Set Design: All's Well that Ends Well

Al Morin, Set Designer

When director Marianne Phinney approached me to design this summer's Footlighter production of Shakespeare's comedy, All's Well that Ends Well, I didn't hesitate to accept. Designing for Shakespeare? Hello? What a thrill. What a challenge! (Add to that how much I really like collaborating with Marianne; if there was an "A List" for directors at the Footlighters, she'd be on it.) I went home and pulled out my dusty, ten pound volume of Bevington's "The Complete Works of Shakespeare" (that hadn't seen the light of day since college) and began reading. Then it hit me. My God, WHAT HAVE I DONE!? This is "Big Bill the Bard" we're talking here! And who am I? Some erstwhile community theater addict with a modest penchant for designing sets! No formal training, no degree in design...who the heck am I?! A glass of wine later--well, two--I went back to reading...and rediscovered the Thrill of Bill. (So will you.) And then had a meeting with Marianne to discuss the play and find out what she wanted to do.

Most set designs tend to evolve from two distinct visions of the play; one from the author and one from the director. Often they're similiar. In the case of this production though, director Marianne Phinney's vision departs from the author's original by placing the time of the play not in Elizabethan times, but circa 2001. This is not unusual, as many modern interpretations of Shakespeare's works, both on stage and in film, have placed them in a variety of timeframes never imagined by Bill when he wrote them. The creative reasons for doing this are many, but I think it's a testament to Bill's writing and his keen sense of the human condition, that his plays have the agility to transcend time and be as relevant today as they were when they were first performed some 400 years ago.

Discussion with Marianne brought out the following key ideas for the design; comedy, urban environment, perhaps abstract, ability to support multiple locations in Rousillon, Paris, Marseilles and Florence (both interior and exterior scenes in palaces and streets), the use of lighting color and texture to help denote locale, and above all no set changes to slow the pace. Oh yes, and a budget of about $300. No problem. Ahem.

Retreating to my lonely garret (and with another glass of wine) I re-read the play and took notes; read up on Elizabethan staging, took more notes. I was fascinated by how Master Bill constructed "All's Well" scene by scene; he used short scenes that quickly revealed plot points and he had the scenes jump rapidly back and forth from one geographical locale to another. It suddenly struck me, that over five centuries ago, Bill was writing in the form of a modern film script! (If only he were writing them now!) But jumping from one locale to another and then back again is a stage designer's nightmare and would sorely try an audience's patience waiting for changes to occur between scenes.

But the Elizabethan audience never concerned themselves with such a convention as scene changes. According to Bevington, "The use of scenery was almost wholly unknown on the Elizabethan public stage...For the most part, the scene was unlimited and the concept of space extremely fluid. No proscenium arch or curtain stood between the actors and audience, so the action could not be easily interrupted." In fact plays performed in Elizabethan times were written to be performed non-stop, from beginning to end. (Again, like a movie.) The act breaks that we're so familiar with simply did not exist then as a theatrical tradition. Also according to Bevington, the Elizabethan public stage was a simple rectangle, about 43 feet wide by 27 feet deep, (somewhat similiar to our stage size of 30' by 25') and standing about 5 1/2 feet high. At the back of the stage was a straight facade with two, possibly three doorways leading to the actor's dressing rooms.

Above this facade was a gallery, sometimes used as an acting area when the plays called for it, but more often used to bring in income by housing the wealthier patrons who could afford such prominent and displayed seating. (I can hear the arguements between Bill and Globe Theater owner, James Burbage now; Bill: I need the gallery for this scene. Burbage: No way. I need the money. Bill: But they're on a ship overlooking a dock! Burbage: Oh give me a break! The gallery is a gold mine! Write it so they're all on the dock. Bill: But what about artistic integrity?! Burbage: You want to be paid this week?)

There was a roof above the gallery which extended over a portion of the stage at its center, held aloft on its leading edge by pillars. Bevington suggests, that maybe (key word "maybe"), as evidenced by the scene descriptions in Bill's plays (and other authors writing at the time), that the Elizabethans may have used some minor alterations to this stage set up by sometimes employing curtains over the doorways in the facade or the use of printed signs. But overall, they used the same setting for every play they produced. Imagine using the same set for "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe" for one week, then the following week performing "Wonderful Town" without changing a thing! Modern audiences would at best be confused, because our present theatrical expectations dictate a setting specifically reflecting the conditions of the play. I suspect that the whole concept of a "set designer" would have made an Elizabethan theater owner howl with laughter. And Burbage would have asked, "You want to be paid this week?"

I knew I had to come up with one, unified setting that would function as a foundation for the multiple locations called for in the Bard's script without stopping for scene changes; and that it would have to make a statement about Marianne's modern vision of his play.

I sketched out two designs, but wasn't happy with them and went to see Marianne again to talk about them. She confirmed what I already knew. They wouldn't do. But one of the designs incorporated a series of platforms of different heights and this peaked both our interest. We pitched ideas back and forth into the night. At this point in the development of a design anything is fair game, whether we have the budget or not. "Wouldn't it be funny" she said, "if we had a lamp hanging over Parolles during his interrogation as in the old film noir movies." (Parolles it should be noted is one of the play's main comedic characters who, as a duplicitous scoundrel, is subjected to a farce of an interrogation by his fellow soldiers masquerading as the enemy.) This struck me. And I could feel that light clicking on. One rule of design that I follow is that a set environment must say something about the characters who inhabit it and lend itself to the themes and style of the play. Often I choose not to use an act curtain before the show so that the audience has an opportunity to study the environment and gain some insight into the character's human condition. I also like surprises in a set, as in last season's performance of "Greetings" in which the audience had no clue that hidden within the setting of a middle class Pittsburg living room was a mock-up of an Boeing aircraft passenger compartment. What Marianne had given me with that comment about the lamp, was a way to give the "All's Well" set that "surprise" and a sense of humor and playfulness that the previous two designs had sorely lacked and that I felt Bill's comedy deserved.

A few days later I purchased several sheets of foam core, took out my scoring knife and began to make a three-dimensional model of the set from scratch. There is a moment...a critical moment in creation, when all the research, all the information collected, thought about and worried over, just falls away and your hands begin to work as if imbued with an intelligence of their own. Connections and associations seem to spontaneously erupt in a continuous flow. It's a wonderful experience and time simply ceases to exist. Six hours later it was done. It felt as if a couple of hours had passed. And I knew by the charmed gift slowly ebbing my hands, that I had it right this time.

That night, Marianne came to my home and saw the scale model. "Oh yes." she said in a low, excited whisper, "I can work with this."

The design departs from the usual Footlighter set in that it does not attempt to depict a realistic environment. The term abstract best defines it. But I didn't want the setting to be so abstract as to be confusing to the audience. I wanted the audience--at first view--to percieve a comfortable, inviting space that had elements they could immediately relate to; table, chairs, lamp, balcony, and an architectural structure that would suggest perhaps a building, or a room, or even a throne. This architectural structure would rest on a foundation of ramps and platforms that serve both as a multi-level playing space for the actors as well as additional seating area as they are sized in height to allow this. Then as the play progresses scene by scene, the audience would begin to discover how the set's individual elements support the action and varied locations of the play.

Since lighting--through the use of color and texture--would be used to help identify the different locales required by Bill, I chose to paint the entire set structure a warm linen white so that "All's Well" lighting designer Doug Gordon had a neutral base to apply any color he pleased without having to limit his color choices to harmonize with multiple set colors. The only exception to this was the cyclorama behind the set, which I had painted a medium blue to aid in separating the set structure from the background and add a lighter feel, since the wings (left and right sides of the stage) would be draped in black. The floor was painted a gloss black so that the whole architectural structure would be reflected in it thereby expanding the visual depth of the set on it's vertical axis.

I also wanted the lighting grid to be an organic and integral part of the setting. Often in a more realistic set, we hang short black curtains above the set to limit the audience view of the stage lights and thereby diminish their importance and relationship to the setting. In the case of "All's Well", these curtains were removed and the set height was designed to rise up and meet the lighting grid to help reinforce the overall "theatrical" nature of the environment. To this end, Dan Sheehan, our resident lighting designer, spent time painting and dressing the lighting grid area to present a clean professional appearance. Though not required by the design (and I told him so), I have to give him credit for his contribution because (a) I didn't consider it and (b) once it was done, the value it added to the design was immediately apparent. Thank you, Dan. I'll never question your theatrical wisdom again.

Now I know that some of you are wary of going to see a play written by Bill. It's a little like the feeling you get when your loved one suddenly tells you "Honey we've got tickets to the ballet! Tonight!" But I've got to tell you, Bill's language is not as difficult to understand as you might think. The way he constructs sentences is different from our present way of speaking, but the roots of our present usage are clearly there. And how he turns a phrase, even after 400 years, is at times remarkable and breathtaking; making our present day usage somewhat lackluster as a result. Further, Bill was writing for the Elizabethan public stage for profit (and for Burbage!), which means that he wrote plays to interest and entertain all classes of people, from all walks of life, during the same performance; thus his plays operate at many levels of understanding. They are plot driven, but at the same time, they rise above plot to explore a richness of character and human feeling that to this day, ever reminds us of who were are and who we could become. Even after four centuries. Maybe we haven't changed as much as we think.