Homburg—Dramaturg’s Journal—The Biography of a Production
31
substitute for total immersion; or, even better, travelling to the foreign country itself (“Theatreland?”), living among the inhabitants and native speakers. My biggest breakthrough—which I kept to myself—was coming to comprehend the distinction between haze and fog. It seems, according to Randy Mugleston’s helpful dichotomy, that haze tends to drift laterally from left to right across the Kasser stage due to the vicissitudes of the ventilation system, whereas fog rises up, which is the effect Jorge is looking for—“the morning fog of the swamp.” There was further discussion around the table about swords, guns, and banners, as the time for actual depiction encroached upon the commensuratelycontracting realm of conjecture. It was a pleasure to be introduced to Jessica Lustig, our new costume designer. After the meeting broke up in a record-breaking twenty-one minutes, Jessica and I sat and talked for awhile. She showed me inspiration images she had borrowed from The New York Public Library Picture Collection. Several caught my eye: a tall Napoleonic-era soldier, hatless, leaning distractedly against a marble mantlepiece; Nazi soldiers marching in close ranks wearing characteristic rounded helmets (there will be no plumes in this production, JL told me); and a striking portrait of Kleist’s contemporary, Caspar David Friedrich (1774-1840), painter of the famous Romantic image Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer (Wanderer on the Fog-sea). While I knew Friedrich’s apt and iconic work, I had never seen a picture of the artist himself. Jessica was drawn to his piercing eyes and high, pale brow. She then showed me her preliminary sketches for the costumes, in blue and charcoal/pencil and wash, based upon conversations with Debra Otte and JC. The women’s gowns are layered, diaphanous, and Empirewaisted, and the Princess will be dressed all in white; the soldiers are fitted, highcollared, brass-buttoned, their uniform palette in shades of grey, sporting high black riding boots. Her one drawing of Homburg depicted the Prince as we first encounter him in stage, lounging on the ground against a tree, arms outstretched, wearing a loosely-fitting blouse, jodhpurs and boots. I recalled for Jessica my flashback memory from a summertime matinée in 1977 at the Chelsea Theatre Center in NYC when my wifeand I saw the indelible Frank Langella—at that time in his late 30s, lanky, black-haired, dark eyes darting back and forth—starring as the Prince. 1/30—5:45 am—Lying in bed thinking about the resolution—or, better, irresolution at the end of Act II scene viii, after Homburg has heard that the Elector is not dead after all, and so has to scramble to regroup and redefine his position in the space of a few frenetic moments. Whereas the Prince had the eyes of the Princess and the nation focused upon him, suddenly now he is back to square one, suffering from a spontaneous power-vacuum. The theme sounded hauntingly familiar. I clambered upstairs in the darkness to my study and started leafing through excerpts from other works by Kleist in the David Constantine anthology,