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The apprenticeship years - Athol Fugard Issue
Twentieth Century Literature, Winter, 1993 by Sheila Fugard
The turnout was good, Men who were already members of the Centre, or of Union Artists--a cultural association that was assisting black musicians--were drawn to the idea of acting in a play. Most were young, in their twenties or thirties. Some were teachers, or social workers like Connie Mabaso, while others were laborers, or men who had drifted to the city in search of work. Not one woman was present. The men wore clean white shirts, trendy jackets, colorful ties, and well-pressed pants. Their voices were jarring to someone like myself, a trained drama student whose role models were Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh. The men I now faced had coarse, heavily accented speech, full of clicks and phrases in tribal languages, so that often it was difficult for me even to understand their words. Athol saw and heard something else, something he could forge into that mysterious alchemy called theatre. The actors read for the roles, and we listened. I was feeling more and more depressed at the task of getting these men to move and talk on a stage. They were far removed from the somber chorus members of The Cell, with their Africanized masks. I was now looking at the real thing, and finding it all impossible. Athol sensed my reservations, and stopped the audition for a tea break. When we huddled together, I voiced my uncertainties.
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Finally, Athol suggested that he should direct No-Good Friday, and I agreed. I already felt vulnerable as a woman in the black society where I now so often found myself. On our many visits to Sophiatown, I had never met a black woman socially. None ever attended the kitchen drinks that we had with writers and politicians. The women I saw were dark faces in back yards, with babies strapped on their backs. I sensed that the men of the township had little use for their women, other than for sex and work. Despite my decision to let Athol direct No-Good Friday, I was in no way free. In fact, my task became even tougher. I not only took on the difficult job of being Athol's second eye on the stage, but also became stage manager, publicist, and even ticket-seller.
Once the decision was made, we continued with the audition. We chose Stephen Moloi, a school teacher, for the leading role of Willie. Stephen was a dignified bearded man, with a fine timbre to his voice and a good grasp of English. Connie Mabaso, the social worker, more relaxed than Stephen, but whose English was not as well-articulated, was chosen for the role of Guy, the musician. Dan Poho, a Union Artists official who became a good friend, was a good choice for Pinkie. Dan was bright, and quick in his movements. But problem areas remained. There was a pressing need for a woman to play the role of Rebecca. Athol and I had come to realize that finding a woman who could even passably act on stage was immensely difficult, an additional reminder to me of the low status of women in the township. The role of Father Higgins, a white priest, created a different problem--having to apply for permission for a white to play in the township. Then, too, the cutting role of Shark, the thug, needed an authority not evident in the readings of either Stephen Moloi or Connie Mabaso, the two promising actors from those who auditioned for us.
