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This article examines the adaptation of verbatim text into stage images through an analysis of the youth theatre production titled tot stof / tot stilte -- 'n paniekreaksie ("to dust / to silence -- a panic reaction") that was performed by Bloemhof Girls' School in 2018. The article begins with a brief examination of the conventional methodology for creating verbatim theatre, which usually employs the so-called playbuilding kite-model (Norris 2009). This involves the formulation of a central idea, which is then explored through a data-collection phase. At a certain point during the process, the data are selected and edited to form a script. The focus of this process is usually the collection of verbal data, or data that are to be performed through speech on the stage in the form of monologues or dialogue. The article goes on to critically examine this process of adaptation and how it relates to the raw, or spoken, data. It is found that through the selection and editing process of the data, the adaptation of the verbatim text does not necessarily capture the total scope of the raw data. For example, certain fragments of data generated in the process may be of interest, but are not substantial enough in length or content to constitute an entire scene on stage. Similarly, other data may be interesting in their core idea, theme, or topic, but do not translate well to the stage as verbatim spoken text. This problem is especially present when the raw data do not necessarily have theatrical impact when viewed as dramatic dialogue, where there is usually a focus in intent, conflict, and a form of progression. Another problem that the article identifies is that in the selection and editing process, the data may be presented not just "as a version of what happened but the version of what happened" (Martin 2006:11). This may result in a verbatim piece that propagandises its own truthfulness. Using Lehmann's (2016) theories of postdramatic aesthetics, this article argues that a practitioner can also adapt raw spoken data to stage images to capture the fuller contexts, content, and processes of the data collection process. This adaptation can be considered potentially more "real" than traditional text-focused verbatim theatre because a broader scope of the raw data may be portrayed, especially given certain contextual constraints (the theatrical experience of the actors, or the length of the play in relation to the raw data). By placing the emphasis of the production on the visual images, the implicit artificiality of the verbatim form is highlighted and thereby the notion of "reality" or "realness" can be deconstructed. Indeed, the depiction of a "curated reality" of the verbatim text form can be explored in a new way by shifting focus to the visual landscape of the production. This visual dramaturgy, when viewed in relation to traditional notions of "realness" or "fidelity to the raw data" can become arguably "more real" than the spoken word because this reality is generated by the total visual-aural presentation partially through the perception of the audience. The audience becomes part of the meaning-making process because no claims to textual authority are made. "Realness" is consequently suggested instead of being stated; while claims to actuality are deconstructed. The visual landscape of the production references reality, without reporting reality. This article brings notions of fidelity in relation to adaptation theory to the fore, while artifice and the documentarian depiction of "reality" are explored. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

This article explores the intertextual relationship between a cluster of texts by three South African authors from three generations: a collection of children's stories, Stories van Rivierplaas ["Stories of River Farm"] (1955-6) by Alba Bouwer, Diepe Grond ["Deep Ground"] (1985) a play by Reza de Wet as well as De Wet's own English translation and reworking of Diepe Grond as African Gothic (2003), and Eersgeborene ["Firstborn"] (2009) a short film by Etienne Kallos. While between the three authors, it is only Bouwer's work that can be classified as children's fiction, De Wet and Kallos not only adapt and appropriate her texts but also thematise childhood in theirs. To discuss Bouwer, De Wet and Kallos's critique of normative constructions of aged subjectivity, I draw on Maria Nikolajeva's concept "aetonormativity", an age based norm and the specific assumption that adults and adult experiences are normative while the experiences of a child should be classified as deviant (2010:8). As such I read aetonormativity as a kind of performativity as Judith Butler defines it, that is, a subject position which is posited by means of social mechanisms as an ontological essence, while there are no universal consensus or proof of its reality (1999:viii). Narrowly defined definitions of maturity are exposed in various ways in the works of Bouwer, De Wet and Kallos. The narrative mode in Stories van Rivierplaas is heterodiegetic, but the plot and chronotope are still focalised by way of free-indirect discourse, through the point of view of the child protagonist, Alie. Consequently, the child's field of experience and worldview serve as the text's epistemological basis and the normative adult voices of her parents and other authority figures are subordinated to her own rhapsodic and sensual conceptions of life. In De Wet's adaptation of Stories van Rivierplaas, Diepe Grond, she intensifies this worldview by depicting Bouwer's child characters as grownups who entirely reject their parents' exemplary codes of conduct by still behaving and speaking like children and only act as adults when they parody their parents, subversively. In this way their parents' expression of maturity is reduced to personae in the etymological Latin origin of the word: theatre masks. De Wet theatricalises the Afrikaner nationalist aetonormativity that Bouwer questions by means of metatheatre: De Wet's Alie is an adult, but she acts like a child who imitates adults from time to time. Twenty years after Diepe Grond's première De Wet translates and rewrites it as African Gothic. In this version she emphasises, by means of changes in the plot and altered narrative strategies, the stealthy and violent ways with which some women empower themselves within a system that rob them of equal agency. De Wet portrays the child again as the neglected, underestimated and masterful social actor who is able to copy the powerplay of adults and to beat them at their own game. In Eersgeborene Etienne Kallos takes the gender and sexual dimensions of the adults in Bouwer and De Wet's texts under closer scrutiny. The counterparts in Diepe Grond of Alie and Hennie in Rivierplaas, Soekie and Frikkie, and of Sussie and Frikkie in African Gothic become two sons, Kleinbasie and Frikkie. While Alie in Rivierplaas, Soekie in Diepe Grond and Sussie in African Gothic imitate a parent of the same gender, Kleinbasie cross-dresses as his mother, explicating the same performative dimensions of aeto- and gendernormativity. Eersgeborene also highlights the patronising and the pathological infantilisation of homosexuality by means of the mother character's description of it, in the film, as part of the "the things of a child". In line with the analysed texts' thematic preoccupation with childhood and parenthood the metaphor of motherhood is used to construct a genetic lens with which the texts are read as giving birth to each other, stressing as such their filial rather than embattled relationship. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

This article analyses selected aspects of director Christiaan Olwagen's critically acclaimed 2018 film adaptation of the Russian playwright Anton Checkhov's play The Seagull (original title: Chayka). In Olwagen's Die seemeeu, the action is set in South Africa in the early 1990s, the time of transition to a democratic South Africa. For the Afrikaans world of the arts, this was a time of upheaval: the existing national arts boards were dismantled and Afrikaans actors and directors lost their state funding and support. Afrikaans theatre adapted to this different context by moving to smaller, independent theatres and especially the new national arts festivals, for example the Klein Karoo National Arts Festival (KKNK) that originated in 1995. Olwagen's film spans four years and depicts this change as it affects Irene (Irina Arkadina), a famous Afrikaans actress. By the end of the film, she has just starred in a successful production at the first KKNK. Firstly, the article provides a brief overview of translation theory and adaptation theory and the overlap between these fields. The terms "translation" and "adaptation" are defined. Reference is made to the scholars who concur that adaptation is a form of translation. The concept of "fidelity criticism" is briefly explored as an approach that used to be followed frequently in adaptation studies; the degree to which an adaptation remains "faithful" to the original text was and is studied, in particular when canonical authors are the topic of the investigation. This approach is contrasted with the more recent view that the subjectivity of the adapter is one of the main important factors in an adaptation. In this approach, the adapter uses the adaptation as a vehicle for his own thematic and ideological preoccupations. Both of these approaches are relevant for Olwagen's adaptation of The Seagull. In the next section, two scenes in Olwagen's film are analysed: the production of the play written by Konstant (Konstantin Gravrilovich Treplew) at the beginning of the film, and the scene at the end where Nina sees Konstant again. In addition, the film poster and soundtrack are analysed. Konstant's play in Olwagen's film is a rewriting of Konstantin's play in Chekhov's The Seagull. This makes Olwagen's interaction with Chekhov in his adaptation particularly dense and multi-layered. In Olwagen's adaptation, the symbolism of the seagull is made very prominent by giving Nina a pair of wings to wear that she thinks make her look like a seagull, and by adding the line "I am the seagull" at the end of the play. Moreover, the film poster depicts the head of a seagull on the body of a man holding a rifle. The content and tone of Konstant's play, in addition to the heavy-handed use of symbolism, suggest that the original subtlety of Chekhov's play was not retained in Olwagen's adaptation. The soundtrack is equally unsubtle: a revue of well-known symphonic works by famous Russian composers. This choice, as well as the design of the film poster (which is reminiscent of Russian propaganda art), is evidence that Olwagen reverted to stereotypes of Russia while presenting a play by a Russian playwright to an Afrikaans audience; whether in a serious or playful manner, it is somewhat hard to ascertain. When one abandons the concept of faithfulness to the original, the above choices are perfectly in line with the subjectivity of the adapter when it comes to adaptation. Olwagen chose to emphasise the seagull symbolism and the "Russian-ness" of his (South Africanised) adaptation in order to make his film accessible to Afrikaans film viewers, and to find some way to harmonise the original context of the Chekhov play with the South African setting. His choices also highlight the tension between stage plays and films: in a time when far fewer consumers will attend an (Afrikaans) play, there is still a market for Afrikaans films, and this is the target audience for which his adaptation was created. Finally, Olwagen's Die seemeeu is briefly compared to his other feature films, Johnny is nie dood nie (2017) and Kanarie (2018). These three films all demonstrate Olwagen's preoccupation with apartheid South Africa and the insularity of white Afrikaners in this period. It is shown that certain aspects of the structure, as well as visual and stylistic choices were guided by the desire to create continuity between Die seemeeu and the other two films by Olwagen. He appears to be in the process of establishing himself as an auteur filmmaker. Olwagen's adaptation of The Seagull is (among other things) a film about adaptation. After seeing Konstant's adaptation of Konstantin's play, Irene asks, "Why fuck up a classic?" The film confirms the theoretical view that the subjectivity of the adapter is all-important: Olwagen has attempted to integrate his condemnation of the ignorance and insularity of Afrikaners under apartheid with a digestible adaptation of a classic work that would please film audiences. He comments on the period of transition in which Afrikaans theatre had to reassess and adapt its practices, and also comments on the current dispensation in which the Afrikaans film industry is booming. In this context, his film represents the triumph of the silver screen where film adaptations are the most lucrative. It is not altogether clear, however, whether Olwagen escapes the insularity of which he is critical, since he restricts himself to themes that are largely limited to Afrikaners. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

The adaptation of the King Kong musical in 2017 could not have been done without the memory of the original musical since the original had considerable cultural resonance when it was performed in 1959. King Kong is one of the most significant productions in the history of South African theatre. When the production was first staged in 1959, it involved 72 musicians and dancers and it aimed to showcase the vibrancy of an emerging urban black culture to primarily white audiences. Other factors have also contributed to King Kong being an important production in the history of South African theatre. For example, it was also one of the first productions which transgressed apartheid era strictures by showing collaboration between Africans and whites. Its principal actors went on to achieve international acclaim and the musical was hugely successful when it was performed in London. These factors all contributed to the way in which the musical was adapted in 2017. In discussing the adaptation, I consider that the musical has undergone various permutations, namely an original story outline and pianobased composition written by Pat Williams and Todd Matshikiza respectively (version number one) as well as the expansion of this script by Harry Bloom and the orchestration of the music (version number two). Furthermore, a third version of the musical was written for performance in England, which became known in published form as King Kong. The African jazz opera. It is important to note that King Kong had only been performed as a full production in South Africa in 1959 and in 2017, yet in the intervening years, the musical was part of the public consciousness. In this article, I argue that the memories of the original production, including the prevailing sociopolitical conditions of 1959, cannot be divorced from the later version of the musical. Miriam Makeba, Hugh Masekela and Pat Williams all have written autobiographies in which they relate their involvement in the original King Kong production. Firstly, I will discuss how the original participants in the musical have contributed to building a considerable legacy for the musical. Both versions of the musical are then compared to outline how the past reverberates in the new adaptation, particularly in the role of the leading female character, Joyce. I wish to demonstrate that memories of the 1959 version were prevalent in the 2017 production. Marvin Carlson sees the implied as well as intertextual links between past and current theatrical texts as analogous to the presence of ghosts of the previous production. Furthermore, the adaptation is explored by analysing the production as a written text as well as the performance of the text and explores the way translation (of culture and specifically words) played an important role in the original production itself. The structure of the production is an important factor when discussing the 2017 adaptation. Notably, the "original" King Kong (1959) was written as a retroversion, in which three township "washer women" and a male resident recount the story of the great boxer, King Kong, who ignited the township with his boxing prowess. The boxer fell in love with Joyce, who owned a shebeen called "Back of the Moon" but was also the girlfriend of Lucky, a feared gangster. Through Lucky's machinations, King Kong loses a crucial match, which is the beginning of his descent into lawlessness. King Kong is arrested and sent to prison. When he returns from jail he sees that Joyce has reunited with Lucky and he kills her. During his trial for Joyce's murder King Kong begs the judge to sentence him to death - a plea which is denied. Ultimately, while working as part of a prisoner work gang, King Kong dies, apparently due to suicide. The first two versions of the production present the character as a victim of the apartheid justice system. The reworking of the musical for its London staging kept the retrospective nature of the dramatic narrative but added some sequences of African dance -- leading to much praise by critics in London when the musical was performed in 1961. This article also discusses the complexity of translating a text from one cultural context to another. The local producers of the musical (in 1961) wanted to maintain the integrity and authenticity of the Johannesburg version. However, the English producer demanded that a structure be imposed on the musical, so that it would fit in with contemporary theatrical conventions of the London West End. At the same time, the representation of African culture (music, song and dance) was also deliberately exoticised - to differentiate the musical from current productions on the circuit at that time. Ironically, this is the version that has been captured as a published script. The producers of the 2017 adaptation were critical of the London version of King Kong. The criticism they directed at the London version was that it was more of a "Broadwaydisation" of the South African version. Therefore, in the 2017 adaptation, extraneous scenes of gumboot dancing were removed. Additionally, the dramatic narrative was restructured as an unfolding dramatic narrative. This necessitated the writing of new scenes to illustrate why the character King Kong was revered in the township, as well as to actualise some key dramatic moments. Furthermore, the 2017 adaptation observed current social norms and sensitivities. One change involved changing the name of King Kong's opponent. In the original versions, the opponent was named "Apeman Khanyile", a name that was changed to Joe Khanyile as it would be inappropriate within contemporary discourse to stage a boxing match in which duelling African men were compared to apes. Another change involved the killing of Joyce. In the original, her death was merely presented as evidence of King Kong's downfall, thereby reducing the incident of her murder to secondary status. In the 2017 adaptation, the writers were cognisant of contemporary South African discourse on genderbased violence. Therefore, the new version asserts Joyce's victimisation at the hands of a man she knows. This shows that adaptations of theatre work of necessity take new social norms into account. Thus, adaptations involve more than updating a play's structure and dialogue - they also account for how one locates an old play within contemporary discourse, without losing the play's historical time setting and integrity. Despite being absent from South African stages for several decades, King Kong has significantly influenced the development of South African theatre, particularly within the genre of the South African musical. This legacy encompasses a variety of playwrights. The most literal manifestation of the cultural impact of King Kong is apparent in King Africa - The Musical (1988) in which the principal themes, style of presentation and music echoed those of King Kong. The cultural deposit of the musical ranges far and wide and sees the use of music as a contextual signifier for (African) society, culture and politics. Notably, Siebörger (2016) analyses Kramer and Petersen's District Six - The Musical, as an aspect of "public history". There are many other significant musicals which have devolved from this heritage, among them BrickhillBurke's Meropa (1974), Kramer and Petersen's Poison (1994) and Richard Loring's African Footprint (2000). These illustrate the longevity of the (at times politicised) South African musical as a genre and further suggests that this theatrical category is embedded in South African theatre practice. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]