OPEN STAGES ONLINE: Life of Lorca, Part 1

by Walter Bilderback, Production Dramaturg

Federico Garcia Lorca was perhaps the most important Spanish-language writer of the first half of the 20th century, known both for his poetry and his plays. During his short life, he wrote thirteen plays, the best-known of which are Blood Wedding (1932), Yerma (1934), and The House of Bernarda Alba (1936).

Early Life

Garcia Lorca was born in 1898, the son of a well-to-do Andalusian landowner. He studied music from a young age, becoming a talented pianist: his love and knowledge of music would profoundly shape his writing and his stage direction in later years.

Lorca’s birthplace, Asquerosa (now Valderrubio), was a town with many similarities to the setting of Blood Wedding. His father was known for treating his workers well, but the young Lorca, seeing the harsh conditions in which the peasants worked and the equally harsh restrictions placed on women in a conservative, rural, Catholic setting, had a keen sense of his privilege from a young age. From a young age, he seems to have has a tragic vision of life. His biographer Leslie Stainton says that “Lorca learned early on that life and death were two halves of an indecipherable whole.”

Lorca (standing left) with his mother, sister Concha, father, and brother, c. 1912.

Lorca left home for university in Madrid, where he studied and lived in La Residencia, an intellectual and artistic hotbed of the period. There he became known as a leader of the group of young writers and artists there, many influenced by Symbolism and Surrealism, who were re-invigorating Spanish literature. Among his friends at the time were the young artists Salvador Dali and Luis Bunuel.

Lorca achieved fame in Spain at a young age with his first volume of poems. He also became a friend and collaborator of the composer Manuel de Falla, through whom he developed a strong interest in traditional Spanish music and dance, particularly the cante jondo (or “deep song”), a particularly old relative of flamenco. “Deep song is imbued with the mysterious color of primordial ages,” Lorca said in a lecture on the subject. It “is akin to the trilling of birds, the crowing of the rooster, and the natural music of forest and fountain” and “comes from the first sob and the first kiss.” His volume Poem of the Deep Song, written in 1921 but not published until 1931, reflects this interest. Many of these poems anticipate images and themes that reappear in Blood Wedding. Here are two:


He lay dead in the street
With a knife in the heart
No one knew him.
How the street-lamp trembled!
How the little street-lamp
It was early morning. No one
Could look at his eyes
Open to the harsh air.
For he lay dead in the street
With a knife in the heart
And no one knew him.

(trans, Gwynne Edwards)


The Six Strings

The guitar
cries out to dreams.
The sobs of the lost
escape from its round
And like a tarantula
it weaves a great star
to catch sighs,
floating in their black
cistern of wood.

(trans, Caleb Beissert)

Lorca with his younger sister, Isabel, in 1914.

Blood Wedding runs from October 25 – November 19.
Get your tickets at

OPEN STAGES ONLINE: The Red Thread of Blood Wedding

by Walter Bilderback, Production Dramaturg

A week ago or so, I had a realization in rehearsal: Fate is almost an invisible character in Blood Wedding, but we weren’t acknowledging its presence. The concept is almost alien to American popular culture, with its emphasis on individualism, self-help and self-improvement, but the action of Blood Wedding barely makes sense without recognizing its power. (Questions about these assumptions seem to be emerging as a recurrent theme in this year’s plays. I’ll be talking more about this with both Passing Strange and Passage.) Fate, as it appears in Blood Wedding, is something ultimately beyond individual choice, moral or otherwise.

Lorca in Granada in 1919, aged twenty-one.

The word appears multiple times in Blood Wedding. In a completely traditional production of the play, Fate is even represented onstage, in a ball of red thread children play with. The classical world saw a human life as a thread cut off by impersonal, outside forces. The length and shape of a life was pre-determined. The individual’s responsibility was to live the best life within this pre-determined shape: attempting to resist or evade it was a cause of tragedy. Sophocles’ Oedipus is a prime example. His parents’, and then his own attempts to avoid the prophesied curse places him in the path of his father and the bed of his mother, with disastrous results not only for the three of them but for Thebes as well. In the same way, Leonardo and the Bride attempt to resist their fate and cause greater damage to their community.

Lorca adds a twist to this in Blood Wedding. One sort of fate seems to hang upon the dryland village where the play takes place, the same sort that hung upon the peasants Lorca had seen as a child – an endless cycle of struggle, loveless marriages, violence, and social convention. Against this is a different sort of fate hanging over the Bride and Leonardo, an individual fate thwarted because of Leonardo’s poverty. Many biographers see echoes of Lorca’s life as a gay man in a conservative, patriarchal society in Blood Wedding. Lorca scholar Gwynne Edwards sees “Lorca’s growing belief that one should be true to one’s nature, whatever one’s sexuality” as an important theme of the play. As director Csaba Horvath has pointed out in rehearsals, all of the play’s characters want to conform to their society’s demands: it is the tension between that and the red thread of Fate which creates tragedy for the entire community.

Blood Wedding begins October 25. Get your tickets at

OPEN STAGES ONLINE: Shaping Blood Wedding

by Walter Bilderback, Blood Wedding Dramaturg

Director Csaba Horváth began his career as a dancer, performing Hungarian folk dance before moving on to contemporary styles. He later became a choreographer and finally a theater director, developing a unique style. “The folk dance, especially when you encounter it as young as I did, when one is susceptible to all things, lives for a lifetime,” he says. “It gives you ammunition from which you can move and transform everywhere movement, choreography, dance, and some kind of way of thinking.” This background also carries on in his long collaboration with composer Csaba Ökrös, who (following the inspiration of Bela Bartok and Zoltan Kodaly) draws upon Hungarian folk music as inspiration for his melodies.

As a director, Horváth says “the most exciting thing in this game is to handle the proportion of language and movement.” He begins his preparations with some general ideas for a gestural system inspired by his reading of the piece. “I’m looking for solutions, decodings, which bring forth the essence of the work, the essence inherent in the piece.” But the performance is shaped in rehearsal, through working with the specific actors he has in the room with him. “I’m always looking for the physical toolbox and trying to use it in the most exciting way. But it all depends on how much the material needs. Getting to know this is like stepping on a minefield. But that makes me excited, perhaps because working with the body is more subtle than the traditional acting actor, and requires theatricality. It’s harder to lie with your body.”

Horváth’s productions always live music (usually original), often played and sung by the actors. This will be true with the Wilma’s Blood Wedding as well. In the hands of his actors, musical instruments can also become objects and persons, such as a tree or a baby. Props are rare in Horváth’s staging: they are usually absent or indicated by gesture, but when they do appear they are likely to be used in unusual fashion: like musical instruments, they can sometimes become characters as well.

In shaping his production of Blood Wedding, Horváth remarks that the play “takes place in a closed and strict environment, where traditions define the life. The story is a sweeping love story that turns against these traditions, and culminates in death. The passionate poetry that characterizes Lorca’s drama is very close to the theater language I like to do. This language builds on a physical presence and the music of the actors outside the text. In my work, I always strive to make the gestural system that I compose bring the audience close to the poetic depths of the text.”

With his sensitivity to movement, gesture, music, and rhythm, Horváth’s work on Blood Wedding is very much in the spirit of the play, and of the approach Lorca himself took when he directed its premiere. Describing Lorca’s work as a director, his biographer Leslie Stainton writes: “He brought to the task a painter’s sense of composition and a musician’s understanding of timing. Rhythm—the tempo of the performance—was crucial.” From the accounts of the actors and observers, Lorca treated Blood Wedding like a musical score in rehearsal: Stainton says “he focused on rhythm, timing, and sound.” This is also an accurate description of Csaba Horváth in rehearsal for the Wilma’s production.

Blood Wedding runs at The Wilma Theater starting Oct. 25 – Nov. 19. Learn more about the production at 

Explore Csaba Horváth’s work with the Forte Company:

Crime and Punishment


The Notebook



April 15

I asked some fellow playwrights for their responses to the following quotation.

“I have often said, and oftener think, that this world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those that feel.” – Horace Walpole

Do you think life is a comedy or a tragedy? 

Hansol Jung:

Life’s a comedy if you’re watching.
Tragedy if no one’s watching, or everyone’s watching but inconsequential to the solving of the problem.
If you can achieve the genius craft of watching yourself through life, it seems you could laugh yourself from cradle to grave
but as for me I experience most events in life as a series of small secret triumphs and failures in tragedies that I tend to morph into comedies in hindsight, because such earnestness is shameful after time puts a distance between the hero me and the now me, and lets me watch.

Milo Cramer:

I think life is clearly a TRAGEDY
if you think it’s a comedy OK cool but that’s insane
have you left the hot tub you were born in

perhaps life = a tragedy aspiring to comedy (?)
maybe comedy and tragedy are not helpful terms

Emily Zemba:

I think life is a comedy! If it isn’t comedy, then why is it so strange? And so fleeting? And so filled with frightening coincidences and funny-looking dogs?
I think one of the greatest things about being human, is our ability to employ critical thinking, and to analyze life’s most intense events and mysteries from a place of intellectual distance. I do wonder what would happen if I allowed myself to feel, and only feel, deeply, with every part of my being, through all life’s twists and dark turns and surprises — would the “tragedy of it all” sink in then?

Ray Yamanouchi:

Life – A Play


Why are you such an asshole?

Lighten up.

End of Play.

Jacob Perkins:

Walpole’s quote reminds me of a similar saying: “In music, when you’re happy, you listen to the beats.  When you’re sad, you listen to the lyrics.” I think music functions best when the beats feed the lyrics and vice versa, so similarly, life is most interesting when it blends comedy and tragedy.  Can’t have one without the other.


Mary Cassatt’s “The Cup of Tea,” in which two women ponder exactly this question.


Overwhelm – 4/3/17

Sometimes you may look at your google calendar and weep.

In these situations, coffee = bad.
coffee = very very bad.
fear / anxiety / overwhelm -> coffee -> PANIC

Do not pair coffee with feelings of having too much on your plate.
Maybe marijuana?

1 out of 5 stars (variable, depending on the quality of your coffee / illegal substances)


Familiarity – 3/29/17

I came down to opening night of Blanka’s playwright debut, Adapt!

I was struck by a feeling of immersion in history, or histories – Czech history, immigrant history, but also the history of the Wilma. Everything is personal. Careers are personal. Collaborations are personal. Making theater is personal. I have been in residence for a year now with The Wilma. I have met many of the staff (and met more during this opening night), I have seen many of their productions, I know how the acting ensemble works together and I have watched them in a range of configurations. I know the strengths and personality of this institution and its artists. Are theaters people? They are so shaped by people that I think they might be.

5 out of 5 stars (this is a comforting feeling akin to love)

Curiosity – 4/2/17

I am curious how to make our workshop in May a real collaboration with the Hothouse.

How can I make the most room for the actors to actively contribute in shaping the characters?

Curiosity is the bedrock of creativity.
And of interesting life decisions.

5 out of 5 stars


Inspiration – 3/26/17

I had a new idea for the second act of my play. Can I implement it? Am I just getting carried away? Should I write two versions of the second act, and bring both in for us to consider?

Inspiration is wonderful but you don’t need it to start. You can start with curiosity and build toward inspiration. Curiosity is interest. Inspiration is state of intense positive affect, of enthusiasm… it is a peak emotion. It is easier to work your way up a ladder of emotions (boredom -> curiosity -> enjoyment-> frustration -> contemplation -> curiosity -> engagement -> uncertainty -> distraction -> engagement -> rest -> free association -> inspiration! -> burst of new energy -> focus -> hard work ) than to begin at the top.

4 out of 5 stars (because this emotion is terribly misunderstood and occasionally over hyped)

Curiosity, by Jean-Honore Fragonard


March 21

I would like you to know that being a playwright is 30% rewarding, 10% lying on the floor doing nothing, 38% worrying about money, 5% theater gossip, 25% conversations with interesting people over cocktails, 9% made up statistics, and 55% a constant scheduling nightmare.

9 out of 9 playwrights agree.

(When I say “you,” I confess I don’t actually know who you are. I know my mom reads this blog, and my fiancé, and Ellen the development director at Pig Iron, and some playwrights I have run into claim to have read it (MacArthur “Genius Grant” Award Winner Brandon Jacobs-Jenkins, just as one example) BUT HAVE THEY READ THE WHOLE THING? DO THEY HANG ON EVERY WORD I SAY?)


Scheduling is frustrating and I would like to complain about it right now because unexpressed emotions can make you sad or anxious or neurotic or psychotic or a manic pixie dream girl.

I don’t enjoy scheduling.

There. I said it. Now I’m emotionally free.

When playwrights get together, we have illuminating late night conversations about mortality and politics and race, and we also complain about scheduling.

Currently, we are scheduling a May workshop at the Tilma (not its real name). There have been rocks, jagged rocks, negotiations, compromises, and actor conflicts – and director conflicts – and playwright conflicts – someone was going on vacation but then lo, miracle of miracles, changed his plans – one actor is available except for an entire rehearsal day – but we probably need that rehearsal day – hmm – if we move the workshop to August will it work? No? How about a different week in May? No? Ok how about back to the original date with a different cast? Ok now this other actor has been eaten by a dragon – wait but no but it’s just his leg – do we need the actors to have legs? Now two more actors have died, also from dragons. Ok, we’re all set, we have cast the dragons instead. Wait, now all the dragons in the American theater are unavailable, they’ve just been called in for a TV audition.

It’s just how it is, but it’s not ideal. Especially when your goal is to write something for a specific ensemble.

It’ll be great, I’m sure. But also, pray for us.


March 6, 2017

I recently learned by reading The Atlantic that I am doing this blog all wrong. Did you know top tier mommy bloggers can earn between 1 – 6 MILLION dollars a year?

In the hopes of gaining corporate sponsorship, I am going to refer to my play as my son in this post.

“Me” and “my son”

Being a mom, as you all know, can be tiring. I have been raising my son for at least a year now, and have pegged lots of hopes and dreams on his success. So I decided to go on vacation for a month, in foreign countries, with my loving partner, while leaving my son at home.

That’s my son, crying like a girl. But he soon got over it. I missed him at first, but soon I had so much fun swimming with a sea turtle and bathing in a river of hot springs that I stopped really thinking about it. I relaxed. Time apart can be really good for all relationships. When I come back to him in the next week or two, I’m sure I will look at him with fresh eyes and new love. I expect this distance will also grant me a greater awareness of his faults, which will help me to resume dispassionately but generously molding him into exactly what I want him to be.


February 10th, 2017                                                                                    *still in Mexico

Various funny people have been asking themselves lately if satire is now a dead horse, and if it is a dead horse, is it still worth beating?

Or: Is satire dead?

Firstly – The more pain and injustice there is, the more smart people will suffer internally, and the more smart people suffer internally, the more they will make jokes as a last bid to avoid entering mental institutions.

Secondly – Let’s talk dead horses. If I actually saw a man in the street beating a dead horse, I would not primarily think, “oh, that’s pointless,” and walk on by. I would more likely think, “oh no, that man is deranged,” and “oh, that poor horse, I know it’s dead but I can’t stop the instinctual activation of my reserves of pity” and “why the hell is this injustice happening” and “egad, I’d better call the authorities.”

Unless I didn’t trust the authorities. In which case I would likely be traumatized by my feelings of powerlessness in witnessing the event, and write about it.

I don’t believe satire will die just because the government is rude and hyperbolic and absurdist. Nor do I think current circumstances kill our need for rude, hyperbolic, absurdist artwork.

Great satire is lifted up by these qualities: intelligence, a clear-eyed sense of injustice, big picture analysis, and an unflinching commitment to examining ourselves at our worst.

Real satire is more coherent than a government led by colicky toddlers. Beating a dead horse might not bring the horse back to life but it can make you think and feel – about the horse, about the man who keeps beating, about absurdity, about desperation, about the social conditions of the man and the horse.

We need great works of satire in the intimate and ambitious mediums of theater, novels, and poetry.

Anything that can laughed at should be taken seriously, and vice versa.


GRIEF – 1/27/17

Uncovered some grief after a visit to Brooklyn Open Acupuncture. They say life is a comedy to those who think, tragedy to those who feel. Certainly, joke-telling can keep painful feelings at bay, but I have some healing to do, so I let a nice woman put needles in my earlobes. Grief came to visit the next day, and for a full week thereafter. Pros: The despair was served with unexpected pairings of relief, calm, and joy. Cons: As far as feelings go, this one is a little overwhelming; not for beginners. Regardless, I’d call experiencing it a must for anyone else with trauma, tight shoulders, trump administration.

4 out of 5 stars (due to overwhelm)

GRATITUDE – 1/25/17

Brought in my commission play to my writer’s group at Ars Nova and was various shades of grateful. The other writers said smart things; they did not derail my process; some of them had acting backgrounds; there was pizza. Pros: This emotion is straightforward. It can be easily handled by small children. Cons: This emotion is self-satisfied and will not actually write the next draft of your play. It can also easily annoy others when put on public display. Are you over 30 and on the internet? Then I strongly caution against expressing gratitude. FYI, I am not bragging right now by publicly sharing. I am just trying to write an honest review. – Kate, age 6

3 out of 5 stars (due to tricky handling requirements for adults)

DELIGHT – 1/31/17

I am writing this review from San Cristobal de Las Casas, Chiapas. I will soon also be visiting the Yucatan, Mexico City, and a butterfly sanctuary. This creates anticipatory delight, e.g: I am delighted I will not have to visit the butterfly sanctuary by horseback because I am deathly allergic to horses and do not wish to die. This past weekend I visited the famous indigenous church in San Juan Chamula, with its floor covered in pine needles, rows of saints, and rainbow candles. I was delighted by the scent, the glow, and the beautiful unfamiliarity of rituals witnessed, such as a healer passing a chicken over a young boy’s body. I quietly asked the space to help lift some of my pain. Con: I don’t think there are any real cons to this emotion. Delight is fleeting. Catch it while you can.

5 out of 5 stars


January 25

What a weekend.

I marched on Saturday, in New York.
So many people marched on Saturday.
It was beautiful. This city. Manhattan was empty and full at once. Long corridors of hushed streets and quiet office buildings. Fog pressing down against the architecture. Hundreds of thousands of voices, cresting at intersections. The mood was safe, joyous, electric, and alive.

There are two kinds of people in America: People who marched on Saturday, and people who watched TV on Friday.

(And other people.)

This morning in America is brought to you by the word dissonance, and the letter F.

Cognitive dissonance. I have it every time I read the news. If our nation were a person with a psyche this inconsistent I don’t know how she’d make it past puberty.

Cultural dissonance. Did you know there’s an actual term for what we’re experiencing?

Dissonance, in music: the opposite of consonance. If our daily bread is harshness, unpleasantness, and unacceptability, I need to hear some of that reflected honestly in our cultural output. Please dear music industry, novel writing industry, yogurt packaging design industry: Record this pain. Especially the music industry. Music crosses state lines with greater ease than novels and yogurts.

I’m gonna marry this man! Together we’ll fight our way through.