the play for this program, peer gynt, by henrik ibsen. now your host, mr. jose ferrer. i have been active in the theater for over 40 years, and it has never ceased to fascinate, challenge and excite me. how to describe the feeling that inevitably comes over you when the house lights dim, the curtains open or when the musicians tune their instruments, then silence? and then the overture begins. whether actor or director or playwright or audience member, all of us share in that special moment, that special magic, the here and now event which can only take place within the specialized conditions of theater.

you hear a lot about what theater really is. in fact, the comparison most often heard has to do with a mirror. the comparison, of course, is borrowed from shakespeare, when hamlet says, "to hold as 'twere a mirror up to nature." for many, theater is a reflection of life, an imitation. now, certainly, there can be a mirroring effect in the theater. as with any artist, if the dramatist or playwright holds up a mirror to nature, it is the mirror of that individual's own mind. what is reflected is a specialized point of view quite as unique as that same artist's fingerprint. the art of theater, however, encompasses much more than can be reflected in the mirror. think of it for a moment not as a mirror but rather as a prism. a prism reflects light, breaking it down into component parts, casting first this image, merging with another image, this shadow, that shadow,

this color, that color. and curiously, each component is recognizable. even so, the theater, as in a prism, breaks apart the phenomenal and perceptual work into its component parts and holds these parts up for identification, inspection, analysis. each image acts as a catalyst for myriad thoughts and ideas. but art is more than imitation. art is ultimately illusion. theater art is like all other arts in at least one very important aspect. any art, by its nature, must embody dynamic qualities. it must change, develop, grow. theater art is unique in the nature of its theater condition, the existence of live performers in a space shared with an audience, each capable of perceiving and responding to the other. while we feel that going to the theater is important and should be encouraged, we recognize that some circumstances

may make it difficult to attend live theater. television, although a different medium from the theater, gives us the opportunity to present concentrated performance which can exercise your dramatic imagination and increase your enjoyment of theater art. [music] theater art intensifies daily experience. it begins with a bare stage in the here and now moment of today. the playwright, director and performers focus our attention, thoughts and feelings to a given space, time and situation. one writer describes a theater experience as a play's life spark, which leaps from the stage and, from the playwright's soul, across to the audience

in a moment of vital contact. but we must not forget that theater is the home of illusion, that a play is art, that each exists in the realm of the carefully constructed make-believe. when we enter into this realm, we are asked to share actively in this experience, to suspend disbelief willingly, to become enthusiastic participants in the pretense. there is an art to viewing a play and performance. viewing a play for maximum enjoyment is a multi-level process. viewing in terms of meaning, language, character, message is called content viewing. to observe the play for plotting and for what is technically happening in a play's performance is considered craft viewing.

finally, critical viewing is perceiving with appreciation the playwright's purpose and the degree of realized potential, as well as the play's significance to us. what makes drama drama is precisely the element which lies outside and beyond the words, and which has to be seen as action or acted to give the author's concept its full value. and trying to get the fullest enjoyment and enrichment from drama, the audience must try to understand how the play can contribute to the sum total of human expression and thought. one play which stands in a pivotal position in the course of drama is ibsen's peer gynt.

ibsen wrote peer gynt in the late 1860s as an epic poem not intended for the stage. some years later, he decided to have it staged and commissioned edvard grieg to write the music for it. [music] ibsen developed the poetic epic play on an actual character in norwegian folklore who had lived about 100 years earlier. the setting is strongly norwegian: brooding skies, mountain and valley, fjord and forest.

in peer gynt, ibsen weaves folktale and fantasy, developing a new picture of emerging man and the problem of heroism in the modern age. peer, like other great literary epic heroes such as beowulf, siegfried, roland and faust, reflects a universal human condition: the search for identity and the mortal consequences of his actions. but peer is a more complex and introspective hero. while on the one hand he is an imaginative storyteller, he is also a liar. though he recognizes the good and the ideal, he consistently opts for evil and compromise. when there is a shipwreck, peer determines

that the cook's life is expendable and saves himself. the character of peer gynt marks a critical change in the concept of an epic hero and signifies the advent of an anti-hero concept. peer gynt covers a 50-year time span in one man's life. the play is developed into five acts. acts 1 through 3 cover peer's youth in norway. his maturity and adult years abroad is the subject of act 4. and finally, peer's old age and return home is the subject of act 5, the portion for our viewing. we will also see excerpts from scenes in acts 1, 2 and 3 as reminders of important figures in peer's youth.

there's his mother, ase, who, like peer, prefers to view life romantically rather than realistically. there is solveig, whom peer loves and asks to wait for him. he leaves her behind to pursue his search for self and truth. with his personal slogan, go round, ringing in his ears, peer's search takes many years. he returns to his starting point and finds that he now must justify his search and his philosophy. [music] may i dance with your daughter? you may, but first we must go inside

and greet the people of the house. godspeed your work. don't turn me away. you're sent for me and so you must take me. wait for me. wait for me. yes, i'll wait. how can i be happy with such a pig of a son? what is the family left now from the days when your grandfather was a wealthy man? where are the sacks of silver left by old rasmus gynt? your father gave them feet, wasted them like sand. bought land in every parish, traveled in gilded carriages. where's what he wasted at the great winter feast when every guest threw glass and bottle over his shoulder to splinter against the wall?

ooh, if only i knew i had not been too strict with that lad. [music] where are you going? seawards. so far. and far beyond. ah, there's hallingskarv in his winter fur, an old man pluming himself in the evening sun. jokel, his brother, stands behind him, hooded still in his ice-green cloak. flogefann lying so innocent, like a virgin in her white linen. there's no use you trying to turn your heads. you won't touch her, you old man of stone. another hand to the wheel. hoist the lantern.

oh, she's blowing up hard. hmm. we'll have a storm tonight. can you see the ronde from the sea? no, of course not. hidden behind the snow field. and harteig? over there. ah, yes, of course. you seem to know these parts. you know, when i sail from norway, i pass this way. the dregs of memory stay in the glass. will we be in by daybreak? oh, just about, if the night's not too bad. oh, it's thickening in the west. hmm, it is. remind me when i settle with you. i'd like to give something to the crew. oh, that's very generous of you. they're mostly poor men. they all have wives and youngsters at home. what? wives and children? are they married? married? yes, every man. married? someone waiting to give them a good welcome. as good as poor people can give.

tell me, when they come home, what'll happen? well, their wives will give them a little extra something for once. candles on the table? maybe two, and a dram. or sit snuggly around the hearth, their children gathered around them. they'll bless you for your promise. well, i'm damned if i will. do you think i'm mad? why should i pay for other men's children? there's no one waiting for old peer gynt. uh-huh. well, you'll do as you please. it's your money. yes, yes. it's mine. you give me my bill as cabin passenger from panama and a--of rum for the crew and that's all. excuse me. i have other business to see to. the storm's coming on. no one ever thinks of old peer gynt. candles on the table. yeah, i'll put out those candles. i'll make them all drunk. one of those fools shall go ashore sober, they'll come home drunk to their wives and children, they'll swear at them, knock them about all their love destroyed. wreck to windward. helm hard to starboard. anyone on the wreck? i can see three.

quick, lower a boat. she'd fill before we cast off. well, you're not afraid of getting wet are you? that's impossible in a sea like this. they're screaming again. oh, look, there's a lull. you cook, will you try? i'll give you money? not if you gave me 20 pounds. you dogs. you cowards. don't you realize those men have wives and children at home that are sitting, waiting for them? well, there's virtue at patience. aye, bring her about. the wreck's turned over. ah, how silent it is suddenly. well, if they were married, this world's richer by three new widows. they have no respect for the powers above but i'm guiltless. oh, you bloody storyteller. how you can lie. well, on the day of judgment i can swear i stood ready and willing with money in my hand. but what good will that do if vengeance should strike down the boats and all the-- sucked down to my death with the rest of them?

if only i were younger. well, there's still time. they shall learn in the parish that old peer gynt has come riding back over the sea. good evening. who are you? your fellow passenger. and i thought i was the only one. a mistaken impression now corrected. it's strange i should see you for the first time tonight. i never appear in the daytime. yeah? hey, what a storm. yes. beautiful. beautiful? the waves are running as high as houses. it makes my mouth water. think of the wrecks there'll be tonight. think of the corpses drifting ashore. oh god, preserve us. have you ever seen a man strangled or drowned or hanged? what? they laugh.

their laughter is forced. most of them bite out their tongues. - get away from me. - just one question. suppose we, for example, should strike on a rock and sink in the darkness... do you think there's a danger? i don't really know what i ought to say, but suppose now, i should float and you should sink. oh, rubbish. it's just a hypothesis, but when a man stands with one foot in the grave, he sometimes tends to be generous. oh, money. no, no. but if you would be so kind just to bequeath me your valuable body. what? just your corpse, you understand, to help my researches. get away from me. whatever. my dear fellow, consider it to your advantage. i'll open you up and let in the light. i want to discover the source of your dreams. i want to find out how you're put together. no way. but my dear fellow, a drowned body...

you blasphemous man, you're provoking the storm. look at the sea. we may be drowned at any moment. i see you're in no mood for discussion, but time, they say, changes everything. we'll meet when you're sinking, if not before. perhaps then you'll be more in the humor. what horrible fellows these scientists are, you damn free thinker. a word with you, my good man. that other passenger, what kind of a mad man is he? i know of no other passenger. no other passenger? then who went into the cabin just now? the ship's dog. land close ahead. --my trunk, my strong box. get my things on deck. --with more important things to do. aye, captain. what i was saying just now... the jib's blown away. the foresail's gone. rocks under the bow. she'll go to pieces. help. help. a boat. help. i'm drowning.

oh, lord, save me. that's what it says in the bible. lord god, have mercy. let me reach the land. - let go. - let go. - i'll hit you. - i'll hit you. let go. this boat won't take two. i'll kick you down. no. get off. you get off. - oh. - oh. look, off with that hand. spare me sir. think of my children at home. oh, i need my life more than you. i'm still childless. but you've lived. i'm young. oh, go on. get on with it. you're dragging me down. oh, have pity, for god's sake. no one will mourn for you. i'm going to drown. oh, i'll hold you by your hair. quick cook, say your prayers. i can't remember. everything is going dark. oh, come on, cook. - give us this day... - oh, no. not that. give us this day... yeah. same old song. it's clear what you were. give us this day... amen.

well, you were yourself till the very end. oh, well, while there's life, there's hope. good morning. oh. i heard shouting. how nice to find you. well, did i prophesize correctly? let go. let go. this boat is only big enough for one. i'm swimming with my left leg. i'll stay afloat if i can just hold on with my fingers. now, about that corpse of yours-- - oh, shut up. - it's all you've got left. be quiet. just as you wish. what are you doing? i'm being quiet. i am fuming mad. who are you? a friend. yes. what else? tell me. what do you think? the devil? oh, is it his way to light the lantern

on life's long pilgrimage of fear? so you're a messenger of light? my friend, have you even once a year known the true anguish of the soul? well, of course, one's afraid when danger threatens. yes, but have once in life won the victory which only defeat can bring? look, if you've come to open a door, it was stupid not to have come before. what's the point of coming now when the sea is about to swallow me up? would you have found this victory in the warmth and comfort of your hearth's site? no, i suppose not, but i thought you're only joking. where i come from, laughter is rated as highly as fears. the tragic mask is not for everyday wear. yeah, you frighten me. get away. i must get to the shore. i will not die. oh, don't worry. you will die in the middle of the last act.

now, my dear friends, let me remind you about this dead man's pilgrimage on earth. he came, as you all know, from gudbrandsdalen, and moved here when he was no more than a boy. and you remember, till the day he died, he always kept his right hand in his pocket. yet you all know, although he sought to hide it, that hand we never saw bore but three fingers. i will recall one morning years ago, it was in time of war, recruiting officers had come to lunde. an old gray-headed captain sat with the sergeants, and the burgomaster behind the table.

lad after lad was measured, given his shilling and sworn in as a soldier. the room was full. and in the yard outside, the winter air was filled with young men's laughter. then, a name was called and a new lad stepped in. he vaulted towards the table. his right hand swathed in a blood-stained cloth. he told of an accident, a sickle that slipped and cut off one of his fingers close to the stump. the silence filled the room. he felt the scorn. then the captain, an old gray man, slowly rose.

he spat, pointed towards the door and said, "go." and as he walked, men shrank on either side. some six months later, he came to live among us, with his mother, his betrothed and a newborn child. he leased a patch of land up on the hills. he married, built his house, broke the hard ground. his vision was narrow.

beyond the tiny circle of those who stood close to him, he saw nothing. those words that should have resounded in his heart, for him rang meanings like tinkling cymbals. and from the day when the captain spat and rose and pointed, he carried his judgment on his brow and his three fingers hidden in his pocket. this was no patriot. for church and state, he was a barren tree,

but on his mountain side, in a narrow circle of home where his work lay, there he was great, because he was himself. the mettle of which god made him rang most true until the end. and firmly, i believe, this man is not a cripple in the eyes of god. now that's what i call christianity. there's nothing there that could distress anybody. if i were not standing here with my staff, i could well believe it was i who lay here sleeping and hearing, as it were in a vision,

of myself so praised. how good it is to be assured by the voice of authority: as a man sows, so shall he reap. and one must be oneself and look after oneself and one's own at all things whether great or small. and if your luck runs out, then at least you've the honor of having lived your life in accordance with the best principles. forward or back. and it's equally far. outside or in, i'm still confined. "go around," said the boyg. i must do that here. oh, the scripture says "of dust thou art made," and the first thing in life is to fill one's belly. what's this? onions, that won't get me far.

i have to be cunning and lay some snares. there's a river here, so i won't go thirsty. when i die, as die i must, i'll crawl under a tree blown down by the wind and cover myself with leaves like a bear and carve on the bark in big bold letters: here lies peer gynt, a decent chap, emperor of all the beasts of the forests. emperor, you old fraud, you're no emperor. you're just an onion. well, now, little peer, i'm going to peel you.

and you won't escape by weeping or praying. the outermost layer is withered and torn. now, that's a shipwrecked man on the upturned keel. here, mean and thin is the passenger. you still taste a little of old peer gynt. inside back is the digger of gold. its juice is gone if ever it had any. his next layer is shaped like a crown. no, thank you. throw that away, no questions asked. this layer now that curl so gently is the sybarite, living for pleasure and ease. this next one looks sick and streaked with black.

it could mean a priest. what a terrible lot of layers there are. oh, i must surely soon come to the heart. there isn't one. just a series of shells all the way through, getting smaller and smaller. nature is witty. life is a fox. when you think you've got her, she slips through your grasps and becomes something else or nothing at all. that hut on a-- surely i've seen it somewhere before, the antlers growing above the door. nails and planks to lock out nagging hobgoblin thoughts.

♪ the house is ready for pentecost ♪ ♪ my love is far away ♪ come back, come back come back to me ♪ ♪ if your burden is heavy oh, take your time ♪ ♪ i will wait i will wait for you ♪ one who remembered and one who forgot. one who has kept to what the other has lost. the game that could never be played again. oh, here was my empire and my crown. wait for me. wait for me.