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Authors: Lorraine Hansberry
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considered
Les Blancs
to be potentially her most important play and hoped originally that it might precede
The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window
to the stage. Yet though a number of drafts were written, the strict demands of craftsmanship sufficient to the theme were, in her eyes, not satisfied.
In 1963, what was to remain essentially Act One, Scene Three, was staged for the Actors Studio Writers’ Workshop by Arthur Penn, with Roscoe Lee Browne as Tshembe, Arthur Hill as Charlie, Rosemary Murphy as Marta and Pearl Primus as the Woman Dancer. The stunned response of the audience of actors and writers—I am told it was one of the most extraordinary sessions ever held at the Studio—confirmed her sense of the power of what was already on paper, but also confirmed some of her doubts. A good deal remained to be done.
At the same time, Africa itself was changing from what had been yesterday’s dreams into today’s reality. Clearly this did not affect the perspective, but it did change the shadings, bringing to the fore,for example, conflicts of method between the capitals of Europe and the white settlers of Africa, and putting into bolder relief internal antagonisms among the blacks as the struggle for formal independence, once achieved, became transformed into a more fundamental struggle for control of one’s own economy, resources, destiny. The character Abioseh loomed larger in the scales as the death of Lumumba in the Congo, and the rise of men like Moise Tshombe, Kasavubu and Mobuto, made inescapable what had always been implicit: the tenacity of Western capital interests and the fact that blacks could be as opportunistic and dangerous in serving them as whites.
All through her last year and a half, then, as
Sidney Brustein
proceeded toward production, Lorraine kept at
Les Blancs
—at the typewriter when she could, in notes and discussion when she couldn’t. She carried the manuscript with her into and out of hospitals—polishing, pondering, rethinking a scene here, refining a relationship there, but above all, seeking a multileveled structure, taut yet flexible enough to contain and focus the complexity of personalities, social forces and ideas in this world she had created. In her last working months she cracked the problem to her own satisfaction and outlined in our discussions (during these sessions, I acted as soundingboard-advocate-critic) the major structural and character developments she envisioned. After her death, as literary executor, I continued the work: synthesizing the scenes already completed throughout the play with those in progress, drawing upon relevant fragments from earlier drafts and creating, as needed, dialogue of my own to bridge gaps, deepen relationships or tighten the drama along the lines we had explored together.
In 1966, a preliminary draft was completed. Then, as the play moved toward production, I was fortunate in having the assistance of a number of friends and associates whose critical and creative contributions proved invaluable: Ossie Davis, actor, playwright, activist, who worked with me in preparation for a first—and as it turned out, abortive—production; Charlotte Zaltzberg, who came as a secretary but, in short order, became an incisive collaborator in the preparation of all of Lorraine’s work for production and publication; Konrad Matthaei, the producer who, with his wife Gay, brought the play to the stage out of a deep and unstinting belief inwhat it had to say; Joseph Stein, author of
Fiddler on the Roof
, whose vast skill helped to solve crucial problems in the final weeks of production; Sidney Walters, the director who cast the play, gave it its overall look and interpretation and was responsible for some of its most memorable moments; and John Berry, the director who brought tremendous vitality and artistry to the process of compression and heightening out of which the play emerged in its final form on stage.
Somewhere in these pages each of these
Les Blancs
to be potentially her most important play and hoped originally that it might precede
The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window
to the stage. Yet though a number of drafts were written, the strict demands of craftsmanship sufficient to the theme were, in her eyes, not satisfied.
In 1963, what was to remain essentially Act One, Scene Three, was staged for the Actors Studio Writers’ Workshop by Arthur Penn, with Roscoe Lee Browne as Tshembe, Arthur Hill as Charlie, Rosemary Murphy as Marta and Pearl Primus as the Woman Dancer. The stunned response of the audience of actors and writers—I am told it was one of the most extraordinary sessions ever held at the Studio—confirmed her sense of the power of what was already on paper, but also confirmed some of her doubts. A good deal remained to be done.
At the same time, Africa itself was changing from what had been yesterday’s dreams into today’s reality. Clearly this did not affect the perspective, but it did change the shadings, bringing to the fore,for example, conflicts of method between the capitals of Europe and the white settlers of Africa, and putting into bolder relief internal antagonisms among the blacks as the struggle for formal independence, once achieved, became transformed into a more fundamental struggle for control of one’s own economy, resources, destiny. The character Abioseh loomed larger in the scales as the death of Lumumba in the Congo, and the rise of men like Moise Tshombe, Kasavubu and Mobuto, made inescapable what had always been implicit: the tenacity of Western capital interests and the fact that blacks could be as opportunistic and dangerous in serving them as whites.
All through her last year and a half, then, as
Sidney Brustein
proceeded toward production, Lorraine kept at
Les Blancs
—at the typewriter when she could, in notes and discussion when she couldn’t. She carried the manuscript with her into and out of hospitals—polishing, pondering, rethinking a scene here, refining a relationship there, but above all, seeking a multileveled structure, taut yet flexible enough to contain and focus the complexity of personalities, social forces and ideas in this world she had created. In her last working months she cracked the problem to her own satisfaction and outlined in our discussions (during these sessions, I acted as soundingboard-advocate-critic) the major structural and character developments she envisioned. After her death, as literary executor, I continued the work: synthesizing the scenes already completed throughout the play with those in progress, drawing upon relevant fragments from earlier drafts and creating, as needed, dialogue of my own to bridge gaps, deepen relationships or tighten the drama along the lines we had explored together.
In 1966, a preliminary draft was completed. Then, as the play moved toward production, I was fortunate in having the assistance of a number of friends and associates whose critical and creative contributions proved invaluable: Ossie Davis, actor, playwright, activist, who worked with me in preparation for a first—and as it turned out, abortive—production; Charlotte Zaltzberg, who came as a secretary but, in short order, became an incisive collaborator in the preparation of all of Lorraine’s work for production and publication; Konrad Matthaei, the producer who, with his wife Gay, brought the play to the stage out of a deep and unstinting belief inwhat it had to say; Joseph Stein, author of
Fiddler on the Roof
, whose vast skill helped to solve crucial problems in the final weeks of production; Sidney Walters, the director who cast the play, gave it its overall look and interpretation and was responsible for some of its most memorable moments; and John Berry, the director who brought tremendous vitality and artistry to the process of compression and heightening out of which the play emerged in its final form on stage.
Somewhere in these pages each of these
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