on the stairs and
the rock, the surface of which was rusted, oxidized, textured. But the main
device was the use of live television to project an enlarged image of Prome-
theus' face onto the very surface of the rock to which he was nailed; in other
words, we saw Prometheus "in" the image of his face, thereby providing tre-
mendous emphasis to his torment. We used the technique at special moments
only, for maximum impact. The ending, during which I used dozens of low-
voltage units, had its own special effectiveness. I had the entire frame of the
proscenium lined with low-voltage units aimed at the rock and Prometheus.
During the ending of the opera, the intensity of these units was gradually in-
creased at the same time that the rock was gradually being withdrawn. The
intensity of the special lights increased to a painful, blinding glare in which the
TV image faded and the rock began to function as a mirror. The audience was
blinded for nearly a full minute; in the meantime the whole setting-the rock
and the stairs-disappeared, leaving only blank space. Prometheus was con-
sumed in a fire of light ...

Figure 108. Prometheus, a frontal view of Svoboda's model.
Figures 109-111. Prometheus, showing three views of the actual production, the last
suggesting the powerful effect of projecting a simultaneous, enlarged live video image of
the actor directly next to the live actor. Note also the effect of the textured metallic surface
on which the image is presented. Foto Rudolf Betz, Munich.
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Figure 112. Romeo and Juliet, groundplan for one of the twenty basic settings. 1-
movable arcade that also functioned as a balcony; 2- acting platform elevatable to a height
of approximately eight feet; 3-movable, heavy framed Hats, one with a detachable win-
dow piece; 4-special proscenium frame; s-trapdoor, in two sections, separately elevat-
able (used for table, bed, fountain, and catafalque); 6-wall unit, elevatable from floor
level to a height of approximately nine feet; 7-stairs to orchestra pit; 8-detachable Hat;
g, 10-movable staircase units.
Figure 113. Romeo and Juliet, groundplan showing the twenty different scene set-
tings.
Kinetics, Lighting, and Mirrors

Romeo and Juliet, as presented by the National Theatre in Prague (October
Figs. 112-121 1963), under the direction of Otomar Krejca, was a milestone production in
which Svoboda fused his principle of dynamism with his profound sense of
architecture. The resultant scenography, based on kinetic architecture, pro-
vided a definitive example of the creation of one kind of psycho-plastic space,
stage space that is fluidly responsive to the emotive demands of the action.
The setting extended over the orchestra pit and consisted of a remark-
ably homogeneous, intricately balanced group of architectural components-
platforms, frames, walls, plinths, stairs-representing various objects and
locales as well as purely architectural supplements. Essentially neutral in
form, except for a few pieces ( such as the scenic piece de resistance, a graceful
Renaissance arcade that seemingly floated along an upstage-downstage axis 1
at a height of ten or twelve feet above stage level), the architectural elements
were covered with a rough canvas that in turn was covered with a thin burlap,
the final suggestive effect being that of the structural fac;ade of a Renaissance
palace. The separate elements could form a seemingly infinite number of static
spatial compositions or else go into an orchestrated series of movements: ris-
ing, sinking, advancing, retreating, or moving laterally.
1. Actually, the arcade was supported by a narrow black plinth that slanted obliquely to-
ward the rear, thereby being virtually invisible from the audience.

Figure 114. Svoboda's model for the Prague Romeo and Juliet, showing one of its
many possible configurations.
Several aspects of the scenography were especially noteworthy. For ex-

ample, the production amply vindicated Svoboda's policy of small, component
machinery for the stage, readily assemblable for a specific production. Con-
sisting of small motors, pulleys, belts, jacks, and springs, the machinery not
only made the sheer variety of movement possible but also cut the total time
for scene changes down to four and a half minutes, rather than the customary
three-quarters of an hour. Equally impressive was the dramatic quality of the
movement, especially in its dramatic counterpoint to the movement of the
actors during scene changes, which became, in Svoboda's words, "dramatic

Figures 115-120. Romeo and Juliet. The series of photographs reveals some of the
variety of configurations of the architectural elements made possible by movement and
lighting.
caesuras in the action, a new type of 'curtain' without curtains, like a cine-
matic cross-fade, reinforced by carefully plotted, expressive lighting:'"
Finally, the mobile architectural scenography created a paradoxical im-
pression pf lyric grace and menace. The delicate, airy arcade suspended in
space, offset by the seemingly irresistible meshing of solid structures, was a
remarkably suggestive embodiment of the antagonistic forces within the play.
Svoboda's dominant memory of this complex scenographic achievement
is characteristically non-technical. When asked about the production, he
talked far more readily about the humanistic, Renaissance proportions of the
architectural elements in relation to the characters and the production's tre-
mendous success with youth than he did about the technical wonders of the
performance. "It filled the theatre for five seasons with young audiences; it
showed youth that feelings and sensitivity exist and are worth sacrifice:·"
The production of a new Czech play by Milan Kundera, Ma;itele Klicu
Figs. 122-125 ("Owners of the Keys"), in April1g6z, was noteworthy for the complex, highly
expressive use of both stage kinetics and lighting, the latter combining special
use of low-voltage instruments with principles of reflection.

Figure 121. Svoboda's model for the Romeo and Juliet production in Cologne in May
1g6g, an interesting variation of tbe scenography in the earlier Prague production.

-+ - -I -
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I. t, 10. II 11. U. 14,
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IS. 16. 11. JO 2 1.
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Figure 122. Owners of the Keys, groundplan. 1-suspended mirror; 2-rear walls of
wagon stages framed by four-sided shutter curtains; s-stairs leading off forestage; 6-
wagon stages; 7-forestage; 8-strips of high intensity lighting units aimed at mirror;
g-catapult unit used during vision scenes; 10-gallows unit used during vision scenes (see
figure 124); 11-black curtain drawn in front of wagon stages during vision scenes.
Figure 123. Owners of the Keys, groundplans of the twenty-one settings.
The play itself, a domestic drama taking place during the Nazi occupa-
tion, concerns a young man, formerly an underground resistance worker, who
withdrew from his dangerous activity upon getting married and now lives
with his wife's parents, who epitomize a narrow-minded cautiousness and
need for security. One day, the protagonist is approached by his former com-
rades for help on a dangerous mission. The dramatic action focuses on his
inner struggle in choosing between his very real but limited duty to his domes-
tic circle and the broader appeal of the cause for which his whole nation is
fighting. The basic action involves a simultaneous scene: action alternates and
frequently overlaps between two rooms occupied by the younger and older
couple, respectively. In addition to this rea,l action, however, the drama con-
tains a number of visions: embodiments of the inner workings of the protago-
nist's mind during the critical moments of the play. The greatest challenge
for the staging was how to combine the two levels of action and their respec-
tive scenographic demands. The director, Otomar Krejca, defined the critical
problem:

Figure 124. Owners of the Keys, showing simultaneous action on the wagon stages .
. . . everynewdramaticwork demands its own distinctive treatment of space .. ..

What sort of space will contain the visions? "George stands in the middle of
empty space:' How does one create emptiness -"unfathomable, barren space"-
in an area of a few square meters? And so I asked Josef Svoboda for "absolute"
space ... on the one hand it had to be extremely variable, on the other always-
somehow-definable.... We became especially attracted to the idea of a
hollow pyramid. Its base, formed by the portal of the stage, would face the
audience, and its peak would be at some infinite point. But in the Tyl theatre
the "infinite" is a few meters from the curtain line. And what would the hollow
pyramid be made of? .. . And so we arrived at a pyramid that, according to
need, would or wouldn't exist. It would be made of light .. . like living matter,
which can be born before our eyes ... in which everything will seem more real
than reality.2
Svoboda's relatively detailed description of his scenographic contribu-
tion provides a typical example of the practical considerations in his creative
process:
The rapid alternation of action in two separate interiors, the interspersion of
actual action by the imaginary action of the visions, in short the total dramatic
structure of the play was scenically solvable in a positive fashion only kinetic-
ally-that is, by means of a scenography tightly bound up with the develop-
ment of the dramatic action. In our production, for example, the simultaneous
2 . Krejca, "Rezie" [Direction], Milan Kundera: Majitele Klicu, ed. Vladimir Jindra (Prague,
1963 ), pp. zo-21.

Figure 125. Owners of the Keys, one of the visions. The sense of empty space is cre-
ated by the pyramid of light reflected from the mirror at its apex.
scene established by the text had the added possibility of appropriate change
in response to the actions and words of the play, thanks to the movement of
the setting's individual parts.
The basis of the setting became two interiors set next to each other.... If our
setting was to be tied to the character of the action and to respond to its details
and incidents, then it became necessary to create an impression of the appear-
ance and disappearance of the actual interiors in the abstract space of a vision.
The spectator was to perceive the withdrawal and approach of both interiors,
their fading away, a sense of their diminution and enlargement, not only for
the sake of the vision interludes but primarily for the sake of the interrelation
of the action transpiring on both acting platforms; for example, the relative
emphasis of one interior over the other in given scenes. The chosen movement
along an axis perpendicular to the viewer created, during the interspersed
visions, a true sense of transference from drama to reality. Thus we technically
achieved a fluid shift between individual scenes and drama visions, as well as
H sense of the fluid relationships and situations within the scenes of the actual
world.
The transition to the visions is accomplished by the mere withdrawal of the
wagons behind a black curtain in the background. What is left is ·a bare, black
space with steps connected to the orchestra pit, and given form only by light-
ing and a few functional details demanded by the action. The return move-
Kinetics, Lighting, and Mirrors us

Figures 126-128. The Insect Comedy. The slanted mirrors at the rear of the stage
reflect multiple images of the actors and the decorated floor of the rotating turntable.
ment of the wagonsJo the acting space of the stage creates a true impression
of being awakened to reality and strengthens the effect of the drama. 3
The interiors arranged on both wagons are indicated by only a single white
wall each, on which are placed characteristic details: the father-in-law's col-
lection of clocks, and the architectural photographs and charts above the
young protagonist's desk. A four-sided black diaphragmatic shutter-curtain is
stretched along the edges of each wall; it opens and closes from the center to
the edges and vice-versa. The movement of the shutter-curtain is synchronized
with the movement of the wagons; during their forward movement it auto-
matically opens, and during their reverse movement it closes again, thereby
creating the illusion of the diminution and enlargement of the interiors. In
connection with the backward movement, the illusion of a withdrawal to in-
finity is strengthened: a sense of becoming lost in a dream space.
A frame of low-voltage lighting units is installed in the plane of the prosce-
nium opening. Lighting sources that cast a thin cylinder or "thread" of light
3· Svoboda's added technical details include the following: "The area of the stage . .. is
covered in black: the floor by black, light-absorbing felt, the rest by ordinary black velour. Tubular
tracks are laid on the floor of the stage; both wagons move along these tracks on rubber wheels....
Both wagons, which move along a ten-degree incline and are levelled by the construction of their
floors, are hauled by a steel cable fastened across a beam to a normal line in the fly system and
counterweighted to a zero point. They move very easily along the tracks with only a slight pull,
they are soundless, and they are controllabl6 w ith a precision tolerance of five centimeters:' Svo-
boda, "Scena;· Milan Kundera: Ma;itele KUcu, p. 26.

are set in strips of ten each. Six of these strips lie along the top lighting bridge
and four are set on each side of the proscenium opening. At the beginning of
the play, the top strips create a curtain of light: the threads of light are aimed
perpendicularly downward and are reflected back at the same angle by mir-
rors set in a grating that lies in the stage floor in the plane of the proscenium
opening. The curtain of light separates the action proper from its pictorial
introduction, a certain foreshadowing of the dramatist's surgical method:
within the utterly black space of the stage, a single thread of light is reflected
at an angle from a square mirror ( 8o x 8o em) hung from the flies. 4
As soon as both wagons retreat behind the curtain (placed at a depth of
forty feet from the proscenium opening) at the rear of the stage, the space to
be used for all four visions appears. It is an abstract space created by a cluster
of light beams from the low-voltage sources in the proscenium frame that are
aimed at the mirror, which reflects the beams back at the same angle to the
proscenium frame. The result is the impenetrably bordered, sharply defined,
unreal space of a pyramid created by light.
The setting attempted, by kinetic means, to intensify the dramatic binding
of the scenes and dialogue. In conjunction with the thorough and precise direc-
torial composition of the actors' movements, it succeeded in creating a fully
unified stage picture. 5
Svoboda has designed two productions of the modern Czech classic, The
Figs. 126-128 Insect Comedy, by the Capek brothers; the first production, in 1946, was his
premiere in the National Theatre. The second production, which concerns us
here, occurred almost twenty years later (January 1965), again in the National
Theatre; as a matter of fact, it is still in the active repertoire of the company
and has toured through most of Europe. The play, an episodic, satiric parable
of mankind viewed in the image of an insect world, is an open invitation to a
designer's creative fantasy. Svoboda was especially pleased with his scenog-
raphy for the production: "I would always like to approach a work as deeply
as I succeeded in doing here, achieving this level of integration:'" In brief,
the scenography represented a fusion of a basic image or concept of the play
with expressive scenic principles, in this case special application of two of
Svoboda's recurrent but variable techniques: kinetics and mirrors (evident
4· A contemporary review of the production described this effect vividly: "The performance
is preceded by a graphic image: a needle of light is projected against a square mirror hung high
above a dark, curtainless stage. The reflection slices across the black space diagonally in a single
thin ray that suggests surgery or an X-ray. It is unmercifully white, cruelly sharp and searching:'
Sergei Machonin, clipping from Literarn£ Noviny (May 1962).
5· Additional details: "The scenic objects necessary for the visions emerge from the stage
floor, in which they have been set (a ladder, post, gallows). At one point a catapult rides in from
the wings, to be used for the scene of the young wife's burning. The details are supplemented by
pin-p~!nt !ig~.ting and sharp counter-lighting on the forestage and orchestra ascent stairs:' Svo-
boda, Scena, pp. 25-26.

in Owners of the Keys and other plays, but here used in a distinctively dif-
ferent manner).
When the play was considered for part of the repertoire again, years after I
had first designed it, I simply wasn't able to respond to it, to come up with
a design that satisfied me. So I reluctantly turned it down and it was dropped
from the repertoire plans. Later, once I was free of the responsibility of having
to design it, I was playing with a mirror, and suddenly I saw it all clearly-
how to reveal the sheer multitudinousness of man, the sheer numbers that
make one question the difference between insects and people. For instance, the
disturbing or depressing feeling you sometimes get at a busy railway terminal
or airport-how to project this on stage?
The final set embodied the answer: two large mirrors (about 25' x 25') set
at special angles at the rear of a turntable. No fiats or scenic decor were used,
but the floor of the rotating turntable became a positive motif when covered
with varicolored carpets, a different one for each scene. Only the floor was lit:
we thereby gained light via reflection and also avoided the technical problems
of directly lighting the mirrors. In fact, we created space by means of the over-
head view provided by the mirrors: two mirror surfaces in themselves would
multiply the image reflected, but their honeycombed segmentation is what
chiefly created the effect of space and multiplicity here. The six-sided shape
of the segments had the added advantage of being a biological key sign ·and
being easy to assemble. The sheer size of the mirrors was made feasible by a
new process that enabled us to put a silver covering on lightweight plastic.
It was an example of scenography precisely expressing the play, of a design
hitting the nail on the head one hundred per cent; there were no holes in the
conception or execution. It was also an example of the technical being abso-
lutely in the service of the total production, and not obtrusive. It wins the spec-
tator over; not until later does he wonder how it was done. A good example of
ll8 REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLUSTRATED

refinement was the use of ultra-violet light in the moth scene: the moths were
represented by gauzy handkerchiefs handled by "invisibly" costumed actors
and specially treated to pick up the ultra-violet light.
Today, using newer techniques, we could do even more-especially with
flexible, pneumatic mirrors that could alternately shrink and enlarge each
image and increase the number of objects mirrored. 0
The pneumatic mirrors of which Svoboda spoke in relation to The Insect
Comedy have in fact now become available, and he planned to use them in
Figs. 129-132 a production of Prokofiev's The Fiery Angel, scheduled for La Scala in the
1970-71 season, but eventually cancelled. Svoboda believes that the deliber-
ate distortions that the mirrors can introduce would be particularly appro-
priate to the irrational, nightmarish, visionary aspects of the opera.
Svoboda's plans called for scenography similar to that of The Insect
Comedy but more sophisticated: a large oval mirror suspended at 45o over a
turntable that can be lowered almost nine feet below stage level. The mirror
would consist of six-sided segments, each of which would be capable of chang-
ing from concave to convex by remotely controlled changes in air pressure
behind their flexible surface. The mirrors would reflect whatever was on the
turntable as well as part of the rotatable ring that encircles the turntable at
stage level. Svoboda planned to have up to a dozen layers of variously de-
signed carpets on the turntable; peeling off the successive layers would
provide variations in the reflected images and indicate shifts of scene. Alter-
natively, the rotating turntable with black velour covering and a prone actor
making appropriate movements on it was intended to provide a hallucinatory
illusion of a flying angel. This latter example is reminiscent of the Tiinnhauser
production ( pp. 75-76), in which Svoboda also used mirrors to reflect action
and projection not otherwise visible on stage.
Indeed, projections would also have been used in this production as they
were in Tiinnhauser. Svoboda planned to project images on the turntable and
also on the mirror itself, the surface of which was to be covered with scrim for
this purpose. Frontal projections on the whole set were to be used when scenic
elements were brought on stage from behind the mirror by the rotating ring;
the use of a full frontal projection at such times was intended to make the
scene shifts less naked, more poetic.
With reference to his total muvre, the scenography of The Fiery Angel
marked yet another noteworthy synthesis on expressive techniques by Svo-
boda, those of kinetics, mirrors, and projections.
Kinetics, Lighting, and Mirrors ug

Figure 129. A model of The Fiery Angel, showing the turntable at very nearly stage
level.
Figure 130. The turntable is lowered out of sight, but its image is still reflected to
the audience by the mirror.
Figure 131. This photograph of the model suggests how additional scenic elements,
such as the ladder, may be employed as well as some of the potentially surrealistic effects
that should be available when the distorting surfaces of the mirrors have suitably bizarre
images to reflect.
Figure 132. The rotatable ring extends behind the mirror. Scenic units, such as those
illustrated here in the model, may be placed on the ring behind the mirror and wheeled to
the front of the stage.

A Curtain of Life
The production of John Osborne's The Entertainer by the National Theatre
Figs. 133-138 in Prague (December 1957) was a major success and a good example of the
cooperative artistic efforts of Svoboda and Alfred Radok, both of whom in-
stinctively respond to the metaphoric and theatrical potentials of a script.
Osborne's study of a disenchanted, aging music hall performer confronted
with the futility of his existence, played out in his domestic circle and on stage,
provided various opportunities for the stage poetry that attracts both Radok
and Svoboda.
Svoboda's basic device was a series of lateral curtains that functioned in
several ways; for example, they offset the cubic shape of the stage by their
vertical folds and they facilitated fluid transitions between scenes. His own
remarks take up other levels of significance:
I used a setting based on curtains because the play dealt with an entertainer
who is leaving the theatre. There is a certain pathos in curtains, per se, but the
point here was the schluss, a period, the end of a life. So different kinds of
colored curtains were run on trolley wires (which represent another world, the
larger one, civilization). Suddenly a section of life is finished-and we grasp
it poetically, metaphorically. A small piece of life, like the end of a trolley line,
is suddenly over, closed. Then, abruptly, the curtains open and girls dance out,
very energetically: a strong dramatic, ironic moment in itself, and conveyed
by strongly theatrical means. The curtain travels right to left and continues off,
like a trolley, and the girls go off with it, leaving a bare, foggy stage, and the
lone figure of the entertainer, going home. That's exactly it, the kind of effect
I love; it uses suggestiveness to wake associations in the viewer. Of course, it's
something that must be handled very deliberately, because it could be banal.
It reminds me of Beethoven, a genius at introducing, using, then dropping,
and again picking up themes- the sense of proportion, relationship: the great
secrets. 0
This production prompted Svoboda to express again his acute reserva-
tions about any merely pictorial record of his work: "There's a danger in see-
ing my work in photographs. All the elements tie in with each other and
depend on the principle of kineticism; a photo can't capture this, even when
nothing mechanical is involved. For instance, the curtain in The Entertainer:
an ordinary stage device, but here it becomes a curtain of life, a poem:· 0
Two Hamlets
A comparison of Svoboda's two productions of Hamlet reveals a creative pro-
cess employing similar elements-namely, overt kinetics and principles of
A Curtain of Life 121

Figures 133-138. The Entertainer, showing Svoboda's rendering and its actualiza-
tion in a number of scenes notable for their blending of interior and exterior, domesticity
and industrialization, and for their artistic exploitation of banal, everyday objects for their
symbolic values: an easy chair, trolley wires, a clock, embroidered walls, sets of curtains.
Figure 139. Hamlet (Prague), ground plan showing the arrangement of panels for
twenty-one of the scenes.
reflection- but shaping and apportioning them in significantly different ways,

as well as being guided by different interpretations.
The first production, in Prague (November 1959), was relatively austere
and straightforward in its depiction of Hamlet as a brooding, scholarly intel-
Figs. 139-141 lectual, intensely engaged in sifting and probing the contradictory experi-
ences forced upon him. The concept on which Svoboda based his scenography
was essentially a conventional one: the contrast of the Middle Ages and the
Renaissance as expressed visually by the horizontal and vertical, respective-
ly-in this case by a broad flight of stairs and a series of tall mobile panels. The
accompanying illustrations and Svoboda's own notes fill in the picture:
In Hamlet, space is formed by the reflection of cones of light that strike the
surface of twenty-four panels that measures 10' x 31' each and are covered by
a special artificial material (so called "plastilak") that has almost one hundred
per cent of the reflectability of a black mirror. The lighting instruments are
aimed at these black mirrors from the first lighting bridge, so that the actor and
details of the decor are directly in the reflected light. In this way we managed
to get reflected light even into those places where it would otherwise be impos-
sible to aim a cone of light directly; moreover, the reflective panels effectively
mirrored the actor and scenic details.
Of course, this light-designed setting would not be of much significance if
it weren't supplemented by the movement of the twenty-four panels, arranged
in five rows parallel to the proscenium arch, which made for fluid scene
changes. With neither a blackout nor the closing of a curtain, twenty-four such
Two Hamlets 123

scene changes were effected, in connection with the entrance and exit of actors,
the shift of the reflecting panels, andre-aiming of the lighting units. 1
Figs. 142-144 The production of Hamlet in Brussels (January 1965) proved to be an
international theatrical achievement of the first magnitude, attracting atten-
tion to Czech artistry and craftsmanship as had few events, if any, since the
Brussels Fair of 1958. The play was audaciously interpreted by its director,
Krejca, and Svoboda's scenography not only caught the essence of the under-
lying production concept, but positively enhanced it. The set itself, at first
glance, suggested a massive wall composed of rectilinear elements, both solids
and cavities. But then elements of the "wall" began to move: parts slid for-
ward to form platforms and staircases, while others receded and intermeshed
to reveal still further configurations. Most striking of all, however, was the
multiplication of this extraordinary effect by the mirror that hung over the
full width of the set at an angle of forty-five degrees and provided a reflection
of the set as seen from above. One's initial impression might well have been
of cubism and constructivism run riot, with the mirror acting as an intensifier
of the basic effect. Actually, however, the starting point and essence of the
entire scenography was the mirror, and the mirror in turn resulted from the
director's special interpretation of the play. Svoboda's reflections on the pro-
duction indicate the main points of the entire creative process:
It all started with Krejca and his key to the production: the ghost as Hamlet's
alter ego; not Hamlet's father, but a fiction created by Hamlet to gain the
support of the people and turn them against the usurper. In effect, then, Ham-
let talks to himself, he makes the dialogue, and persuades himself. Obviously
this is only the crudest sketch of the director's idea, but it suggests what I had
to start with.
To symbolize the alter ego concept concretely, a mirror was the only answer,
but it had to be a special mirror. I spent weeks torturing myself, devising a
whole series of stupidities. Then I realized that Hamlet musn't see himself on
the same level, but above himself: I had the image of two great birds confront-
ing each other in space. Not a mere reflection, but heightened and amplified.
So the basic design solution was a mirror tilted at a special angle. The mirror
became the principle of the play; its technical problem was the control of its
reflections by lighting; sometimes we wanted a reflection, sometimes we didn't.
1. Svoboda, "Nouveaux Elements;' p. 66. Svoboda's use of mobile screens inevitably recalls
Craig's staging of Hamlet for the Moscow Art Theatre in 1912. Without attempting to judge the
ultimate artistic merits of either total production, it is worth noting that aside from reflecting fun-
damental differences in interpretation of the play, Svoboda's set was essentially simpler, starker
and more austere (less romantic?) in its effect. Moreover, Svoboda's set functioned more success-
fully on stage because of marked advances in materials and technical facilities. For example, as a
recent Craig study points out, "Craig wanted the screens to move before the eyes of the audience,
the scene changing in this way without lowering the curtain. This proved impossible and the cur-
tain had to be used after all:' Denis Bablet, Edward Gordon Craig (New York, 1966 ), p. 153.

Figure 140. Hamlet (Prague). The tall panels provided a sense of classical austerity
and dignity appropriate to the low-keyed, introspective, philosophic interpretation of
Hamlet in this production.
Figure 141. Hamlet (Prague). Photographs of Svoboda's model indicate the impor-
tance of the lighting and th e special reflecting surfaces of the panels to the production.
Figure 142. The model for the Brussels Hamlet ( 1965), indicating the placement of
the mirror in relation to the central scenic unit, a massive wall of intermeshing elements.
The architectonic set became particularly striking with the introduction of movement of
the individual scenic units.
Figure 143. Hamlet . A photograph of the actual production shows Hamlet confront-
ing his alter-ego in the battlement scene.
Figure 144. Hamlet (Brussels). The extended series of photographs of Svoboda's
model captures some of startling variations resulting from movable scenery in conjunction
with a mirror.
The final step came about as a result of my picking at the model of the set
one day after gazing at it for a long time; I wasn't quite satisfied. In any case,
I pushed one piece and suddenly saw the reflection of the movement in the
mirror. And suddenly I saw Elsinore as a certain spiritual world, a microcosm
of Hamlet's world, one which must change psycho-plastically along with the
development of the action. It became a world that grinds and weighs on man;
it suggested the atmosphere of the Middle Ages, a castle without feeling, anti-
human. Obviously we had models enough for this: the Nazi occupation as well
as the Stalin era. In other words, Elsinore was represented ultra-flexibly, plas-
tically. The photographs suggest a sheer mass of cubes, solid and fixed, but in
performance only selected portions were visible as a result of controlled light-
ing and movement. The set was extremely playable, not as puristic and austere
as the photos suggest.
In fact, it became an instrument with many possibilities; a good example of
the technical becoming an instrument, a means." 2
Indeed, it is possible to view the set in at least three ways: symbolically,
as suggesting an inhuman, irresistible, crushing mass; functionally, as an em-
bodi:rpent of the alter ego interpretation; and theatrically, as an instrument
for performance.
The scenography as a whole bears an obvious kinship to several other
productions in its use of kinetics and mirrors, notably that of Romeo and Juliet
and The Insect Comedy. The relation to the former is especially evident in
the principle of creating psycho-plastic space by means of three-dimensional
kinetics : the movement of solid masses in space. Both productions, moreover,
classically embody Svoboda's abstract formulation of movement being the
manifestation of the duality of matter and immaterial energy ( see pp. 30-31).
Nevertheless, the scenography of the productions is markedly different in
z. On another occasion, Svoboda said, "What I tried to create was the organism of Elsinore
Castle as an acting machine, not a symbolic one:' Svoboda, "Designing for the Stage;' Opera
(August 1967), p. 634.
Two Hamlets 127

Figure 145. The Anabaptists, a frontal view of the set. Constructed of solid timbers,
it connoted a globe, a city square, battlements, and it made a superb stage for acting.
Figure 146. The Anabaptists. This scene depicts the siege of a city.
tone and specific intention, the scenography of Romeo and Juliet, for example,
being architecturally more complex and evoking a feeling of lightness and
grace that is deliberately avoided in the more monolithic dynamics of the
Brussels Hamlet. At the same time, of course, one cannot overlook the fact that
both productions were directed by Krejca.
The relation of the Hamlet and The Insect Comedy productions (both
produced in the same month, incidentally) is evident in the combined use of
mirrors and scenic movement, but a fundamental difference is equally appar-
ent: the mirrors in The Insect Comedy relate to the total action and are con-
sistently central to the operation of the scenography, whereas the mirror in
Hamlet is a periodic, albeit crucial, scenographic element that emphasizes
the internal state of one character.
Teatro Mundi
Svoboda's set for Di.irrenmatt's The Anabaptists (Prague, March 1968) has
special interest because it represents a marked exception to one of his most
Figs. 145-148 consistent principles, that no set should say all it has to say at the beginning
of the performance; instead, it should evolve in response to the course of dra-
matic action. But in this case Svoboda seemed to have no choice: "I Wrestled
with the problem, against myself, because the solution seemed to emerge from
the play by necessitY:' 0 The set was dominated by the ribs of a huge globe,
formed of massive timbers, with catwalks strategically placed for parts of the

Figure 147. The Anabaptists. The dropping of the previously suspended curtain
effectively changes the scene, focuses attention on the forestage, and suggests an appro-
priate sense of behind-the-scenes activity between princes of power.
action. The globe was joined to the forestage floor by a short flight of steps
and was ironically embellished with a ragged, dirty red curtain and a much
smaller, solid-seeming globe suspended from the rafters. All in all, in Svoboda's
mind, "a teatro mundi, the globe with which everyone plays so casually:'"
The image established at the beginning of the play is that of a new world,
which a group of Anabaptists, like a motley, down-at-the-heels company of
strolling actors, enters and, in the course of the action, nearly demolishes with
their unenlightened zealotry. Svoboda's remarks suggest other reasons for the
significance of the set:
To my mind it is an example of a splendid concept for a set without complex,
much less mechanical, scenography. The image of the globe is deliberate: the
world as a great drama. I almost had to cry aloud when the idea hit me- I saw
it in my mind's eye exactly as it would be, and indeed it worked out that way.
Diirrenmatt, I heard, was annoyed at the idea when he first heard about it, but
was very enthusiastic when he saw it here. In our social, cultural context and
milieu the set was absolutely right in principle. That's why I like to work here;
I know the context, and that makes a big difference. I would no doubt make
another design if it were to be done in America."
It might only be added that the setting, although virtually complete as
a statement right from the beginning of the play, acquired numerous varia-
tions with the action of lights and curtains, as well as the introduction of vari-
ous scenic objects both within the globe and on the forestage in front of it.
Teatro Mundi 129

Figure 148. The Anabaptists, an interesting view of the set from the rear, looking
toward the auditorium.

Figure 149. The Tales of Hoffmann (Prague). Svoboda's rendering establishes the
chief characteristic of the scenography, a simultaneous scene reinforced by fanciful collage
and blatant theatricality.
Figures 150a-c. The Tales of Hoffmann (Prague). Three views of the actual pro-
duction.
The Principle of Collage

At least brief documentation should be provided for some of Svoboda's fresh-
est, least inhibited, perhaps most extravagant creativity, released after the war
and most fully expressed in variations on the principle of surrealistic col-
lage. Time and maturity, as well as the era of socialist realism, tempered the
prodigality of invention which characterized this early period; a necessary
selectivity and economy helped define and add force to his scenic work. Nev-
ertheless, the following few examples suggest the wealth of creative fantasy
at the source of even the most austere of Svoboda's productions. Because the
photographic record of those early years is spotty, most of the illustrations
must be Svoboda's renderings.
Perhaps the single best example of Svoboda's untrammeled early work is
Figs. 149-150 the Prague production of The Tales of Hoffmann (August 1946), his first work
with Radok and his first big postwar production. Carrying on the tradition of
the "liberated stage" of the prewar avant-garde, both Czech and Russian, the
production was deliberately unconventional in its use of fantasy, starting with
Radok's adaptation of the text, which had the action begin in a theatre cos-
tume room and then shift to a fantasy space with several acting levels, includ-
ing a tiny stage that contained the Venice sequence.
The key was a liberated imagination, which makes everything possible. The
devil, for example, arrives in a mini-auto; fifteen duelists accompany the duel;
the white cyclorama shifts to a black one. A large, suspended sphere opens to
reveal Antonia, who sits on a chair more than six feet off the floor. Her gown
falls to the floor and is drawn by a funeral wagon and a rocking horse; the
The Principle of Collage 131

Figure 150. The Tales of Hoffmann (Prague ).
Figure 151. The Tales of Hoffmann, Ostrava 1947.

Figure 152. The Tales of Hoffmann, Prague 1959 (Laterna Magika).
Figure 153. The Tales of Hoffmann, Berlin 1969.

Figure 154. The Tales of Hoffmann, Frankfurt 1970.
Figure 155. Wastrels in Paradise, another production characterized by a whimsical
juxtaposition of elements. For example, the segmented stars and stripes floating at the top
of the picture were previously the pillow and comforter on the bed below.
whole effect is surrealistic. As the opera draws to a close, the gown lifts up and
reveals an old theatre curtain that ends the whole opera. 0
The significance of this highly fanciful work was perhaps best suggested
in a contemporary review:
The production contains a combination of elements-real, everyday, perhaps

even technical-that reveal the deep influence of contemporary technical civi-
lization on our thinking, along with elements that are stylized, traditional, even
"cultural:' This synthesis of "culture" and "civilization;' symbolically illustrated
by the juxtaposition of machinery and baroque objects, electrical insulators
and flowers, is clearly a new way of representing our contemporary life on
the stage. 1
Figs. 151-154 Svoboda has designed six productions of The Tales of Hoffmann; for the
sake of comparison, illustrations of four of the others are provided here:
Ostrava, Czechoslovakia ( 1947), for Laterna Magika, Prague ( 1959), Berlin
( 1969) , and Frankfurt ( 1970).
Fig. 155 Wastrels in Paradise, staged in the studio of the National Theatre in May
1946, was only slightly less free-wheeling in its assemblage of everyday ele-
ments and highly theatrical ones to reveal the fantastic relationship of things.
Props and other objects had radically different functions according to the
action, a projection screen was used, heaven and hell materialized in the midst
of snowmen: everything suggested a freedom of childlike fantasy.
1. Jiii Kamet, "Cesta k novemu slohu" [The path to a new style]. Newspaper clipping other-
wise unidentified.
The Principle of Collage 133

Figure 156. AibiS's Action.

Figure 157. Revizor.

Fig. 156 An expressionistic satire on the super-weapon, Akce Aibis ( "AibiS's Ac-
tion"), performed in Prague (November 1946 ), was still another work which
confronted a variety of realities of daily life on stage, some by means of film
projection, and thus metaphorically suggested new ways of regarding experi-
ence. Technically, the production was also interesting for Svoboda's use of
forced perspective on an extremely shallow stage.
Fig. 157 A final example of a stage deliberately filled with seemingly unrelated
objects was the National Theatre studio production of Gogol's Revizor in
February 1948, the two basic scenes of which were placed back to back on a
turntable. This time, Svoboda jammed the stage to overflowing not for pri-
marily metaphoric reasons, but to capture the sense of disorder, untidiness,
indeed rancidness, of Czarist Russia that the play communicates through its
characters.
Theatre in Scenography
Although all of Svoboda's scenographic work bears the mark of a sensitized
theatrical awareness, a certain number of his productions employ not simply
a conscious, overt theatricality, but a metaphoric image of theatre itself. La-
bels such as theatre-in-theatre, or a stage within a stage, although partially
accurate, do not adequately describe the variety of ways in which Svoboda
has exploited the traditions and conventions of the theatre to heighten the
·impact of a given production or reinterpret its significance. For this reason it
seems worthwhile to present a sample of Svoboda's notable scenographic vari-
ations whose basis or source of inspiration is the theatre itself. Moreover, such
works provide valuable indirect testimony about some of his basic premises
concerning the theatre.
Figs. 158, 159 The Prague production of Prokofiev's A Love for Three Oranges (May
1963) stressed the capricious theatricality of the work by a relatively simple
but imaginative shift of traditional theatre placement: the orchestra, which
plays so important a role in the action, was boldly removed from its pit and
placed center stage, while the acting area included the space above the orches-
tra pit as well as stairs and platforms encircling the newly situated orchestra.
An additional scenographic element was a cyclorama consisting of strung
ropes on which projections were cast, a device that Svoboda had employed in
the past (The Story of a Real Man, 1961, and Twelfth Night, 1963) and would
employ in the future, perhaps most notably in the London production of The
Three Sisters ( 1967) and in Yvone ( 1970).
Figs. 16o-161 More complex was the treatment of the Prague production of Janacek's
Vee Makropulos ("The Makropulos Secret") in October 1965. Part of the ac-

Figures 158 and 159. Svoboda's rendering and a production photograph of A Love
for Three Oranges reveal the basic scenographic strategy: placing the orchestra stage cen-
ter and arranging the acting areas around the newly situated orchestra.
tion of the opera, which centers on an operatic soprano, is intended to occur

in the backstage area of a theatre; Svoboda extended this inherently theatrical
element to the production as a whole. Most of the depth of the stage was
designed to represent typical backstage paraphernalia: flats, costume manne-
quins, ladders, incidental furniture. The action of the opera occurred on a few
set pieces in front of this primarily visual background that constantly stressed
the theatrical ingredient of the plot and revitalized its point. The key sceno-
graphic element was a slanted, transparent wall separating the backstage area
from the forestage, where virtually all the action occurred. A variety of pro-
jections appeared on and through its surface, and it had the added acoustical
virtue of providing an excellent sounding board for the singing.
Two other productions, one early in Svoboda's career, the other quite
recent, illustrate a more total, fully organic theatricalization of the basic
Figs. 162-165 works. Rigoletto (Prague, November 1947) carried the classical theatre-in-
theatre device several steps beyond its customary limit. To begin with, both
Svoboda and Radok, the director, were bothered by the opera's naive plot, its
bloody melodrama and pathos. In an attempt to counteract this element, they
decided to present the work in the style of Verdi's day by placing it in a some-
what parodistic reconstruction of a theatre of that time. Although a strong
element of the historical was present, the treatment was theatrical rather than
naturalistic. The total set was mostly grey, deliberately intended to suggest

Figure 160. The Makropulos Secret. The backwards-slanting wall could be transpar-
ent or opaque, depending upon the lighting and projection. For this scene the text specified
a theatre after a performance.
Figure 161. The Makropulos Secret. Because the script calls for an office in this scene
(no connection with the theatre ), the slanted wall reveals a projection screen (the manu-
script) and also functions as a straight reflector (the initials) . Note the top letter "E": an
illuminated device, lying horizontally, is suspended above the reflecting wall and appears
as the upright letter "E" to most of the audience.

Figures 162 and 163. Rigoletto, two views of the painstakingly reconstructed neo-
classic, Bibiena-like stage constructed on a turntable of a large stage; the pedormance of
any work on such a stage becomes at least partially ironic.
a black and white engraving. But the cream of the jest was what occurred
beyond these effects, as Svoboda's recollections indicate:
We made fun of the opera to some extent; the production offended many and
caused a scandal, although many loved it, especially those who weren't opera
traditionalists. On its own terms, in any case, the production was very accom-
plished and precise.
I built a tiny Bibiena-like stage on a turntable of the large stage of the Sme-
tana theatre. Everything was in period, including some audience seats in front
of the stage. Then, at a certain point in the action, the theatre began to rotate
on its turntable and suddenly we were looking at its stage through its wings;
the singers proceeded to adjust to this new perspective and sang toward us in
the audience of the Smetana theatre through the wings of their theatre. Rigo-
letto, for example, sang his aria to a costumer or ballerina in the wings. At other
times we showed waiting performers flirting with backstage gentlemen callers.
In other words, the action was presented in the context of the backstage of a
theatre. The result was a great charm and a loss of traditional opera-ness.
In many ways it was a difficult production; some singers, for example, had
to be replaced because of the exception they took to the production approach.
Technically, also, we took pains with all the elements; for instance, the period
stage machinery that was revealed to the audience as it looked into the wings
was especially manufactured for the production. 0

Figures 164 and 165. Rigoletto. The rotation of the turntable exposes the normally
off-stage part of the facsimile theatre to the audience, and the singer finds himself singing
into the wings (and to his fellow performers) in order to project to the modem audience:
a provocative inversion and exploitation of theatrical conventions.
A production such as this raises numerous theoretical questions of artistic

convention and even terminology. For example, the careful recreation of
period stage machinery is in itself close to, if not equivalent to, naturalism;
and yet it is part of a larger effort that is utterly anti-naturalistic in terms of
the production as a whole. Such paradoxes and contradictions enliven a great
deal of Svoboda's work, especially when he joins with a director like Radok.
Perhaps the culmination of Svoboda's use of theatre itself in his designs
Figs. 166-168 is the recent Don Giovanni in Prague (February 1g6g), a production that by
its very nature must remain unique. Several historical facts are central to the
final scenographic solution: Mozart composed Don Giovanni in Prague and
conducted its premiere, also in Prague, in a theatre that is still in use, essen-
tially with the same interior decor as in Mozart's day; today it is known as the
Tyl Theatre and forms one of the three units that comprise the National The-
atre. Svoboda had designed numerous productions of Don Giovanni previous-
ly, both in Czechoslovakia and abroad, but this one was to be different:
My primary goal was to express the unique Prague-ness of the work rather
than to employ any certain scenographic approach or get involved with cus-
tomary scenic details. The design was deliberately non-repeatable, with mean-
ing only in Prague; specifically, I saw the opera in the context of the Tyl
Theatre, where it had its original premiere."

Figure 166. Don Giovanni (Prague). The boxes at the right and left of the photo-
graph are part of the eighteenth-century theatre in Prague in which the production is per-
formed; the rest of the boxes were especially built for the production and are situated on
the stage itself, an extension of the historical auditorium.
Svoboda's concept has the richness and immediacy of a Shakespearian

metaphor: the Mozartian decor of the Tyl Theatre auditorium is extended
onto the stage itself to form the setting of the opera's action. The opera that
was written in Prague, to a great extent for Prague, and originally performed
in Prague, in this very theatre, is now performed not only in the same theatre
but within a setting that is a duplicate of the theatre interior in which it was
originally performed and is now performed again. The resultant effect, with
its multiple reverberations, is dense and powerful and, above all, uplifting in
its absolute rightness. It is theatre in theatre, transcended. 1
The customary separation of stage and auditorium vanishes: the boxes
nearest the stage are repeated (more precisely, continued) on the stage itself,
and the acting area includes the first set of auditorium boxes as well as the
stage. The rear of the stage is sometimes filled with period backdrops and
sometimes with additional tiers of boxes; when the latter occurs, as it does
in the climactic scene of the ball, Svoboda's intention achieves its strongest
statement.
1. The nearest theatrical analogue that occurs to me is the use of a model house in the living
room of the house represented by the model, in Edward Albee's Tiny Alice.

Figure 167. Don Giovanni (Prague): a different arrangement of the on-stage boxes
deliberately revealing a period backdrop to heighten the sense of theatricality.

Figure 168. Don Giovanni (Prague), showing still another arrangement of the on-
stage boxes, a different backdrop, and a fence that functions both realistically and conven-
tionally in several scenes of the production.

Svoboda's remarks suggest additional implications inherent in his con-
cept:
The whole design is keyed on the ball in scene seven, the peak of the opera;
the use of boxes on stage and in the auditorium makes for all possible varia-
tions and has a positive function in the action.
I deliberately used aged, period, somewhat deteriorated theatrical objects,
props, even chandeliers, from Mozart's time, and deliberately revealed old
painted backdrops and curtains between the boxes on stage or else as total
backdrops. I wanted to evoke the feel of an old eighteenth-century theatre-
the feeling of the "ghosts" of theatre. A person with imagination really feels
the ultimate significance of a curtain; a theatre; a stage; an auditorium; and
their relationship-their nai:ve atmosphere, their simplicity and plainness, yet
the worlds that can be created there-the significance and strength of theatre
in the evolution of society.
Giovanni is so definitive and classical and excellent a work- for example, the
recitatives in relation to the passages that have to be sung. It's a model opera,
pure, a work of genius. It's a jewel to begin with, and that's why I wanted to
treat it with the least fuss: a singer comes forward and sings, the others simply
stand and wait. The result is an operatic holiday. The spectator doesn't look
for naturalism; he accepts it as a pure theatrical work, specifically an opera-
a pure experience. It doesn't pretend to be more or other than opera. For exam-
ple, the grill-work fence functions in several ways, conventionally-it operates
according to theatrical logic."
The Giovanni scenography may be considered from still another per-
spective; that is, as one example (admittedly limited) of Svoboda's flexible
ideal of production space: space that encompasses both stage and auditorium,
and that is deliberately created or modified to respond to a specific production
concept. Svoboda's ideal would occur in an ultra-flexible atelier; the Giovanni
variation of the ideal is a result of adapting to a specific theatrical environ-
ment.
Svoboda's final observations about this production are worth considering
in light of his experience with more than one hundred opera productions:
This approach to an opera- that is, exploiting its unique historical background,
presenting it more a la concert, with emphasis on the singers, the music, and
the orchestra, all of which amounts to a different production style-recom-
mends itself for other dated, celebrated operas."
For most artists, the reputation held by Svoboda during the last few years
would mark a culmination and final plateau: honors, awards, a Professor's
Chair at the school of architecture where he studied less than twenty years
ago, and commissions from the theatre capitals of the world. But for several
reasons it seems highly unlikely that Svoboda will rest on these achievements.

His sheer zest and enthusiasm not only for new technical means of expression
but also for the play or the game of theatre has not waned since his youth. He
is unable to resist the fresh challenge of a new or familiar text, a new problem
to be mastered, whether it be a new theatre or a new material, or the satisfac-
tion of working with a special creative partner. For in the broadest sense, like
all true artists, he cannot not continue creating and striving for ever fuller,
more precise expression.
His attitude toward his own creativity was best conveyed in a recent
remark, which recommends itself as a final note to this study because of what
it reveals of Svoboda both as a man and as an artist:
I want to enrich the theatre, not save it. Even the simplest innovation can be
miraculous. •

APPENDICES AND SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
APPENDIX A
A Selected Group of Svoboda's Production Drawings

Despite Svoboda's emphatic reservations about the value of two-dimensional
renderings and sketches of stage settings, I do believe that it is worth pre-
senting a few more of his own drawings as an indication of his fresh response
to a variety of scenographic problems. Above all, this brief survey brings into
focus his most fundamental concern in scenography: space. His strong archi-
tectural background undoubtedly accounts for his masterful employment of
structural forms, but it is also likely that it explains his preoccupation with the
profounder artistic questions of the division, containment,. and shaping of
space appropriate to the interpretative and theatrical demands of a given pro-
duction. Special lighting, projections, mirrors, and kinetic scenery all help to
solve problems of production space, but the ultimate answers lie in the classi-
cal architectural elements of volume and mass, axis and plane, as the following
drawings reveal. The occasional recurrence of a few techniques is perhaps
worth noting as an example of Svoboda's "signature": intersecting planes,
both straight and curved; asymmetrically arranged masses; one or more frames
behind and at oblique angles to the proscenium frame; frequent use of varied
levels, ramps, and stairs.
The drawings are arranged chronologically, beginning with Svoboda's
first Prague production.
A Selected Group of Svoboda's Production Drawings 147

Figure 16g. Holderlin's Empedokles, Prague 1943.
Figure 170. Verdi's Il Trovatore, Prague 1947.
148 APPENDICES
Figure 171. Verdi's Don Carlos, Bratislava 1956.
Figure 172. HanuS's Othello, Prague 1959.

Figure 173. Dvorak's Rusalka, Prague 1g6o.
Figure 174. Shaw's Saint Joan, Pilsen 1961.
150 APPENDICES
Figure 175. Martinu's Julieta, Prague 1963.
Figure 176. Rossini's L'Italiana in Algeri, Rio de Janeiro 1963.

Figure 177. Weinberger's Svanda the Bagpiper, Vienna 1963 (not performed).
Figure 178. Hindemith's Cardillac, Milan 1964.
152 APPENDICES
Figure 179. Shakespeare's King Lear, Budapest 1964.
Figure 180. Bizet's Carmen, Bremen 1965.

Figure 181. Gluck's Orpheus and Eurydice, West German television 1967.
Figure 182. A rehearsal photograph of Ariadne auf Naxos shows the cave plattorm at
stage center, framed by Hats with deliberately old fashioned theatrical motifs.
154 APPENDICES
APPENDIX B
Svoboda's Most Recent Productions
During my most recent meeting with Svoboda, in late October 1970, he indi-
cated particular interest in his work on a number of productions occurring in
the last half of 1970 and projected toward the first half of 1971. Some of the
productions continued his recent experiments, some involved innovations,
and others were marked by a bold recourse to the pure, stark elements of archi-
tecture, kinetics, stage space, and materials powerful by virtue of their sim-
plicity and metaphoric potential, as if Svoboda were deliberately seeking a
renewal of creative energy from fundamental theatrical resources. Several of
the productions and production plans are worthy of at least brief description
in order to bring our survey of his work up to date and to suggest his latest
tendencies.
Fig. 182 The production of Richard Strauss's opera Ariadne auf Naxos (Berlin,
June 1970 ), showed Svoboda's penchant for collage to be as fresh as ever, as
the accompanying photograph illustrates. The scenography consisted of two
contrasting, juxtaposed elements in keeping with the duel of genres inherent
in the opera: the romantic and the farcically satiric. A series of laterally move-
able panels somewhat reminiscent of those in the Prague Hamlet of 1959,
except for the "period" graphics on the Ariadne panels and their resting on
the flat floor of the stage, were in sustained interplay with the other scenic
element, a platform with a flat representing the cave at Naxos.
Figs. 183-185 The production of As You Like It in Prague (June 1970) essentially
continued the sophisticated projection techniques that Svoboda employed so
lyrically in the London production of Pelleas and Melisande: a background
composed of special translucent screens designed for rear projection and
approximately nine irregular, crushed wire-netting pieces that were verti-
cally mobile. These wire screens took front projections but also revealed the
rear-projected images that were visible through their netted screen surface.
The essential differences lay in the groundplan, which consisted of a series of
obliquely oriented platforms in various horizontal planes, in the specially
sprayed crushed wire pieces that took projections much better on their grey-
violet surface than did the natural wire surface of the pieces in Pelleas, an:d
primarily in the special projections that were used on the rear cyclorama
screen: fresh, verdant compositions derived from several colored sprayings
over various floral, vegetative elements. The final effect was that of a series
of delicate airbrushed stencil renderings, very much in keeping with the play's
theme of escape to nature.
Svoboda's Most Recent Productions 155

Figures 183-185. Three views of the setting for As You Like It showing various com-
binations of projections and the placement of crumpled-wire screens.
156 APPENDICES
Figure 186. Waiting for Godot. Svoboda's photographic rendering reveals the kinship
of the scenographic principle to that of the Prague Giovanni: an extension of the audito-
rium boxes onto the stage. Of especial interest in the Godot production was the large,
multi-panelled mirrored surface that formed the rear wall of the stage. Here it reflects the
rear loges of the auditorium as well as the stage itself.
Fig. I86 Svoboda's design for a production of Beckett's Waiting for Godot (Salz-
burg, August 1970), provided a variation of the Prague Giovanni. Once
again, the architecture of a theatre auditorium was extended on to the stage
to provide a background for dramatic action, and conscious theatricality,
theatre as theatre, was emphasized. Within these general similarities, how-
ever, the production (directed by Otomar Krejca) aimed at an effect of more
radical shock. Set center stage in glaring contrast to the pseudo-baroque
158 APPENDICES
architecture of auditorium and stage was a dying willow tree. The original
scenographic concept called for a real tree taken directly from the outdoors,
but a shift in Krejca's directorial concept resulted in the artificial piece de-
picted in the illustration.
Still another new element (in relation to Giovanni) was the use of a large
mirrored surface that formed the rear wall of the stage and reflected the audi-
ence as well as the stage; the effect was that of spectators sitting at both ends
of the stage. Moreover, the mirror was covered with scrim, so that when
lighted from the side its reflecting properties disappeared; in other words, its
reflection of the audience was controllable.
A particularly startling effect was that of the moon, created by the reflec-
tion in the background mirror of an illuminated disk actually located in the
rear balcony of the auditorium.
Svoboda's return to a relatively austere, yet theatrically powerful sce-

nography is nowhere more evident than in the Prague production of Brecht's
Figs. 187-190 Mother Courage (October 1970). Recalling in some respects the kinetics of
Romeo and Juliet and the employment of a single stark image in The Anabap-
tists (but here a mobile one), the scene created for Mother Courage is the
result of a search for a concentrated, distilled scenic metaphor-one that
would be strong in effect, yet force nothing on the viewer.
In discussing various elements that influenced his work on the produc-
tion, Svoboda referred to administrative changes in the National Theatre that
indicated that Mother Courage might be his last production there during his
tenure in the combined position of chief designer and technical director: "So
I poured all my strength into it, including the technical forces at my dis-
posal:'" The guest director, Jan Kacer, a young man who is resident director
at one of Prague's innovative chamber theatres, the Cinoherni, was a former
student of Svoboda's at the Theatre Academy. "We understand each other;'
Svoboda said, "and worked well together. I had a good feeling of free crea-
tivity, as I did with Krejca and Radok:'"
Above all, however, was the challenge posed by Brecht, whose work
Svoboda had confronted only once before, in a not very satisfactory produc-
tion of The Three Penny Opera in Munich in 1968.
Brecht hung over me like the sword of Damocles and provoked me. Now I had
the opporhmity to stage him here at home. I wanted to try my hand at Brecht-
even if controversially-to show that it's possible to approach his work differ-
ently and yet have authentic Brecht. I searched for an expressive symbol, yet
not only a symbol but also something that "plays:' I think that I found a suc-
cessful answer, and a new concept for Brecht production. And in doing so, I

Figure 187. Mother Courage, showing the top surface of the sheet-metal mass tilted
toward the audience. The crumpled, tom, corroded surface represented the battle-scarred
earth.
Figure 188. The bottom side of the mass revealed: a suggestion of glistening armor,
the other side of war's coin.
Figure 18g. Suspended and hovering, the sheet-metal object also connotes a certain
protectiveness.
Figure 1goa. The sheet metal functions as a roof, on which Katrin beats a drum to
rouse the populace.
160 APPENDICES
think that I've managed to contribute a word or two to the continuing Brecht
discussion. 0
Svoboda's answer eliminates such traditionally Brechtian scenic ele-

ments as suspended or projected place-names, dates, titles, and editorial com-
ments. Instead, we are confronted with a huge, rusty, irregularly crumpled
sheetmetal mass, roughly in the form of a pan, weighing over three tons and
having an average diameter of over forty feet. Its top surface is torn, gouged,
and corroded, but its undersurface is left shiny, like armor.
How did I arrive at this precise symbol? I wanted to create the scene from
material that would be appropriate to the period and its atmosphere. War, and
at the same time, great impoverishment. At times glittering, blazing with war,
but actually chewed up, ravaged. An all-out statement. It stands for the earth,
scarred with the iron and blood of the war, thirty years of armor and weapons,
no longer fertile- but also the brilliant, glittering appeal of war.
It is suspended from three points, and is raised and lowered by special
motors. A plastic, kinetic piece that moves silently, effortlessly. The kinetics
here do not interfere or distract; they are unobtrusive, even though in plain
view. The piece can lie on the ground, be raised or tilted. It establishes differ-
ent locales and creates different moods. The pathetic, aggrieved earth, yet
when it lifts and is suspended it becomes protective: the earth as sole friend,
protector. Like a soaring bird or a cloud, it sometimes tilts toward the audi-
ence and lets us read into its contours what our own imagination projects. And
when the soldiers rattle across it, the effect is absolutely that of musique con-
crete-it becomes a musical instrument.
It became a true theatrical symbol: pure, real, echt theatre. A marriage of
utility and aesthetics in scenography. I've rarely succeeded as thoroughly in
this regard. So far, I think, it's my most beautiful thing-as a whole."
At the time of the writing of this appendix, December 1970, Svoboda is

working on a number of exciting productions to be staged during the next six
months. Several represent his sustained devotion to the creation of a special
theatrical poetry composed of space, movement, architecture, and other raw
materials of the stage brought together in an expressive synthesis. A case in
Figs. 191, 192 point is his plan for the production of Sophocles' Oedipus triad, to be directed
by Svoboda's long-time creative associate, Otomar Krejca, and produced at
the latter's Gate Theatre in February 1971.
The scenography is to be based on a combination of forced reverse per-
spective and a disintegrating, kinetic, architectural treatment of matter, all
of which is designed to thrust the implications of the plays at the audience.
A massive wall of eight large cubes nearly fills the proscenium arch at the
beginning of the performance. "Then the wall suddenly separates, disinte-
grates, as the cubes glide backward on rails and on overhead tracks that extend

Figure 1gob. Mother Courage's grief over the body of her slain daughter.
Figure 1goc. As the play ends, Mother Courage strains to move her wagon over the
broken earth.
162 APPENDICES
,I.
I
I 'f'
I
[!)_
,' /!}\I
I
I· I,' ,' I
I
I I
I ' #- I
Figure 191. Groundplan and frontal view of the Prague Oedipus-Antigone produc-
tion, showing the reversed perspective employed by Svoboda. 1-frontal view; z-mov-
able, segmented wooden units with stairs; 3-mirror.
away from the center. We in the audience are the center: the atomization of
the cubes proceeds from us. By the same token, the problematic themes of the
three plays, perhaps especially that of Antigone, are 'aimed' at us, into us :
we are the objects of the plays' 'attack:"o
The scene is entirely mobile, and actors will be able to perform on the
pieces, around and behind them. The architectonic basis of the scene reflects
Svoboda's philosophical attitude toward architecture as queen of the arts, an
equal of music and drama, and superior to painting. "It contains within it all
thought and provides a multitude of expressive means. When I first began to
use elements of architecture in theatre I wondered, even feared, whether ar-
chitecture could sustain scenography. It can. It is both art and science:' 0
A special source of interest in the scenography is the material from which
the cubes are constructed: "Ordinary wood, like the old storage crates and
platforms that one finds in all theatres, that are the unglamorous requisites of
even the most modern, technically sophisticated productions. These essences
of the stage, of the theatrical, are here elevated, ennobled: suddenly, as if
weightless, they float in the air. We discover the poetry contained within ordi-
nary stage practicables:' 0
A similar urge to stress the inherent theatricality of stage materials in-
Fig. 193 forms Svoboda's plans for the production of Shakespeare's Henry V scheduled
for Prague's National Theatre in late January 1971. The essentially bare stage
represents a universal, transformable space. Defining this space is Svoboda's
classically simple scenographic concept: a curved cyclorama of heavy, coarse

Figures 1g2a-e. Oedipus-Antigone: These five photographs from the actual produc-
tion reveal the variety of dynamic scenic arrangements made possible by Svoboda's concept.
Figure 193. Henry V, showing the relation of the austere cyclorama to the stage floor
and the theatrical components in open view beneath it. Flexibly controlled lighting accen-
tuated the black band of space under the cyclorama and the actors in front.
[Removable screen for
/ rear projections]
Figure 194. A rehearsal photograph of the production of Idomeneo, suggesting the

combined effect of architectural elements, projections, and a mirror; and two sketches (side
and frontal views) by Svoboda, clarifying the function and the relationship of the various
elements used.

I
~ ---------------~---------------~
:::::.
Figure 195a. Groundplan and frontal view of Berg's operatic version of Wozzek.
1-Mirrored wall, 6o% transparent, composed of segments measuring 150 em. x So em.;
2-mobile wagons that move at variable speeds along tracks 4, 5, and 6 are rotatable on
their own axes at variable speeds; 3- entrances in the mirrored walls that open and close
automatically; 7-mirrored walls of 100% reflectibility, composed of segments measuring
150 em. x So em. All mirrored materials are produced by the Leichtspiegel Company of
Solingen and are stretched over steel frames; S-cyclorama of Studio Folio for rear and
front projection, hung irregularly in strips on different planes.
Figure 195b. Two photographs of Svoboda's early experiments with a model to sug-
gest the arrangement and the lighting of the projection strips.

hemp material suspended some seven feet above the floor of the stage and
creating an indented black space that encompasses the acting area and allows
ready access to it. Within this band of space that rims the stage (beneath and
behind the hanging cyclorama) are located the necessary properties, furni-
ture, and costumes that the actors openly distribute and remove during the
course of action.
It creates a marvellous black relief effect that thrusts the actors forward viv-
idly. It is a clean, finished space, one that would be ideal for ballet-dancers
could enter from any part of the stage. I intend to experiment further with this
principle, for example with various projections on the cyclorama. In this pro-
duction we merely projected an image of burlap to heighten the inherent tex-
ture of the material itself. 0
Still another example of the evolution of Svoboda's use of mirrors is evi-
Fig. 194 dent in his plans for the staging of Mozart's Idomeneo in Vienna (March
1971). Taking the Baroque as his guiding motif, Svoboda intends to create a
space that captures the effect of a Baroque ceiling. He achieves this effect by
having a broad Hight of stairs ascend to meet a mirrored surface inclined at
an angle of goo. The reflection of the performers on the stairs creates an image
resembling the characteristic Baroque combination of a plastic, sculptured
border that blends into a painted scene of antiquity on the ceiling itself.
The antique acquires a Baroque dimension via the mirror. The basic feature
of Baroque interior architecture is the extension of the architecture by paint-
ing. The painted ceiling frequently continued the architecture of a chamber
by painted elements that extended the whole toward heaven and God. The
Baroque thereby acquired a limitless scale, which is achieved in this produc-
tion with the help of the mirror. 0
A remarkable dual project that Svoboda has scheduled for late March
1971 involves productions of both Alban Berg's opera Wozzek and Buchner's
drama Wozzek, in Milan and Turin, respectively, with the same director,
V. Puecher. The opera will stress the more universal aspects of the story, and
Buchner's variant texts for the play will be used as a point of departure in
the drama.
Fig. 195 Svoboda's scenography for Alban Berg's opera will consist of jagged,
toothlike mirrored contours around the three sides of the stage to represent
the asymmetrical outline of a huge city-a microcosm. Encompassing these
mirrored surfaces will be a series of irregularly hung, overlapping strips of
grey-black plastic material (Studio Folio) forming an atomized, cubistic
surface for projections representing the macrocosm.
Into this space will glide various objects of furniture and properties on rotating
discs, as if in varied orbits, like planets-from the sides and even from the
168 APPENDICES
Figure 1g6. A rehearsal photograph of Svoboda's basic setting for the dramatic ver-
sion of Wozzek. The raked floor curving up to form a cyclorama wall is reminiscent of
Svoboda's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Also noteworthy are the spareness
of the set and the emphatic use of wood.
back-and meet as if fated, then separate again and meet with others or glide
off. I want to show that everything that man experiences is predestined, inevi-
table, and even though circumstances of time and place and society have their
influence, basic things can't be altered. I also want to show Wozzek in relation
to both the microcosm and the macrocosm, and that's where the mirrors and
the projection screens come in. The rear mirror, for example, will be 6o%trans-
parent, so that some scenes may be played behind it, or we may perceive some
of the objects approaching. Moreover, the mirror will be covered with scrim,
so as to take projections as well and thus make the space ultra-flexible. On the
strips hanging above and behind the mirrors we'll project a series of visual
metaphors: the latest shots of the moon expeditions, the earth as seen from the
moon, abstract colored slides, all forming a poetic collage. Wozzek will speak
into this macrocosm. I want to show man as related to, dependent upon, the
entire universe, subject to certain unalterable laws."
Svoboda's emphasis on the fated and the inevitable recalls his aim in such
productions as the Bremen Giovanni and The Mill, and the scenic method
employed seems clearly related to the unrealized production of The Fiery
Angel, the director of which would have been the same V. Puecher.

The production of the drama Wozzek is intended to bring together all
the variants of Buchner's text, not as one consolidated version, but in con-
frontation with one another- "factographically," as Svoboda puts it- in
order to reveal the evolution of this drama. The setting will be austere, con-
sisting of plain unvarnished, unpainted wood that rises from the stage floor to
Fig.l96 form a vertically curved cyclorama, as the illustration shows. Properties and
furniture will be carried onto the stage by the actors. No projections are to be
used- only clear, uncolored light of a Brechtian type.
Svoboda's remarks on his objectives for this production most fittingly
summarize his present approach to his art:
What I want to create here is a theatre that stresses today's rhythms and
images, today's manner of apprehending reality. Theatre must be done dif-
ferently today, but it must remain true to theatre. In other words, not a reliance
on elaborate, sophisticated electronic facilities in competition with film, but
quite the contrary- a return to pure, clean theatre. Not "effects," but
thoroughly planned, worked-out patterns based on a distilled, metaphoric con-
cept or image, one that expresses the time, the moment of creation as well as
of the play- something that I am communicating to the viewer, openly or
not, humanistic or whatever - a message that I am sharing."
In the early summer of 1971, as final proofs for this book were being pre-
pared, I had the opportunity to visit Svoboda in Prague once again as well as
to see two of his latest productions: Noricama, the Nurnberg exhibit cele-
brating the city in relation to the five-hundredth anniversary of the birth of
Albrecht Durer; and the Prague production of Prokofiev's ballet Romeo and
Juliet in the National Theatre. These productions represent the two poles of
Svoboda's art and complete this survey of his work through the 1970-1971
season.
Noricama, a ten-minute poetic documentary produced in April of 1971,
bears witness to the continuing evolution of Svoboda's infinitely imaginative
use of the most complex and technically advanced electronic facilities. The
heart of the exhibit lies in a high-ceilinged hall of Niirnberg Castle. The hall
is lined with graphics illustrating key monuments of the city, but the focus is
that half of the chamber where two sets of panels serve as screens for ten pro-
jectors of both color and black-and-white film. One set consists of five rectan-
gular panels of equal dimensions, making a wide wall measuring approxi-
170 APPENDICES
mately thirty-six feet by thirteen feet. These panels can be made to glide
forwards on rails, separately or all together, a distance of twelve yards, while
still retaining their respective projected images. The other set consists of four
square panels varying in size from four feet to seven feet and placed well in
front of the wall formed by the first set of panels. The usual position of the
four smaller panels is horizontal and parallel to the floor and ceiling, but
periodically they flip up or down to receive projected images. Each of the
nine panels can bear its own distinct image, or one image can be projected
on all the panels at once. The resultant collage of multiple images on kinetic
projection screens, accompanied by stereophonic sound, does full justice to
the challenge posed by the sponsors of the exhibit: to communicate dynamic-
ally the socio-cultural history of a medieval city in the most contemporary
terms.
Romeo and Juliet (June 1971) is remarkable for the simplicity and the-
atrical purity of its scenographic concept. Svoboda used his art with complete
assurance and masterful economy. The employment of an elevated cyclorama,
evident earlier in the Prague production of Henry V, was subtly elaborated.
In Romeo and Juliet the cyclorama became a three-sided arcade suspended
some ten feet above the stage by cables invisible to the audience, thereby
allowing the dancers completely free access to the full space of the stage.
The cyclorama also provided opportunity for more complex composition and
movement by virtue of its offering two basic levels with a diagonal flight of
stairs joining them. The austere architecture of the arcade, with impression-
istic projections, established the locale, the period, and the mood, while the
black space beneath the cyclorama emphasized the spotlighted dancers by
stark contrast. Svoboda's command of architecture, film projections, and stage
dynamics is crucial to this production, but always unobstrusivc. His objective
was achieved with notable success: the enhancement of the essential quality
of ballet-the fusion of music and choreographed movement in space.

APPENDIX C
A Register of Svoboda Productions
The following list of productions designed by Svoboda is complete except for

those few done for film and television, certain ephemeral cabaret or revue
productions, and those that were essentially minor adaptations of his ear-
lier ones.
I have provided translations of all Czech works when they first appear.
Titles of other foreign works are left in the form in which they are generally
known in the English-speaking world.
The dates of premieres are frequently difficult to establish with precision;
for example, the date of a preview performance is often confused with that
of the official premiere. I have been exact in dating when I had recorded evi-
dence; at other times, when I have had to rely on a person's memory, I have
indicated only the month or perhaps only the season of the year.
Author and Title Place of Performance Opening Date Director
1943
F. Holderlin: Smetana Museum, 1 October J. Karnet
Empedokles Prague
A. Strindberg: Smetana Museum, 24 November I. Weis
The Bride Prague
K. Behounek: Jara Kohout Theatre, December C. Sonnevend
Panos ]an Prague
(John, the Page)
1944
R. Billinger: Municipal Chamber 3 March J. Kandert
The Fox Trap Theatre, Prague
I. Weis: Municipal Library, Spring I. Weis
Kramarske Pisne Prague
(Peddler's Songs)
J. K. Tyl: State Conservatory, not performed I. Weis
Pan£ Marwnka, Prague
MatkaPluku
(Mariana, Mother
of the Regiment)
172 APPENDICES
J. Karnet: Municipal Theatre, not performed E Salzer

Bloudeni Prague
(Straying)
1945
0. Ostrcil: Grand Opera 5 May, 25 December J. Fiedler
Kuntilovy Oci Prague
(Kunala's Eyes)
1946
V. Nezval: Municipal Theatre, 17 March T. Sefinsky
Manon Lescaut Teplice
G. M. Martens & National Theatre 23May S. Vyskocil
A. Obey: Studio, Prague
Wastrels in Paradise
A. Jinlsek: Municipal Theatre, 24 August T. SeHnsky
]an RoMe Teplice
J. Offenbach: Grand Opera 5 May, 2gAugust A.Radok
The Tales of Hoffmann Prague
V. Dyk: Horacke Theatre, 11 September S. Vyskocil
Ondref a Drak Jihlava
(Andre and the
Dragon)
P. Mascagni: State Theatre, 22 September B. Hrdlicka
Cavaleria Rusticana Ostrava
R. Leoncavallo:
I Pagliacci
B. Smetana: Grand Opera 5 May, 28 September V. KaSlfk
Prodanti N evesta Prague
(The Bartered Bride)
J. Kainar: Satire Theatre, 15 November A.Radok
Akce AibiS Prague
(A ibiS's Action)
K. J. Capek National Theatre, 21 November J. Honzl
Ze Zivota Hmyzu Prague
(The Insect Comedy)
G. B. Shaw: DISK Theatre, 13 December I. Weis
Women's Suffrage Prague
A Register of Svoboda Productions 173

1947
L. Janacek: Grand Opera 5 May, 17 January v. Kaslik
Kata Kabanova Prague
C. Gounod: Tyl Theatre, 15 February L. Mniz
Faust Plzen
G. Verdi: Grand Opera 5 May, 18 February v. Kaslik
Aida Prague
M. Maeterlinck: Theatre 5 May, 18 February A. Radok
The Mayor of Prague
Stilmond
J. Zak: Satire Theatre, 24 March A.Radok
Cistka Prague
(The Purge)
A. Radok: Theatre of Young 25 March A. Radok
Podivne Prihody Pioneers, Prague
Pana Pimpipana
(The Strange Adventures
of Mr. Pimpipan)
G. Puccini: Grand Opera 5 May, 4May K. Jernek
Tasca Prague
A. Haba Grand Opera 5 May, 23May J. Fiedler
Matka Prague
(The Mother)
G. Verdi: Grand Opera 5 May, 30 June J. Fiedler
Il Trovatore Prague
v. Blazek: Satire Theatre, 11 September 0. Lipsky
Kral N erad H ovez£ Prague
(The King Hates Beef)
J. K. Tyl: Theatre 5 May 25 September S. Vyskocil
Cert na Zemi
(The Devil on Earth)
S. Prokofiev: Grand Opera 5 May, 8 October V. Ka8lik
The Engagement Prague
in the Cloister
J. Offenbach: State Theatre, 17 October B. Hrdlicka
The Tales of Ostrava
Hoffmann
174 APPENDICES
G. Verdi: Grand Opera 5 May, 22 November A. Radok

Rigoletto Prague
J. Massenet: Slovak National 24November J. Fiedler
Don Quixote Theatre, Bratislava
F. Chopin: Grand Opera 5 May, not performed v. Kaslik
Ballet Prague
1948
L. Hellman: National Theatre, 24 January A. Radok
The Little Foxes Prague
L. Janacek Grand Opera 5 May, 6 February J. Fiedler
Vylety Pana Broucka Prague
(The Travels of
Mr. Broucek)
N. Gogol: National Theatre, 18 February J. Honzl
Revizor Prague
G. Verdi: State Theatre, 29 February B. Hrdlicka
Otello Ostrava
M. deFalla: Grand Opera 5 May, 10 March v. Kaslik
El Amor Brujo Prague
R. Leoncavallo: Grand Opera 5 May, 14 March A. Radok
I Pagliacci Prague
M. Hornicek: Satire Theatre, 19 April M. Hornicek
Cirkus Nadeje Prague
(The Circus of Hopes)
V. Novak: Grand Opera 5 May, 2gMay N. Jirsikova
Nikotina Prague
G. Puccini: Slovak National 16 June J. Fiedler
La Boheme Theatre, Bratislava
V. Kaslik: Grand Opera 5 May, 17 June v. Kaslik
Zbojnicka Balada Prague
(The Rogues' Ballad)
V. Blodek Grand Opera 5 May, July J. Fiedler
V Studni Prague
(In the Well)
J. Tobias: New Theatre, 13 August F. Hanus
Zlata Svatba Prague
(The Golden Wedding)

B. Smetana: State Theatre, 2 October B. Hrdlicka

Certova Stena Ostrava
(The Devil's Wall)
L. Lahola: Theatre D 49, 6 October I. Weis
Nasi Sli Tudy Prague
(Ours Went This Way)
A. and V. Mrstik: National Theatre, 19 October J. Honzl
Mary sa Prague
R. Karel: National Theatre, 28 October J. Fiedler
Tfi Vlasy Deda Prague
Vseveda
(The Three Hairs
of Grandad Know-it-all)
L. Leonov: Tyl Theatre, 1 6November M. Nedbal
The Apple Orchard Prague
B. Vomacka: Smetana Theatre, 2 7December v. Kaslik
Vodnik Prague
(The Water Spirit)
G. Puccini: Zdenek Nejedly 18December R. Jedlicka
La Boheme Theatre,
Usti nad Labem
A. Fredro: not performed A.Radok
Revenge
1949
J. Kricka: Smetana Theatre, 15 January v. Kaslfk
Ceske Jeslicky Prague
(The Czech Manger)
J. KHma: Tyl Theatre, 18 January A.Radok
Ohniva Hranice Prague
(The Flaming Border)
N. Pogodin: State Film Theatre, 21 January B. Stejskal
The Aristocrats Prague
1. The Tyl Theatre-the oldest extant theatre in Prague-is one of the buildings of the
National Theatre.
2. In mid-1948 the Grand Opera 5 May joined the National Theatre; the theatre building of
the former changed its name to Smetana Theatre.
176 APPENDICES
A. Balic -K. Isajev: Theatre D 49, 28 January I. Weis

Vola Vas Tafmir Prague
(Taimir is Calling You)
A. Jirasek: National Theatre, 18 March J. Pehr
Lucerna Prague
(The Lantern)
B. Martimi: Smetana Theatre, 2 April N. J irsikova
Spalicek Prague
A. Khatchaturian: Smetana Theatre, 2 April R. Braun
Carnival Prague
0. Ostrcil: State Theatre, 13 April J. Fiedler
Vlasty Skon Brno
(Vlasta's Death)
V. Stech: New Satire Theatre, April M. Hornicek
Svatba Pod DeStniky Prague
(The Wedding Under
the Umbrellas)
J. Kapr: Smetana Theatre, 3May R. Braun
Revolucni Suita Prague
(Revolutionary Suite)
W. A. Mozart: State Theatre, 8May B. Hrdlicka
Don Giovanni Ostrava
D. C. Faltis: Tyl Theatre, 17May A. Radok
Chodska Nevesta Prague
(The Bride of Chod)
Z. Fibich: Smetana Theatre, 10 June H. Thein
Hedy Prague
K. Kovarovic: Smetana Theatre, 16 September J. Fiedler
Na Starem Belidle Prague
(On the Old
Bleaching Ground)
W. A. Mozart: Smetana Theatre, 12 November J. Fiedler
The Abduction From Prague
the Seraglio
A. Sofronov: National Theatre, 17 December J. Honzl
Moscow Character Prague

1950
WA. Mozart: Slovak National 19 January J. Fiedler
The Abduction From Theatre, Bratislava
the Seraglio
P. I. Tchaikovsky: National Theatre, 3 March J. Fiedler
Eugen Onegin Prague
WA. Mozart: State Theatre, 31 March B. Hrdlicka
Marriage of Figaro Ostrava
WA. Mozart: Smetana Theatre, 26 April L. Mandaus
Don Giovanni Prague
A. Dvorak: State Theatre, 26May B. Hrdlicka
Rusalka Ostrava
V V Scerbasev: Theatre Na 2 June M. Janecek

The Tobacco Captain Fidlovacce,
Prague
J. Kvapil: National Theatre, 12 June V KaSHk
Pohadka Ma;e Prague
(May's Tale)
F. F. Samberk: State Film Theatre, 17 June A. Radok
Jedenacte Prikazani Prague
(The Eleventh
Commandment)
G. Bizet: State Theatre, 1 July B. Hrdlicka
Carmen Ostrava
v KasHk: Regional Theatre, 22l'\ovember G. Mrnak
Lasky Div Liberec
(The Wonder of Love)
G. Verdi: State Theatre, 23 November B. Hrdlicka
Don Carlos Ostrava
P. I. Tchaikovsky: Smetana Theatre, 21 December H. Thein
Strev£cky Prague
(The Slippers)
Z. Fibich: State Theatre, 22 December B. Hrdlicka
Sarka Ostrava
178 APPENDICES
1951
M.P. Musorgsky: Tyl Theatre, 10 March H. Thein
Boris Godunov Plzen
P. I. Tchaikovsky: State Theatre, 16 March I. Hylas
Eugen Onegin Ostrava
S. Moniuszko: Smetana Theatre, 17 March J. Merunowicz
Halka Prague
L. von Beethoven: State Theatre z8 April B. Hrdlicka
Fidelia Ostrava
T. D. Cun: Tyl Theatre, 27May F. Salzer
South of the 38th Prague
Parallel
K. Kovarovic: National Theatre, 31 May v: Kaslik
Psohlavci Prague
J. German: Theatre of the Czech 13 July I. Weis
It Happened One Army, Prague
Autumn Night
B. Smetana: Regional Theatre, July H. Thein
Dalibor Jindfichuv Hradec
N. Rimsky-Korsakov: Zdenek Nejedly 12 September M. Pilat
Coq D'or Theatre,
Usti nad Labem
B. Smetana: State Theatre, 25 September B. Hrdlicka
Dalibor Ostrava
L. von Beethoven: Slovak National z8 September J. Fiedler
Fidelia Theatre, Bratislava
J. K. Tyl: Tyl Theatre, 10 November L. Pistorius
Strakonicky Dudak Plzen
(The Bagpiper of
Strakonice)
W. A. Mozart: Regional Theatre, 14 November v: Kaslik
The Marriage of Figaro Opava
Moliere: Tyl Theatre, 19 December M.Nedbal
Georges Dandin Prague
Plautus: National Theatre, not performed F. Salzer
The Ghost Comedy Prague

WA. Mozart: State Theatre, not performed B. Hrdlicka

The Magic Flute Ostrava
1952
C. M. von Weber: Smetana Theatre 25 January v: Kaslik
Der Freischiitz Prague
G. Verdi: State Theatre, 25 January B. Hrdlicka
The Masked Ball Ostrava
A. Jirasek: National Theatre, 12 March L. Bohac
The Lantern Prague
G. Verdi: Tyl Theatre, 15 March H. Thein
Don Carlos Plzen
W Shakespeare: Tyl Theatre, 5 April Z. Hofbauer
The Merry Wives of Plzeil
Windsor
B. Smetana: National Theatre, 8May B. Hrdlicka
Branibori v Cechach Prague
(The Brandenburgs
in Bohemia)
M. Jaris: Theatre of Czech 17May I. Weis
P'fisaha Army, Prague
(The Pledge)
J. K. Tyl: Tyl Theatre, 6 June J. Prttcha
Tvrdohlava Zena Prague
(The Stubborn Woman)
B. Smetana: National Theatre, 10 October B. Hrdlicka
Tafemstv£ Prague
(The Secret)
J. Nestroy: Karlin Theatre, 17 October A. Radok
Lumpaci Vagabundus Prague
A. Dvorak: Smetana Theatre, 24 October H. Thein
Cert a Kaca Prague
(The Devil and Kate)
S. Prokofiev: Tyl Theatre, 21 December J. Nemecek
Romeo and Juliet Plzeil
180 APPENDICES
1953
B. Smetana: National Theatre, gFebruary L. Bohac
The Bartered Bride Prague
J. K. Tyl: Tyl Theatre, 7March J. Procha
KutnohorSti Havifi Prague
(The Miners of
Kutnahora)
L. Stroupemici<y: Tyl Theatre, 29May z. Stepanek
Nasi Furianti Prague
(Our Militants)
E. Suchm\: National Theatre, sJune B. Hrdlicka
Krutnava Prague
(The Whirlpool)
L. Stroupeznicky: Regional Theatre, 13 June B. Stejskal
Our Militants Karlovy Vary
B. Smetana: Slovak Theatre, 25 July v. Kaslik
The Bartered Bride Bratislava
P. I. Tchaikovsky: Smetana Theatre, 2 September R. Jedlicka
Eugen Onegin Prague
J. K. Tyl: Tyl Theatre, 13 November A. Dvorak
]anHus Prague
B. Smetana: National Theatre, 18November L. Bohac
Libuse Prague
J. Drda: National Theatre, 17December E Salzer
Hratky s Certem Prague
(Games with the Devil)
1954
W. A. Mozart: Tyl Theatre, 15 January B. Hrdlicka
The Marriage of Figaro Prague
M. P. Musorgsky: National Theatre, 12 February N. Dombrovskij
Boris Godunov Prague
M. Gorky: National Theatre, 21May V. Dudin
Enemies Prague
G. Verdi: Smetana Theatre, z6May B. Hrdlicka
Rigoletto Prague

A. Dvorak: Smetana Theatre, 1 October A.Radok

Selma Sedlak Prague
(The Crafty Farmer)
K. Capek: Tyl Theatre, 20 October A.Radok
Loupeinik Prague
(The Robber)
W Shakespeare: National Theatre, 8December F. Salzer
The Merchant of Venice Prague
1955
F. Tetauer: Municipal Chamber 6 January B. Vrbsk)r
Zapas Draktl Theatre, Prague
(The Battle of Dragons)
A. Dvorak: l'\ a tional Theatre, 7 January B. Hrdlicka
Rusalka Prague
L. Tolstoy: Tyl Theatre, 10 February J. Prucha
The Fruits of Prague
Enlightenment
B. Smetana: National Theatre, 25 March V. KaSHk
A. Jing: Tyl Theatre, 1 April z. Stepanek
The Model King Prague
M. Stehlik: Tyl Theatre, 23 June A. Radok
Vysoke T"etni Nebe Prague
(A High Summer Sky)
J. K. Tyl: Theatre of Czech 2 July J. Strejcek
Palicova Dcera Army, Prague
(The Incendiary's
Daughter)
A. Chekhov: Tyl Theatre, 7 November z. Stepanek
The Three Sisters Prague
A. Radok: Municipal Comedy 24November A.Radok
Stalo se v Desti Theatre, Prague
(It Happened in
the Rain)
C. Gounod: National Theatre, 2 December H. Thein
Faust Prague
182 APPENDICES
H. Zinner: Tyl Theatre, 21 December A. Radok

The Devil's Circle Prague
1956
WA. Mozart: Tyl Theatre, 27 January L. Mandaus
Don Giovanni Prague
A. Jinisek: National Theatre, 24 February D. Zelensky
Otec Prague
(The Father)
G. Verdi: Slovak National 17 March M. Wasserbauer
Don Carlos Theatre, Bratislava
V. Nezval: Tyl Theatre, 23 March A. Radok
Dnes ]e'Ste Zapada Prague
Slunce nad Atlantidou
(Today the Sun Still
Sets on Atlantida)
v. Kaslik: State Opera, April v. Kaslik
Janosik Dresden, CDR
J. K. Tyl: Tyl Theatre, 8June J. Prucha
]irikovo Videni Prague
M. I. Glinka: National Theatre, zg June R. Zacharov
Ruslan and Ludmila Prague
A. and V. Mrst!k: National Theatre, z6 October z. Stepanek
Marysa Prague
P. A. Breal: Satire Theatre, 11 December M. Hornicek
Husafi Prague
(The Hussars)
1957
WA. Mozart: National Theatre, 16 January B. Hrdlicka
The Magic Flute Prague
P. I. Tchaikovsky: Smetana Theatre, 15 February H. Thein
The Queen of Spades Prague
L. Leonov: Tyl Theatre, 1 March A. Radok
The Golden Carriage Prague

J. Prochazka: Theatre of the Czech 15 March J. Strejcek

Svitani nad Vodami Army, Prague
(Dawn Above the
Waters)
J. Voskovec and ABC Theatre, Prague 13 April J. Rohac
J. Werich:
H elenka fe Rada
(Helen's Happy)
E. de Fillippo: Tyl Theatre, Plzen 1 June V Spidla
The Number One Fear
N. Grieg: Tyl Theatre, 14 June J. Pleskot
The Defeat Prague
L. Hellman: Tyl Theatre, z8 June A.Radok
The Autumn Garden Prague
J. Galsworthy: Tyl Theatre, Plzen 15 September V Spidla
The Jungle
WA. Mozart: Tyl Theatre, 4 October L. Mandaus
C osi Fan Tutte Prague
V V Visnevskij: National Theatre, 6November G. Tovstonogov
An Optimistic Tragedy Prague
J. Osborne: Tyl Theatre, zo December A. Radok
The Entertainer Prague
A. Ferrini: ABC Theatre, zoDecember M. Hornicek
The Devifs Never Prague
Asleep
1958
A. Dvorak: Teatro La Fenice, 31 January V Kaslik
Rusalka Venice
0. Ostrcil: National Theatre, 14 March H. Thein
H onsovo Kralovstv£ Prague
(Jack's Kingdom)
J. Kesselring: ABC Theatre, z8March J. Rohac
Arsenic and Old Lace Prague
E Hrubin: Tyl Theatre, 25 April 0. Krejca
Srpnova Nedele Prague
(A Sunday in August)
184 APPENDICES
E. Radok: EXP0 58 gMay E. Radok

Polyekran Brussels, Belgium
A. Radok: EXPO 58 gMay A.Radok
Laterna Magika, Brussels, Belgium
I. program
L. Janacek: National Theatre, 10May H. Thein
Z Mrtveho Domu Prague
(From the House of
the Dead)
L. Janacek: State Theatre, 28 June L. Michajlov
Jenufa Novosibirsk, USSR
B. Smetana: National Theatre, 17 July V. Kaslik
J. Voskovec and ABC Theatre, 14 November J. Nesvadba
J. Werich: Prague
Tezka Barbara
(Big Bertha)
J. K. Tyl: National Theatre, qNovember 0. Krejca
The Bagpiper Prague
From Strakonice
P. Borkovec: Smetana Theatre, 17 December H. Thein
Palecek Prague
1959
J. Pauer: National Theatre, g January v. Kaslik
Zuzana Voifrova Prague
B. Smetana: Smetana Theatre, 24 January v. Kaslik
J. Hanus: National Theatre, 6 February J. Nemecek
Othello Prague
R. \Vagner: Smetana Theatre, 20 February v: Kaslik
The Flying Dutchman Prague
J. Kainar: ABC Theatre, 20 February M. Homfcek
Nasredin Prague
(The Sage)
E Hrubfn: State Theatre, 1 March 0. Krejca and
A Sunday in August Ostrava J. Horan

G. F. Handel: National Theatre, 3 April H. Thein

Acis and Galatea Prague
J. Heyduk: Tyl Theatre, 10 April A. Radok
Navrat (Homecoming) Prague
A. Dvorak: State Theatre, 28 April 0. Linhart
Rusalka Leningrad, USSR
A. Miller: Tyl Theatre, 4May J. Pleskot
The Death of a Salesman Prague
A. Radok: l'\ational Theatre 9May A. Radok
Laterna Magika, Prague
II. Program
v. Kaslik: Tyl Theatre, 22May V. Jilek
Juan Prague
L. Janacek: National Theatre of 16 June H. Thein
Kala Kabanova Holland,
Amsterdam, Holland
R. Leoncavallo: State Theatre, 19 September H. Thein
I Pagliacci Ostrava
G. Puccini:
Gianni Schicchi
J. Topol: Tyl Theatre, 4 October 0. Krejca
Jeiich Den Prague
(Their Day)
W. Shakespeare: National Theatre, 27November J. Pleskot
Hamlet Prague
L. Janacek: Smetana Theatre, 17December v. Kaslik
Travels of Mr. Broucek Prague
F. Di.irrenma tt; not performed A. Radok
The Visit
1960
A. Dvorak: National Theatre, 29 January v. Kaslik
Rusalka Prague
A. Chekhov: Tyl Theatre, 4 March 0. Krejca
The Sea Gull Prague
E. Suchan: National Theatre, 29April H. Thein
Sviitopluk Prague
186 APPENDICES
E. Illin: Tyl Theatre, 25May M. Machacek

After the Wedding Prague
J. K. Tyl: National Theatre, 15 June 0. Krejca
Drahomira Prague
L. Janacek: National Theatre for July H. Thein
]enufa Holland Festival,
Amsterdam, Holland
G. Puccini: Smetana Theatre, 30 September K. Jernek
Tasca Prague
J. Dietl: ABC Theatre, 4 November J. Rohac
Byli Jednou Dva Prague
(Once There Were Two)
V. V. Scerbacev: Karlin Theatre, 10 November H. Thein
The Tobacco Captain Prague
V. Novak: Smetana Theatre, 21 December H. Thein
The Lantern Prague
1961
B. Smetana: National Theatre, 20 January v. Kaslik
Dalibor Prague
WA. Mozart: National Theatre, 8 February K. Jernek
The Marriage of Figaro Prague
B. Smetana: Croatian National February N. Roje
The Bartered Bride Theatre,
Zagreb, Jugoslavia
G. Goldoni: Tyl Theatre, 25 March M. Machacek
Le Barutfe Prague
Chiozzotte
S. Prokofiev: National Theatre, 14 April G. Ansimov
The Story of the Prague
Real Man
E Hrubin: Tyl Theatre, 22 April 0. Krejca
Ki'islalova N oc Prague
(Starry Night)
G. B. Shaw: Tyl Theatre, Plzei'i 23 April V. Spidla
Saint joan

J. Kalas: Smetana Theatre, z8 April H. Thein

Nepokoreni Prague
(Indomitability)
Z. Knittel: Theatre Academy, April H. Thein
The French at the Nizza Prague
L. Nono: Teatro La Fenice, May v: KasHk
Intoleranza 1g6o Venice, Italy
J. Patrick: ABC Theatre, 14 June R. Hrusins!<y
The Curious Savage Prague
E. Suchon: Stanislavski Opera 9 September L. Michajlov
The Whirlpool Theatre,
Moscow, USSR
K. Opitz: E. F. Burian Theatre, 1 December J. RoMe
My General Prague
WA. Mozart: Tyl Theatre, 14December V. Kaslik
The Magic Flute Prague
1962
P. Karvas: National Theatre, 23January M.Machacek
Antigona a ti Druzi Prague
(Antigone and the
Others)
H. Baierl: Theatre of Czech 24 February J. Dudek
Kurazna Matka Army, Prague
Flincova
(Brave Mother Flinca)
V. Sebalin (adaptor) : Smetana Theatre, 30 March G. Ansimov
The Taming of the Shrew Prague
M.Kundera: Tyl Theatre, 29 April 0. Krejca
M afitele KUcfJ Prague
(The Owners of the Keys)
G. Rossini: Tyl Theatre, Plzeii 16 June H. Thein
The Barber of Seville
J. Doubrava: Smetana Theatre, 21 June L. Stros
Balada 0 Usee Prague
(Ballad of Love)
188 APPENDICES
L. Leonov: Tyl Theatre, 30 June V. Lohnisi<y

The Apple Orchard Prague
B. Smetana: National Theatre, 8 July H. Thein
The Secret Prague
J. Fischer: State Theatre, 14 September v. Veznik
Romeo, Julie A Tma Brno
(Romeo, Juliet,
Darkness)
J. Fischer: National Theatre, 12 October H. Thein
Romeo, Juliet, Darkness Prague
W. A. Mozart: Tyl Theatre, 26 October v. Kaslik
Don Giovanni Prague
G. C. Humhalek: Theatre on the 16 November 0. Krejca
Hrdinove v Thehach Balustrade, Prague
Nebydli
(No More Heroes in
Thebes)
Z. Fibich: Oldfich Stibor 25 November H. Thein
Boure Theatre, Olomouc
(The Tempest)
I. KrejCi: Smetana Theatre, 25 December L. Mandaus
Pozdviieni v Efesu Prague
(Uproar in Ephesus)
Sophocles: Smetana Theatre, 10 January M. Machacek

Oedipus Rex Prague
W. Shakespeare: Tyl Theatre, 24 January J. Pleskot
Twelfth Night Prague
E. Schulhoff: Smetana Theatre, 2 March J. Nemecek
Somnambula Prague
S. Prokofiev:
The Prodigal Son
G. Gershwin:
Rhapsody in Blue

K. Opitz: Volksbuhne, 4 April J. Rohac

My General W. Berlin
B. Martini\.: National Theatre, 5 April V: KaSHk
]u.lietta Prague
J. Topol: Oldfich Stibor 27 April 0. Krejca and
Konec Masopustu Theatre, Olomouc J. Svoboda
(Carnival's End)
A. Miller: National Theatre, April T.Popov
The Death of a Salesman Russe, Bulgaria
F. Di.irrenmatt: Municipal Chamber 8May L. Vymetal
The Physicists Theatre, Prague
S. Prokofiev: Smetana Theatre, 31 May G.Ansimov
A Love for Three Prague
Oranges
W. Shakespeare: National Theatre, 2 June V: Spidla
A Midsummer Night's Prague
Dream
A. Dvorak: Holland Opera, July v: Kaslik
Rusalka Amsterdam, Holland
G. Rossini: Municipal Theatre, August G. Ratto
L'Italiana 'In Algeri Rio de Janeiro,
Brazil
W. Shakespeare: National Theatre, 25 October 0. Krejca
Romeo and Juliet Prague
V: Havel: Theatre on the 3 December 0. Krejca
Zahradni Slavnost Balustrade, Prague
(The Garden Party)
Skala, Fuz, Rokoko Theatre, 10 December J. Pleskot
Panrucek: Prague
Drak je Drak
(A Dragon's a Dragon)
A. Dvorak: National Theatre, 21 December H. Thein
Dimitrij Prague
A. Berg: Municipal Theatre, not performed S. Ruberti
Wozzek Rio de Janeiro,
Brazil
190 APPENDICES
J. Weinberger: Volksoper, not performed L. Mandaus

Svanda Dudak Vienna, Austria
(Svanda the Bagpiper)
1964
M. Slomozynski: Tyl Theatre, 15 January M. Machacek
Loneliness Prague
P. Hindemith: La Scala, 31 January V Kaslik
Cardillac Milan, Italy
G. Verdi: Grand Opera, 12 February L. Stros
Don Carlos \Varsaw, Poland
\\1. Shakespeare: Teatro Mella, April 0. Krejca
Romeo and Juliet Havana, Cuba
\\1. Shakespeare: Nemzeti Szinhiz, 22May E. Marton
King Lear Budapest, Hungary
v Kaslik: Het National Ballet, May V Jilek
Don]uan Amsterdam, Holland
V Bellini: Het National Ballet, May G. Balanchine
La Sonnambula Amsterdam, Holland
I. Stravinsky: State Theatre, 2 June Keres and Cora
The Firebird Wiesbaden, GFR
L. Janacek: National Theatre, 3June H. Thein
Kata Kabanovd Prague
G. Rossini: Smetana Theatre, 3 July H. Thein
The Barber of Seville Prague
B. Smetana: Kings Theatre, 17 August V Kaslik
Dalibor Edinburgh, Scotland
V Rozov: Deutsches Theatre, 27 September H. Meves
On the Way E. Berlin
E. Suchan: K ational Theatre, 13 November V KaSlik
The Whirlpool Prague
J. Topol: Tyl Theatre, 14 November 0. Krejca
Carnival's End Prague
A. Dvorak: Volksoper, December v Kaslik
Rusalka \'ienna, Austria

1965
W Shakespeare: National Theatre of 13 January 0. Krejca
Hamlet Belgium,
Brussels, Belgium
K. & J. Capek: National Theatre, 16 January M. Machacek
The Insect Comedy Prague
L. Nono: The Opera Group of February S. Caldwell
Intoleranza Boston,
Boston, USA
J. Offenbach: Opera Theatre, February G. Ansimov
Orpheus in the Moscow, USSR
Underworld
G. Verdi: National Theatre, 5 March H. Thein
Otello Prague
G. Manzoni: Piccolo Scala, 5 March V. Puecher
Atomic Death Milan, Italy
J. Hanus: National Theatre, 30 April H. Thein
Pochoden Prague
Prometheova
(Prometheus' Torch)
I. Turgenev: Tyl Theatre, 12May R. Hrusinsky
A Month in the Country Prague
Z. Mahler: Slovak National 18May 0. Krejca
Mlyn Theatre, Bratislava
(The Mill)
J. Suchy and Scmafor Theatre, 15 June J. RoMe
J. Slitr: Prague
Dobre Placena
Prochazka
(A Well Paid Stroll)
G. Bizet: Goetheplatz Theatre 4 September G. Friedrich
Carmen Bremen,GFR
L. Janacek: National Theatre, 15 October v. KasHk
Vee Makropulos Prague
(The Makropulos Affair)
A. Miller: Tyl Theatre, 12November V. Vejrazka and
After the Fall Prague K.Pech
192 APPENDICES
J. Topol: Theatre Behind the 23 November 0. Krejca

Kocka na Kolefich Gate, Prague
(Cat on the Rails)
P. I. Tchaikovsky: State Theatre, not performed v. Kaslik
The Queen of Spades Wiesbaden, GFR
Sophocles: Rome, Italy not performed
Elektra (Study)
1966
A. Chekhov: National Theatre of 19 January 0. Krejca
The Sea Gull Belgium,
Brussels, Belgium
W. A. Mozart: Goetheplatz Theatre, 22 January G. Friedrich
Don Giovanni Bremen, GFR
R. Hochhuth: Deutsches Theatre, 5 March H. Meves
The Deputy E. Berlin
J. Offenbach: State Theatre, 19 March v. KasHk
The Tales of Hoffmann Wiesbaden, GFR
F. Testi: Piccolo Scala, 21 March v. Kaslik
The Lower Depths Milan, Italy
M. Gorki: Tyl Theatre, 10 September A. Radok
The Last Ones Prague
A. Chekhov: Theatre Behind the 1 October 0. Krejca
The Three Sisters Gate, Prague
W. Shakespeare: Teatro San Babila, 6 October R. Buazzelli
Macbeth Milan, Italy
A. Ostrovsky: National Theatre, 18 October J. Dexter
The Storm London, England
T. Wilder: Tyl Theatre, 21 October J. Pleskot
The Skin of Our Teeth Prague
B. Smetana: Municipal Theatre, 22 October E. Vokalek
The Bartered Bride Dortmund, GFR
B. Smetana: State Theatre, 11 November V. KaSlik
The Bartered Bride Mannheim, GFR
J. Giraudoux: Tyl Theatre, 25 November R. Hrusinsky
The Madwoman of Prague
Chaillot

B. Martini'!: State Theatre, 18 December v. Kaslik

H ry 0 Mariich Wiesbaden, GFR
(The Mary Plays)
G. Verdi: Komische Opera, December G. Friedrich
Il Trovatore E. Berlin
C. Gounod: Teatr Wielki, L. Stros
Faust Warsaw, Poland
G. Buchner: National Theatre, not performed L. Olivier
Danton's Death London, England
1967
F Garcia-Lorca: Tyl Theatre, 1 March A. Radok

The House of Bernarda Prague
Alba
Dr. Novotny: Expo 67, 27 April J. Svoboda
Promeny Montreal, Canada
(Metamorphoses)
E. Radok: Expo67, 27 April E. Radok
Diapolyekran-The Montreal, Canada
Creation of the World
J. Svoboda: Expo67, 27 April J.Svoboda
Polyvision Montreal, Canada
J. Svoboda: Expo 67, 27 April J.Svoboda
Symfonie Montreal, Canada
R. Strauss: Royal Opera House, 14 June R. Hartmann
Die Frau Ohne London, England
Schatten
A. Chekhov: National Theatre, 4 July L. Olivier
The Three Sisters London, England
J. Nestroy: Theatre Behind the 26 November 0. Krejca
One-Ended Rope Gate, Prague
R. Wagner: State Theatre, 30 December C. Drese
Tristan und Isolde Wiesbaden, GFR
R. Graves: Lincoln Center, not performed S. Wanamaker
The Iliad NewYork, USA
194 APPENDICES
1968
W. Gombrowicz: Schiller Theatre, g January E. Schroder
The Wedding W. Berlin
C. Gounod: State Theatre, 17 February V. Kaslik
Faust Wiesbaden, GFR
F. Di.irrenmatt: National Theatre, 3 March M. Machacek
The Anabaptists Prague
Sophocles: Finnish National 6 March A. Kirimaa
Antigone Theatre,
Helsinki, Finland
J. Topol: Academic Theatre, 27 April 0. Krejca
Carnival's End Vienna, Austria
G. Meyerbeer: Teatro Communale, 7May M. Wallmann
Robert Le Viable Florence, Italy
B. Brecht: Chamber Theatre, 12 May J. Grossman
The Three Penny Opera Munich, GFR
C. M. von Weber: State Opera, 15 May R. Hartmann
Oberon Munich,GFR
J. K. Tyl: National Theatre, 16May J. Pleskot
The Bagpiper from Prague
Strakonice
K. Orff: State Opera, August A. Everding
Prometheus Munich,GFR
M. Macourek: Municipal Theatre, 5 November J. Pleskot
Hra Na Zuzanku Frankfurt/ Main,
(The Suzanna Play) GFR
A. Schnitzler: Theatre Behind the 14 December 0. Krejca
The Green Cockatoo Gate, Prague
J. Topol:
H odina Lasky
(Hour of Love)
R. Strauss: Civic Opera House, not performed V. Puecher
Salome Chicago, USA
1969
J. Offenbach: Deutsche Oper, 1 January v. Kaslik
The Tales of II ofjmann W. Berlin

WA. Mozart: Tyl Theatre, 7 February v. KasHk

Don Giovanni Prague
G. Verdi: Municipal Theatre, 8February H. Neugebauer
Macbeth Koln, GFR
L. J. Werle: State Opera, 2 March L. Runsten
The Journey Hamburg, GFR
B. A. Zimmerman: State Opera, 23 March v. KasHk
The Soldiers Munich, GFR
G. Verdi: State Opera, 4May J. Dexter
Sicilian Vespers Hamburg, GFR
S. Prokofiev: Municipal Theatre, 1oMay v. KasHk
The Fiery Angel Frankfurt/Main,
GFR
W Shakespeare: Municipal Theatre, 1oMay 0. Krejca
Romeo and Juliet Koln, GFR
L. Janacek: National Theatre, 30May H. Thein
Jenufa Prague
W Shakespeare: Tyl Theatre, 4June J. Pleskot
Macbeth Prague
R. Wagner: Festival Theatre, 25 July A. Everding
The Flying Dutchman Bayreuth, GFR
A. Chekhov: Municipal Theatre, September 0. Krejca
The Sea Gull Stockholm
A. de Musset: Theatre Behind the 7 October 0. Krejca
Lorenzaccio Gate, Prague
E Garcia-Lorca: Theatre Royal 12 November A.Radok
The House of Bernarda du Pare, Brussels
Alba
C. Debussy: Royal Opera House, 1 December v. KasHk
Pelleas and Melisande London
R. Wagner: State Opera, 7December H. Mayen
Tannhiiuser Hamburg, GFR
W Shakespeare: Schiller Theatre, not performed E Kortner

Antony and Cleopatra W Berlin
196 APPENDICES
1970
J. Zeyer and J. Suk: National Theatre, g January K. Zachar
Raduz and M ahulena Prague
S. Szokolay: Municipal Theatre, 28 January H. Neugebauer
Hamlet Koln, GFR
L. J. Werle: Royal Opera, January L. Runsten
The Journey Stockholm
H. Boll: Municipal Theatre, January A. Radok
The Clown Dusseldorf, GFR
A.Chekhov: Theatre Behind the 13February 0. Krejca
Ivanov Gate, Prague
C. Fry: Tyl Theatre, 14 February M. Machacek
The Lady's Not for Prague
Burning
W. Gombrowicz: Schiller Theatre, 26February E. Schroder
Yvone W. Berlin
A. Dvorak: Theatre am 26 February V. Kaslfk
Rusalka Gartnerplatz,
Munich, GFR
G. Verdi: Municipal Theatre, 20 March W.Blum
Aida Koln, GFR
R. Karel: National Theatre, 29 April v. KasHk
Smrt Kmotficka Prague
(Death, The Godmother)
A. Chekhov: National Theatre, April 0. Krejca
The Three Sisters Brussels
J. Offenbach: Municipal Theatre, 25May v. Kaslik
The Tales of Hoffman Frankfurt/Main,
GFR
R. Strauss: Deutsche Oper, ?June G. R. Selner
Ariadne auf N axos W. Berlin
W. Shakespeare: Tyl Theatre, 19June J. Pleskot
As You Like It Prague
W. A. Mozart: State Opera, 14 July G. Rennert
The Magic Flute Munich, GFR
E Dostoyevsky: National Theatre, 15 July A. Quayle
The Idiot London
A Register of Svoboda Productions 1 97

S. Beckett: State Theatre, 21 August 0. Krejca

Waiting for Godot Salzburg
J. Nestroy: Municipal Theatre, 6 September 0. Krejca
One-Ended Rope Dusseldorf, GFR
B. Brecht: Tyl Theatre, 16 October J. Kacer
Mother Courage Prague
G. Verdi: Municipal Theatre, 18 December v Kaslfk
Don Carlos Frankfurt/Main,
GFR
S. Prokofiev: La Scala, not performed V Puecher
The Fiery Angel Milan
1971
W. Shakespeare: Tyl Theatre, 29 January M. Machacek
Henry V Prague
Sophocles: Theatre Behind the 3 February 0. Krejca
Oediptls, Oedipus at Gate, Prague
Colonus, Antigone
W. A. Mozart: State Opera, 15 March V Kaslfk
Idomeneo Vienna
R. Wagner: National Theatre, not performed H. Thein
Die Meistersinger Prague
G. Buchner: Teatro Stabile, March V Puecher and
Wozzek Torino K. Jernek
A. Berg: La Scala, 27 March V Puecher
Wozzek Milan
J. Svoboda: Ni.irnberg Castle, 2 April L. Rychman
Noricama Niirnbcrg
P. Dessau: State Opera, 23 April v Kaslik
Lance lot Munich,GFR
R. Wagner: Municipal Theatre, not performed A. Everding
Die Meistersinger Nurnberg, GFR
S. Prokofiev: National Theatre, 19 June P. Weigl
Romeo and Juliet Prague
198 APPENDICES
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
Bablet, Denis. Josef Svoboda. Prague: Theatre Institute, 1966.
- - - · "Josef Svoboda au TEP." Les Lettres Franqaises ( 18--25 April 1968),
1230:2Q-21.
- - - · "Josef Svoboda: Scenographe d'Aujourd'huC Mensuel du Theatre de
L'Est Parisien Maison de la Culture (April1968), 45:1-3.
- - - · L a Scena e l'immagine, transl. Clara Lusignoli. Turin: Einaudi, 1970.
- - - · "ThMltres et Techniques: Technique, espace et lumiere, les trois atouts de
Josef Svoboda:' Theatre ( 15 January 1964), pp. 8--10.
- - - · "Une Exposition Josef Svoboda:· Lettres Franqaises (5 May 1966), p. 22.
Bartusek, Antonin. "Nove obsory scenografie" [Scenography's new horizons]. Acta
Scaenographica (November-December 1961), pp. 67---Ug.
- - - · "Od experimentu k synteze" [From experiment to synthesis]. Vytvarni
Umeni (September 1964), 14.6--7:251-266.
Bretysova, Tana. "Tajemstvi prostoru, svetla, a pohybu, aneb Ceska scenografie jako
pojem" [The secret of space, light, and movement, or the concept of Czech
scenography]. Reporter (24 April1967), pp. 31-34.
Bryden, Ronald. "Svoboda:' Observer (2 July 1967), pp. 4-6.
Burian, Jarka M. "Joseph Svoboda: Theatre Artist in an Age of Science:' Educational
Theatre Journal (May 1970 ), pp. 123-145.
Casson, Hugh. "Conversation with Svoboda:' Journal of the Royal Institute of British
Architects (March 1967), 74·5:202-203.
"Das traumtheater des Josef Svoboda:' Theater Heute (January 1g6g), 10.1:27-34·
DeWetter, Jaroslav. "Pfed Objektivem" [In front of the lens]. Divadlo (1962),
3=24-29.
Groszer, Helmuth. "Arbeiten mit Josef Svoboda:' Biihnentechnische Rundschau
(April1968), 2:18--23.
Hrbas, Jifi, ed. Laterna Magika. Prague: Filmovy Ustav, 1g68.
Jindra, Vladimir. "Atakovana scena" [The scene attacked]. Divadlo (October 1966)'
PP·43-48.
---·"Dialog II:' Divadelni Noviny ( 18 June 1969), 12.20:5.
---·"Dialog III:' Divadelni Noviny (2 July 1g6g), 12.21-22:12.
- - - · "Dilef bilance"[A survey of works]. Divadelni Noviny (29 January 1g69),
12.10:6.
- - - · "Inscenacni prostor'' [Production space]. Divadlo (April1969), pp. 51-56.
- - - · ed. Le Theatre en Tchecoslovaquie: Scenographie. Prague: lnstitut du
Theatre, 1g62.
_ _ _ . ed. Milan Kundera: Majitele Klfcu. Prague: Divadelni Ustav, 1963.
---·Who Is josef Svoboda? Prague: Orbis, 1968.
"A Josef Svoboda Portfolio:' Theatre Design and Technology (December 1966),
7=23-25.
Koufil, Miroslav. "Das Lichttheater und die Laterna Magica:' Biihnentechnische
Rundschau (December 1965 ), 6:9--15.
- - - · "Uprosrred hledanf nove scenografie" [In the middle of a search for new
scenography]. Introduction to josef Svoboda [a catalogue of Svoboda exhibi-
tion in Prague]. Prague: Narodnf Divadlo, 1961, pages unnumbered.
Krejca, Otomar. Untitled speech delivered at Prague Quadriennale Symposium, Oc-
tober 1967, printed in Zpravy Divadelniho Ustavu ( 1967), 8:14-27.
"Laterna Magika:' Czechoslovak Life (March 1959), pp. 13-17.
Nemcova, Jeanne. "Josef Svoboda Lights the Stage:' Czechoslovak Life (July 1g62),
PP· 21-24.
Robertshaw, Ursula. "Czech Designer Transforms Covent Garden:' Illustrated Lon-
don News (June lJ, 1967), p. 34·
"Rozmlouvame s arch. Josefem Svobodou" [A conversation with architect Josef
Svoboda]. Acta Scaenographica (March 1964), 4.8:152-158.
Secci, Lia. "Incontro con Joseph Svoboda:' Sipario (April1g65), 228:6-8.
Solnceva, L. P. "Der Regisseur und der Bi.ihnenbildner:' Interscena (Winter 1967),
5:28-53·
Strzelecki, Zenobiusz. "Josef Svoboda's Theatre:' Projekt, 5 67/1968, p. 28.
Svoboda, Josef. "Designing for the Stage:' Opera (August 1967), 18.8:631-636.
- - - · "Moznosti a porreby" [Possibilities and needs]. Divadlo (September 1g67),
pp. 7-11.
- - - · "0 svetelnem divadle" [On the tlleatre of light]. Informaeni Zpravy Sce-
nograficke Laboratore (September 1958), pp. 4-6.
- - - · "Pfestarly problem" [An ancient problem]. Divadlo (February 1968), pp.
44-46.
- - - · "Rozhovory se scenografy" [Conversations with scenographers]. Acta
Scaenographica (January 1969), 9.6:104-106.
- - - · "Scena pfftomnosti a budoucnosti" [The setting today and tomorrow].
Ochotnicke Divadlo (1959), 5.5:108-1o9.
_ _ _ , "Scena v diskusi" [Discussion about scenery]. Divadlo (May 1966), pp. 2-3.
- - - · "Svobodovsky monolog'' [A Svoboda monologue]. Divadlo (1g64), 1 :72-]6.
_ _ _ , "Szenographie als Teil der Auffi.ihrung:' Biihnentechnische Rundschau
(December 1968), 6:11-13.
---·Untitled speeches delivered at Prague Quadriennale Symposium, October
1967, printed in Zprtivy Divadelniho Ustavu ( 1967), 8:27-34, 45-48.
Waterhouse, Robert. "The Designer Talks:' Plays and Players (August 1970), pp.
24,58.

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Wesleyan University

The Scenography of Josef Svoboda

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WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY PRESS

First paperback edition, 1974

The Scenography of Josef Svoboda, by Jarka Burian,

PART I. LIFE AND PRINCIPLES

PART II. REPRESENTATIVE PRODUCTIONS ILLUSTRATED

The Entertainer (Osborne)

The Anabaptists ( Durrenmatt)

APPENDIX A. Selected Group of Svoboda's Production Drawings 147

APPENDIX B. Svoboda's Most Recent Productions 155

APPENDIX c. Register of Svoboda's Productions 172

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 199

Josef Svoboda in front of a photograph of his production of

Svoboda and director Otomar Krejca. 35

100. The Last Ones. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 100

101. The Last Ones. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 101

102. The Last Ones. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 101

103. The Last Ones. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 102

104. I ntoleranza (Boston), groundplan.

xii LIST OF ILLUSTHATIONS

116. Romeo and Juliet. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 110

117. Romeo and Juliet. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 110

118. Romeo and Juliet. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 110

ng. Romeo and Juliet. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 111

120. Romeo and Juliet. Photograph by J aromfr Svoboda. 111

122. Owners of the Keys, groundplan.

124. Owners of the Keys. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 114

125. Owners of the Keys. 115

126. The Insect Comedy. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 116

129. A model of The Fiery Angel. 120

130. A model of The Fiery Angel. 120

131. A model of The Fiery Angel. 120

132. A model of The Fiery Angel. 120

133. The Entertainer, Svoboda's rendering. 122

134. The Entertainer. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 122

135. The Entertainer. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 122

136. The Entertainer. Photograph by Jaromfr Svoboda. 122

137. The Entertainer. Photograph by Jaromlr Svoboda. 122

138. The Entertainer. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 122

139. Hamlet (Prague), groundplan. 123

140. Hamlet (Prague). Photograph by J aromir Svoboda. 125

141. Hamlet (Prague), Svoboda's model. 125

142. Svoboda's model for the Brussels Hamlet. 125

143. Hamlet (Brussels). Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 125

144- Ham let (Brussels), Svoboda's model. 125-127

145. The Anabaptists. Photograph by Jaromir Svoboda. 128

146. The Anabaptists. Photograph by Jaromlr Svoboda. 128

List of Illustrations xiii

XiV LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

0 A note on documentation and translation: quotations from the tape-recorded interviews

As he passed his fiftieth birthday, in 1970, Josef Svoboda was in mid-career

Svoboda's name is chiefly associated with a full-scale artistic exploita-

Svoboda at his drawing board, as reflected in a prototype version of a pneumatic

1. An untitled, anonymous newspaper clipping (December 1941).

2. An untitled, anonymous newspaper clipping dated 18 February 1942.

4 LIFE AND PRINCIPLES

The period of 1945-50 involved Svoboda in several decisive events. It