As he takes over the Market Theatre’s training and development Laboratory, Matjamela Motloung has written a flippant but provocative article for Applause magazine lamenting the lack of transformation in the performing arts. “I know,” he writes, “because I am one of a few at the dinner table”. He calls upon someone – presumably himself – “to be a champion of our cause, yes, our cause, black people’s cause”.

The problem as Motloung sees it are parasitic “middle age white” directors, writers and choreographers who overshadow more talented black artists; white administrators who favour the mediocre talents of their white brethren “ahead by virtue of their race”; white managers who resist giving black artists opportunities outside of ‘community theatre’; and the endless rounds of meetings, indabas, makgotlas and other “developmental crap that is designed to slow us down as a race”. Finally, Motloung exhorts black artists: “Let’s do it because we CAN, just like our fellow white practitioners” [his capitalisation].

Perhaps it was no more than a call to action and a statement of pride and faith in black talent Motloung wished to make, but it has been ill received by his colleagues such as Craig Higginson and by arts writer Robyn Sassen. In an emotional open letter, she describes his views as a “bitching” “tirade” and suspects “the arts are being used as a thinly disguised veil to crusade political agenda”.

Higginson, alluded to by Motloung as a “mediocre white writer”, comments, “I am sympathetic to the frustrations of any theatre practitioners, of whatever colour, who feel they are not emerging fast enough. What I am not sympathetic to are those who think it is below their dignity to learn and develop their craft – as if craft is somehow some sort of imperialist plot.” Higginson fears the position represented by Motloung “is often to simply get rid of anyone who is ‘other’”.

Higginson, a dramaturge at the Market’s Laboratory, offended by the attack on that institution cites Motloung’s own appointment as evidence that transformation “is happening at the Market Theatre far quicker than we are often given credit for”.

These regrettable exchanges, as with the brouhaha around Lebo M’s outburst at the Naledi Awards, create imaginary battlefields yet litter them with real bodies – resentment and hurt feelings that close down debate.

The bigger picture is that as the Mbeki government has failed to deliver on its socialist manifesto, the movement has shifted from Mandela’s over compensatory policy of reconciliation to Africanist speech-making. This is a particularly disempowering rhetoric. It undercuts liberalism and leaves the white left, which constitutes the vast majority of white artists, stranded. Motloung has hit this nerve.

Non-blacks feel racial fighting talk obscures and over simplifies, since they know black as well as white administrators who are doing precious little for emergent artists, and they see talented white artists also struggling among those emerging.

Yet it must be acknowledged that Africanist opining is born of anger and tremendous frustration among a broad swathe of black artists. They face more than a little cultural arrogance from producers and critics and – here’s a term for the new South Africa – “unreconstructed whites”.

Theatre managers need to be proactive and sensitive to these concerns, not simply defensive. There must be an admission, regardless of the reasons, that on the developmental side theatre has not delivered satisfactorily. Apathetic administrators, who rest complacently on their theatre struggle credentials (Motloung dismisses this as “sentimental bullshit”), stand warned.

If one seriously wishes to address the failure of transformation in the arts, hammering on about how the industry reflects the broader South African reality is a soft target. Of course, the greatest beneficiaries of the demise of apartheid and the macro economic boom that followed were the already empowered, be they advantaged minorities, elites from the homelands or overseas-educated exiles. How could it be otherwise?

The real culprit is government’s poor implementation of a flawed arts and culture policy and gross under funding for the first decade after democracy. Cultural institutions and resources remain concentrated in the urban centres in previously white Group Areas; the highly subsidised state theatres under commercial pressure favour the already empowered rich producers; white administrators were told to transform, penalised and then left to their own devices; the funding bureaucracy ignores grassroots realities and entrenches the status quo; inscrutable application forms and the requisite registered non-profit companies with audited financials for three years exclude emerging artists, who turn to existing ‘white’ companies for administration. The list goes on.

And if government is to be pilloried, so perhaps should big business, private patrons and foundations that fund the arts without much imagination or research.

Theatre doesn’t exist outside of its audience, and black theatre will see its heyday once audiences transform themselves, as is happening with coloured theatre in the Cape. This is where the commercial reality (who is going to the theatre?) serves as an impediment to transformation blamed on administrators. If plays have to engage with audiences at many of our festivals and theatres that remain stubbornly white, well then, educating the elite is also a worthy pursuit.

The pressure is mounting because transformation has taken too long. Opportunities are scarce, resources are hard to access, be it funding for an artwork or obtaining a child grant from government. In a climate of growing impatience, our society is re-tribalising. Where this leads is clear from the recent xenophobic violence which destroyed the rainbow illusions that have sustained us to date.

In reviewing transformation in the arts, a distinction should be drawn between administrators and creative artists. There is no diploma or MBA for creative talent. Talented artists throughout the world struggle for years to gain recognition, and once given the chance, the only recognition that counts is their success with audiences, their peers and the critics.

In the 1960s, Ben Masinga didn’t sit back for producer Ian Bernhardt and the Union Artists, but struck out on his own. Sam Mhangwane toured for twelve years with his own musical. Gibson Kente left Dorkay House and without subsidy and in the dark days of apartheid managed to sustain three touring companies in continuous employment through the 1970s paying his best actors handsomely. Ironically while these legendary entrepreneurs were running successful black theatre companies in the townships, the more ideological Black Consciousness theatre was foreign funded and under white tutelage, and often performed overseas.

Motloung’s critics believe he is the vanguard of a resurgence of Black Consciousness theatre in the service of the national democratic revolution. The very idea fills them with horror.

Has the persistence of the status quo derailed the attempt to achieve a rainbow South African theatre arising from the artistic collaboration of artists, whoever they are, rooted in their creative synergy? Surely, it will never be too late to give up the vision of a non-racial society with a non-racialized theatre.

Omphile Molusi Itsoseng front cover

North West Province playwright Omphile Molusi has certainly been effective in drawing attention to the plight of his township home near Lichtenburg. Many festival-goers had never heard of Itsoseng before. When the place does make the national news, it’s for all the wrong reasons: homicide, high rape statistics, and then there was the case of the mortuary failing to cope with a stockpile of unclaimed decomposing corpses.

Not that its citizens aren’t vocal. Some time ago, they managed for a whole day, to delay Thabo Mbeki (then Deputy President) from meeting his Chinese counterpart. Things have been bad in Itsoseng for a long time; hope is ebbing away and patience is running at an end. As Molusi says, “You can’t eat politics”.

Molusi’s play, Istoseng: My Township…My Home, is billed as ‘a scathing indictment against the government’s indifference, cynicism and incompetence’.

When the people of Itsoseng shrugged off Bophutatswana, they burned down the shopping mall – with its library and cinema. Molusi was then a toy-toying 14-year-old. The wreckage remains a symbol of the failure of any renewal after twelve years of democratic government. Officials fly in and out promising to rebuild it.

Molusi tells the story as Mawilla, a man who loses the love of his life, a pretty girl called Dolly, to prostitution. Mawilla rejects her; then helplessly watches Dolly’s steady dissipation, which ends in her death. The play is narrated from her graveside. Vice Motshabi, who works with the company, says “Their love affair doesn’t function because of the political situation in the township”.

Molusi shies away from calling this protest theatre. What we get is an oral history related with disarming sincerity and illustrated with loose dramatics. Mawilla impersonates the other characters – in a way you and I might do impressions of our friends – but he never becomes them in a dramatic sense.

It remains an overwhelmingly political work – “a cry for help” says director Tina Johnson. But unlike much rhetorical theatre, Molusi manages to preserve a fragile emotional core. He wants the love story to reveal the politics, but he hasn’t yet solved the problem of how to relate a story about the shattered lives of the people in Itsoseng, in a manner that becomes the biography of a blighted township.

Clearly, Molusi has a story worth communicating, and an over-riding compulsion to tell it, despite the pain it brings him. This is an important dimension to the Festival experience; the work – though somewhat over-written – is good enough to open to the paying public, but it is ‘work in progress’. It has undergone radical changes (and continues to change) since its airing at the Wits Amphitheatre in May.

Itsoseng deals with an issue of crucial national importance that has not yet found its way into our theatres, never mind the national conscience: a sense of helplessness inculcated by several generations of systemic pauperisation. Frustration stems from a complete loss of agency amongst the poorest.

Molusi asks: “Is it the government that is a problem, or is it the people? Is it our spirit that we have fought so hard and burnt down our own shopping complex, that maybe now everyone is angry?”

The despair of the township – “that dryness within” – is quenched by alcohol. As Mwala says in the play, “Drink on Friday, funeral on Saturday”.

“Its like people have been hypnotised to believe that nothing is going to happen, so people live with that fact.”

Perhaps the cruellest irony was when Molusi performed it in Mmabatho, there was nostalgia amongst the older audience members for the days of apartheid-puppet Mangope. These references have subsequently been cut, because the younger audience didn’t know who Mangope was.

Molusi says his township is not unlike Rhini here in Grahamstown: “All these townships are going through the same things”. Molusi concludes, “There is no art (in Itsoseng). But I know there are a lot of kids with potential…They have hope in wanting to get out, they know what the problem is, but it is difficult for them to challenge the problem.”

Review: Itsoseng and For the Right Reasons by Omphile Molusi
Junket Press 2008

North West Province playwright Omphile Molusi has certainly been effective in drawing attention to the plight of his township home near Lichtenburg. Many festival-goers had never heard of Itsoseng before. When the place does make the national news, it’s for all the wrong reasons: homicide, high rape statistics, and then there was the case of the mortuary failing to cope with a stockpile of unclaimed decomposing corpses.

Not that its citizens aren’t vocal. Some time ago, they managed for a whole day, to delay Thabo Mbeki (then Deputy President) from meeting his Chinese counterpart. Things have been bad in Itsoseng for a long time; hope is ebbing away and patience is running at an end. As Molusi says, “You can’t eat politics”.

Molusi’s play, Istoseng: My Township…My Home, is billed as ‘a scathing indictment against the government’s indifference, cynicism and incompetence’.

When the people of Itsoseng shrugged off Bophutatswana, they burned down the shopping mall – with its library and cinema. Molusi was then a toy-toying 14-year-old. The wreckage remains a symbol of the failure of any renewal after twelve years of democratic government. Officials fly in and out promising to rebuild it.

Molusi tells the story as Mawilla, a man who loses the love of his life, a pretty girl called Dolly, to prostitution. Mawilla rejects her; then helplessly watches Dolly’s steady dissipation, which ends in her death. The play is narrated from her graveside. Vice Motshabi, who works with the company, says “Their love affair doesn’t function because of the political situation in the township”.

Molusi shies away from calling this protest theatre. What we get is an oral history related with disarming sincerity and illustrated with loose dramatics. Mawilla impersonates the other characters – in a way you and I might do impressions of our friends – but he never becomes them in a dramatic sense.

It remains an overwhelmingly political work – “a cry for help” says director Tina Johnson. But unlike much rhetorical theatre, Molusi manages to preserve a fragile emotional core. He wants the love story to reveal the politics, but he hasn’t yet solved the problem of how to relate a story about the shattered lives of the people in Itsoseng, in a manner that becomes the biography of a blighted township.

Clearly, Molusi has a story worth communicating, and an over-riding compulsion to tell it, despite the pain it brings him. This is an important dimension to the Festival experience; the work – though somewhat over-written – is good enough to open to the paying public, but it is ‘work in progress’. It has undergone radical changes (and continues to change) since its airing at the Wits Amphitheatre in May.

Itsoseng deals with an issue of crucial national importance that has not yet found its way into our theatres, never mind the national conscience: a sense of helplessness inculcated by several generations of systemic pauperisation. Frustration stems from a complete loss of agency amongst the poorest.

Molusi asks: “Is it the government that is a problem, or is it the people? Is it our spirit that we have fought so hard and burnt down our own shopping complex, that maybe now everyone is angry?”

The despair of the township – “that dryness within” – is quenched by alcohol. As Mwala says in the play, “Drink on Friday, funeral on Saturday”.

“Its like people have been hypnotised to believe that nothing is going to happen, so people live with that fact.”

Perhaps the cruellest irony was when Molusi performed it in Mmabatho, there was nostalgia amongst the older audience members for the days of apartheid-puppet Mangope. These references have subsequently been cut, because the younger audience didn’t know who Mangope was.

Molusi says his township is not unlike Rhini here in Grahamstown: “All these townships are going through the same things”. Molusi concludes, “There is no art (in Itsoseng). But I know there are a lot of kids with potential…They have hope in wanting to get out, they know what the problem is, but it is difficult for them to challenge the problem.”

chess
After breaking with composer Andrew Lloyd Weber, lyricist Tim Rice collaborated in 1984 with the two former ABBA stars, Björn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson, to produce what became ‘the most successful “Swedish” musical ever written’ – Chess The Musical.

A concept musical about the chess match between world champions Victor Korchnoi and Bobby Fisher at the height of the Cold War, the work is refreshing for its novelty. However, the book is convoluted, at times ridiculous, and hopelessly over-developed, involving a love triangle, intrigues, political machinations and attempts to make statements about the Cold War.

The show survives on its musical hits, such as the party number One Night in Bangkok and the ballad I know him so well, forcefully rendered by dynamic female lead Gina Schmukler with Anne-marie Clulow. Amongst the rest of the cast, James Borthwick (the Russian patriot Molokov) is the clearest and the only one who’s every word is intelligible in song. But the night belongs to young Brennan Holder (the Russian chess grandmaster) who is fast establishing his reputation as a leading man.

This unusual choice for Pieter Toerien’s established creative team of musical supervisor-arranger Charl-Johan Lingenfelder and director Paul Warrick Griffin, Chess is their most robust production to date. The cast cope well with what is at times a hellishly difficult score. Conceptually some of the choreography is preposterous, but the new revolve for the theatre’s stage has certainly paid off.

As a nation, South Africa has long overcome local cultural cringe and the need to emulate Anglo-America for artistic validation. We do however still tend to look to overseas for accreditation. Not unlike the misunderstood and marginalised village artist who must seek city fame, local artists are notoriously ignored until they receive global praise. Accumulating foreign kudos to gain national recognition is of course not unique to us.

For the first time in its 52-year history, the International Association of Theatre Critics (IATC), a body that embraces members from over sixty countries, was officially represented in South Africa at the National Arts Festival (NAF) in Grahamstown.

The invited critics were chosen from countries with which we have weak historical links. The idea was not to see how our performing arts measure up, but to gain fresh, diverse perspectives and hold creative discussions about the works at the festival and the role of theatre criticism.

During the course of a week in which the critics saw all the main festival dramas and a half dozen fringe performances, Yun-Cheol Kim, President of the IATC and professor of drama at the Korean National University of the Arts, found most of the shows to be simply staged, even naïve. He was moved by the integrity and sincerity of the performers. Violence, and especially the stark depictions of rape, was a disturbing theme.

Matti Linnavouri from the Finnish Critics Association too was struck by how many plays dealt in some way with young girls finding themselves forced to assume adult responsibilities. He observed that women theatre practitioners were concerned with social issues, while male directors were preoccupied with conceptual work.

Tiago Bartholomeu Costa, editor of Portugal’s Obscena performing arts magazine and a voting member for the European Union’s prize for New Theatrical Realities, said he’d had never seen so many political plays in such a concentrated space. He particularly praised black women performers, finding in them a depth of emotion and a strength of portrayal that is quite uncommon.
He noted how the experience of seeing a South African play with a South African audience was quite different.

Costa said that some of the best performances he has seen in the past year in Europe were South Africans such as Steven Cohen, Nelisiwe Xaba and Robyn Orlin. He had been hoping for more works of this calibre.

The only performances which the critics unanimously praised at this year’s festival were Ten Bush and Batracien, l’après-midi. There was however praise for John Allen and the First Physical Theatre Company’s Ozymandias.

The IATC had hoped to establish the first national section in Africa at this year’s festival.

Photo: Cuepix

Photo: Cuepix

The world premieres of two new South African plays from black playwrights directing their own work contrasted sharply with one another in style and approach at the National Arts Festival this year. The Market Theatre’s Ten Bush by Mncedisi Shabangu co-written with Craig Higginson explores the tribal past as it is manifests in the present, while Martin Koboekae’s Biko: Where the Soul Resides, revisits recent history to comment on current politics.

Ten Bush is an actual village situated in the undeveloped borderland of South Africa with Swaziland and Mozambique. In the play, it is said to be built on the site of great battle where the Sotho army defeated the Swazi chiefs a century before after they were betrayed by the tenth chief, Ngomane. The shade of Ngomane tells his heir, Martha, that she must kill her firstborn daughter as soon as the child reaches womanhood, to lift the malediction of their community. What follows is a bloody story seething with jealousy, witch burning and cruelty, a world where people are the victims of malevolent superstitions, hostile to the compassionate, and governed by malicious supernatural forces. Yet human frailty – jealousy, lust, spite and intrigue – underlie most of the character’s inhumane acts. The playwrights are careful not to admit any anthropological explanations or simple judgements upon the validity of this world, for strictly speaking the prophecies are not followed to the letter and this could account for the failure of the believers to redeem their society.

However, the rural pastoral and an Arcadian conviction in the old belief systems, long a theme in black South African theatre – the ordered peaceful world lost to the ravages of modern decadence and urbanisation – is here unreservedly exploded.

The plight of women within this patriarchal tradition is powerfully foregrounded. The ancestors are male and the women bear the brunt of the cruelties. Barren Martha (Tinah Mnumzana) is twisted and embittered from her inability to perform her traditional function of childbearing and to keep her husband, Simon (Sello Sebotsane), sexually interested in her as she ages. Much of the cruelty is perpetrated by the women trapped in this system, and they reap the poison they sow. Yet the evil deeds committed by the men go largely unpunished.

Ten Bush is strenuously developed with physical theatre business, alive with the synecdochical use of props, rich in suggestion and imagery, and its story of ancestral imprecations, the supernatural, blindness and human sacrifice, has the depth and range of a Greek tragedy. Mncedisi and Higginson are drawing upon the strengths of African legends to produce a human drama of the irrational.

This together with an exceptional cast across the board, that includes rising stars Lebogang Modiba and Xolile Gama, with Sebotsane and Mnumzana, makes it a critical success and arguably the strongest drama at this year’s festival.

Biko: Where the Soul Resides is realistic in style and like much of South African theatre relates the action using the staid plodding method of a series of chronologically ordered scenes with blackouts in-between.

Koboekae has come under attack for portraying Steve Biko’s alleged womanising and drinking and the Biko Foundation has refused to support the work. Slightly awkward too is the attempt to portray on stage several of today’s public figures – such as Mamphela Ramphele and Ben Ngubane. Yet Koboekae’s decision not to iconify Biko, to explore the man and the legend, is artistically his most interesting choice. Masoja Msiza commands the stage as Biko and his portrayal is dignified and executed with great poise.

Koboekae invents a discussion between Barney Pityana and Biko hypothetically discussing the future in order to censure the current political dispensation. The criticism is scathing. Biko cannot believe the leadership of the liberation movement will ever abandon their people, but he says, chillingly, that if the country ever degenerates into nepotism, corruption and factionalism in which the masses are forgotten while the greedy big wigs struggle for power, “I would rather be dead”.

However, in contrast to its pertinent message, as a theatrical work Biko puts us back twenty years. It is a classic piece of didactic protest theatre, with lengthy political debates and hectoring rhetoric awkwardly wrung from the dialogue, and in which the characters are often reduced to the function of megaphones for the author’s message. Some of the dialogue is inventive and snappy, and Koboekae has a lively wit, but unfortunately Biko is unlikely to travel well.

Cissie
Stage versions of biographies are inherently difficult. They turn into illustrated lectures. No matter how many alternating voices the director uses to give us the facts it remains intractably dull. A life is a long time filled with names and details that weary an audience. In addition, most people’s lives do not conform to the structure needed for a good story.

The playwright must make some hard choices at the outset. What is it about the subject that is worth telling, and what of this can be told well on the stage. The highlights of the biographee’s curriculum vitae are best found in the programme notes.

Cissie is Nadia Davids’s valiant attempt to recover the memory of civil rights activist Cissie Gool (1897 – 1963). Davids, who wrote At her feet, has an obvious talent for bringing to and articulating new voices on our stage. On the evidence of Cissie, she has passionately researched the life of Gool and this is of great value within itself. She has also avoided eulogising her subject.

Unfortunately, Cissie is dreary theatre. The dramatic conceit Davids has chosen is her own investigation. In-between imagined conversations and mini dramatisation of incidents in Gool’s life, various characters cast the audience as the interviewer and directly address us responding to questions either repeated or implied. This has the cumbersome effect of including yet alienating us and simply doesn’t work as a dramatic device – no better than when a character relates off stage action by having a forced conversation on the telephone.

The interviewees lack interiority and tend towards stereotype, making them untrustworthy witnesses. Their testimony is better on District Six and the incorporation of a black woman’s account of that watershed forced removal is noteworthy, but the story of District Six – which Davids has a better handle on – soon overpowers the story of Gool. Davids looses us halfway and never manages to get our interest back in Gool.

Davids is understandably too close to the work to recognise its weaknesses and should have handed the script over to an experienced director who could have played to the strengths of the work. There are good ideas and some tried and tested stage devices, but there is no coherent vision. One illustrative example will do – Cissie Gool while under arrest is told in prison that her son is dead. This should be an emotional climax, but unable to carry it through directorially the scene is played out on the margins of the stage and finishes as just one more detail in a seven decade life.

Rehane Abrahams gives Gool an inner light, but the script does not give her enough of an emotional trajectory to fully realise the character. We never get to live through and survive the tumultuous events in her life with her, which is essential to a good drama. Instead, we remain on the exterior at witnesses and in documentary fashion we do not experience her.

Together with Abrahams, Bo Petersen and Quanita Adams do their best to carry the work, but the cast lack direction and often appear at sea. Adams resorts to technique for comic relief and playing in the footlights.

Craig Leo’s costumes are well chosen and help the slighter characters establish an immediate strong presence. Patrick Curtis’s set conveys the ugliness of slum conditions, but has no echo of the charm of District Six. With piles of books scattered around the stage, the designer’s vision here seems to be of books as a redemption in the midst of urban decay, but this is at odds with the second half of the play. Curtis’s lighting is far more effective.

Nadia Davids is a young playwright with unquestionable talent. Audiences should look forward to the growth that will come from this experience.

The National Arts Festival has been in the custodianship of Executive Director Lynette Marais for the past 20 years. She can retire now with peace of mind and her legacy intact. This landmark cultural event is in excellent shape. From a logistical point of view it is one of the most efficiently run festivals you’ll attend anywhere in the world. Besides the 500 odd shows starting on time, the festival is bigger than ever, financially secure and poised for greater things.

Her job is a daunting one. The festival is run by a skeleton staff that has to micromanage every detail while still balancing the big picture. Teamwork gets them through.

“You feel like an octopus and everybody is pulling one of your legs. And you know octopi have only got little brains,” laughs Marais as I interrupt her multi-tasking.

“I know what it is to stand on that stage and I know how the artist relies on having that support. The confidence that there is somebody there and they have you in the palm of their hand and they will get you through it.”

“I have always tried to make it as good, as easy and as pleasant for the artists.”

Marais is looking forward “to not have the stress I have carried for however many years. I will help my friends and do everything I can, but it will be a relief knowing I’m not carrying the can.”

Fortunately for all involved, the succession has been well managed by the board. Ismail Mahomed, who takes over the reins, is in the office with Marais for this year’s festival.

“Are we looking for change?” I ask Mahomed.
“I think change is inevitable by the very nature of the arts,” he replies. “The way we generate new kinds of audiences. We have to be at the pivot of making things happen. I think the expectation in the arts community is that with any kind of change in management there will be a change in direction.”

Mahomed is trying to encourage artists and stakeholders in the festival to be vocal and “kick our butts”.

“We as management need to go into meetings informed by the aspirations of the arts community so that we direct change to meet those changes. There has to be open and honest debate throughout the year engaging with management.”

The impression created by Mahomed and the newly appointed CEO Tony Lancaster, is that the festival is coming to be seen as a national resource for the artistic community of South Africa. This year sees the launch of the ‘Hands On! Masks Off!’ project, a programme of workshops, discussion forums, networking opportunities and seminars for artists run by the doyens of the industry.

“Its fine to say we need to develop new audiences, but as an arts community we must take responsibility for growing those audiences. The approach we are taking with this years festival is lets first skill the practitioners so that the practitioners can be partners with us in developing new audiences,” says Mahomed.

“The main festival has developed very strongly but I think we need to look at how we meet the challenges of the independent theatre sector which is what largely comes to the festival hoping that someone will see their work and take it further.”

Having participated in the festival in various capacities for 23 years, Mahomed feels “I have paid my dues”. His approach should reassure artists that the festival is still in good hands. He sees himself as “a passionate artists who wants to do things and a manager who has to give consideration to a whole range of logistics. I am somehow able to look at things through both lenses. I can empathise with artist as I have come the route the majority of artists have come.”

Whereas many organisations are moved to introspection at a critical juncture – self-examination staving off an autopsy – the National Arts Festival (NAF) is a healthy, irrepressible outfit going on now for 34 years and in no imminent danger of losing centre stage. There is nothing on this continent close to it in terms of diversity, the number of arts events (532 this year), and the range of art forms presented. Attendance is satisfactory and sponsorship appears secure, together injecting over R50 million into the local economy. Yet the festival has embarked on some serious rethinking and a rejuvenating energy is detectable. You need only go to their useful new website at www.nationalartsfestival.co.za to see change is in the offing.
The Board, which carries overall responsibility for the direction of the Festival, has almost doubled in size since 2004. The Festival Committee, which determines what works are performed, is now chaired by Sibongile Khumalo who took over in 2007 after the time-honoured Mannie Manim stepped out. But the greatest focus of change is the creation of a CEO, installed in the enthusiastic personage of the very recently appointed Tony Lancaster.
Lancaster says the NAF wishes to be “the most polished, the leading arts brand which is more than staging a great festival for ten days…What we do for the artists and audiences and the arts in general must extend beyond”. The idea is that “everyone leaves with something that is useful to them…and are richer for it”. The Festival is even contemplating road-show workshops across the country.
Lancaster sees his challenge as “how to harness the legacy [of the Festival] and turn it into something that takes the Festival to the next level. I would not say there is a lot wrong with the Festival but there is plenty of scope for growth and scope for opportunity.” The motivation seems to be to do even better, an ambitious and proactive response to the ever-changing social and economic landscape of South Africa.
The Festival appears on track to do this. Government is at last a key stakeholder, with the Eastern Cape Province and the National Arts Council contributing substantial amounts. An educated guess (the figures are not public) places the combined contribution of various government agencies at over 50% of total sponsorship. South African business in general should be shamed by this.
With an operating budget of R16 million of which 60% is allocated to productions, the festival though not cash-strapped isn’t yet in a position to fulfil all its noble aspirations. Of Lancaster’s many first tasks then, growing audience numbers will probably be the most crucial. “I don’t think we can economically sustain more productions, but what we can sustain is bigger audience houses…My focus is getting more audiences in and making it more economically viable for the productions that do come here. There is obviously a link between those two.”
One innovation is funded by the Arts and Culture Trust with sponsorship earmarked to assist community theatre groups. Says Lancaster: “We are not just going to hand out cash, but we will do matching, so for every ticket you sell we will buy another ticket for someone else, which puts pressure on these groups to not just come and do shows for each other but to market themselves”. The festival plans to buy around 5000 tickets for local school, church and community groups.
Business Arts South Africa (BASA) has also stepped up to the plate. They are funding Cue, the Festival newspaper, to enlarge its daily Fringe coverage significantly. Better-informed festival-goers are more likely to book for productions on the sprawling and qualitatively uneven Fringe, which in Lancaster’s opinion “is very strong this year”.
In terms of the nature of the works on at the Festival, there is scope for something of a reversal in programming. Over the years, the Fringe has steadily lost its appeal for commercial producers. The risks are high and the financial rewards far from lucrative for the big names. The Main has therefore been about balancing reliable draw-cards and artistic quality, since these properties often conflict. But a robust Fringe that could support commercial work with broad appeal would allow the Main to concentrate on artistic merit first, satisfying its core constituencies of artists and patrons of the arts. This would bring the Festival more in line with European Festivals, where the emphasis is on the avant-garde and creating a highly subsidised and supportive space for the Continent’s leading artists to grow and develop.
The importance of the arts to the vitality and survival of a healthy national psyche, which can only be attained through the artistic vanguard, cannot presently be over emphasised.
The new CEO and his team are well positioned to do this and have great prospects ahead of them. New vision and new energy in such a major cultural institution will be a boon to the nation.