PRODUCTION NOTES
Chess’s production history is complicated, and frankly, rather sketchy. It reads more like a supermarket tabloid than an account of a major theatrical endeavor, with politics, illness, and romantic affairs coloring its difficult journey to the stage. There have been productions of Chess in many major cities with new rewrites for each new production, providing me with lots of reading material in the months leading up to rehearsal. Each production has a wildly different take on the characters’ relationships, ultimately finishing with a different ending every time. Once I’d been chosen to direct the show, I found every version of the script I could find and began reading.
Each production had things that worked and things that didn’t. I knew at that moment that I was going to have to defend every creative decision during the process, and in order to do that well, I had to have a clear vision of how I wanted to tell the story. Here was this beautiful show that I’d grown up loving for its story and for my personal connection to it, and I had to not only acknowledge how deeply flawed it is, but try to repair it the best I could while still keeping true to all of the things that made it great. As I continued to read and take notes, I became excited. How often did young directors get the chance to do a show like this? I had complete creative freedom to tell the story the way we felt best. There would never be another production of Chess like Wig and Buckle’s, and knowing that, I got to work.
In a note included with the London version of script, creator Tim Rice declares, “There have been so many alterations [to] Chess during its turbulent history that we are reluctant to present any variation of the work to the public as the definitive one.”
Ouch. Thanks, Mr. Rice. How were we supposed to play a connect-the-dots game with this show when the creator had no idea what to make of it?
But his words did help, in a way. He closed his statement by saying, “When in real doubt, refer back to the original album—first thoughts are often the best, and in many respects, I wish we had never changed a note of it.”
Per his suggestion, I went back to the original concept album, and worked from there, but I was still at a bit of a loss. How do you tell a story that has so many elements, especially when the story itself changes every time it’s performed? But then I got to thinking, and tried to think back to my first encounter with this show, and realized, that’s where the real story was—the very first emotional tie people have with Chess.
From the start, I noticed two things: the elements used to tell the story, and how the union of those elements was really the memorable part of the narrative. And suddenly, the more I listened to it, the more I discovered about storytelling as a whole, learning how to combine different artistic mediums—song, dance, lights, art, plot—to create the story. So when I thought to what I first loved about Chess, I realized where productions of this show have gone wrong. They compromised one element of the show for another at different points in the plot. First and foremost, Chess is a story, and that’s something that was lost somewhere along the way. Since its inception, it has always been intended to be an unusual and abstract theatrical experience, but focusing on just the music or just the story takes away from the spectacle of it all and ends up compromising the overall experience. We could tell the story best by balancing out these elements, making them all equally important. And once I had that epiphany, I knew where to go. “First thoughts are often the best,” indeed.
In the end, Wig and Buckle’s production was based on the original London production, as the storyline is simpler, clearer, and doesn’t include oddities such as dancing astronauts, rapping secret agents, machine gun-toting referees, or random German drinking songs that were added in later revisions of the script. Creative aspects of this production were been inspired by the 1984 concept album and New York, Swedish, Australian, and 2008 concert productions, with special attention paid to the creator’s original concepts and ideas. I tried to tell the most cohesive story, one that carefully examined the show’s roots while showing the way time (and revision) made it a lasting and relevant tale.
CONCEPTUAL DESIGN
Set design by Dee Bogert and Taylor Saraiva
From the start, we knew we wanted to feature the pit orchestra. Leedy Theater’s pit space isn’t ideal, especially for a 27-piece orchestra. We decided to feature them on stage, with the action going around and above them. The technical director built a large platform and stairs above and around the pit. The school filled the previous pit space with an extension, giving us more space and transforming our proscenium theater into a partial-thrust space. Everything was painted with black and white paint, using only light to suggest mood and environment changes. We used fog, pyrotechnics, and black light for “One Night in Bangkok” to set the 80s video feel.
Costumes and hairstyles set the early 1980s timeframe. We had two separate ensembles—one for the dancers, who depicted the “chess pieces” during the chess games, and a vocal ensemble for company numbers. The vocal ensemble wore black suits, the girls with teased hair. For “One Night in Bangkok,” they switched their white shirts and black jackets for neon shirts, and for “Merano” they traded their suits for dresses and Lederhosen to convey the Tyrolean feel.
We had eight dancers in the dance ensemble, half wearing white, half in black. All costumes were chosen for their movement and ability to portray the structure of the game. For “One Night in Bangkok,” they changed into gold Thai-insprired costumes, again chosen for their color and movement.
See the photo gallery and video footage below for more insight on Wig and Buckle's production of Chess.
