![]() | The Cavalier daily Wednesday, May 9,1973 | ![]() |







The man at the nucleus
of the whole Volpone phenomenon, which has probably done
more for drama at the University than anything since the
department's inception, is 37-year-old George Black.
In his two years at Virginia, Black has firmly established
himself at the fore of the Minor Hall creative ranks. Quietly
confident of his iconoclastic production concepts, he has
managed, in his two directorial outings here, to stir up more
intellectual controversy than the normally non-controversial
department is accustomed to handling.
Last year he re-ignited the legendary Chekhov-Stanislavsky
feud when he staged the Russian playwright's Uncle Vanya as
a comedy, supporting Chekhov's contention as to his play's
genre over the more traditional, purely tragic approach. The
concept was heralded by many as imaginative, and denounced
by others as contrived, with drama department chairman
David Weiss one of its most vehement critics.
This year Black affronted many English scholars with his
Hellzapoppin, no-holds-barred approach to Ben Jonson's
Volpone; but working from the premise that purists never
have any fun anyway, he poo-pooed his conventional critics,
integrated contemporary influences with Jonson's Elizabethan
dialogue, and wound up at the Kennedy Center.
Black projects a surprisingly nonchalant attitude toward
this feat, but his wife, Margaret, confides that he does view it
as the highlight of his career.
Watching his crew transform the empty Eisenhower
Theatre stage space into Volpone's habitat, Black talked about
the Volpone experience and related some of the anecdotes
from the ACTF regional competition in Greensboro last
January.
One of the incidents which Black got a kick out of
concerned some kids who came from Troy State University to
view the Greensboro competition.
"They were kind of miffed that their play hadn't been
chosen for the Festival. They were staying in the same hotel,
and apparently they hadn't liked anything until they saw
Volpone, and they really flipped out over Volpone. So they
were talking about me, and this gay student from Troy State
said, 'Well, I haven't met him yet, but he must be a
homosexual because only a homosexual could do a show that
good.' Well, that's show biz for you."
"Did Margaret straighten him out?" a nearby crew member
queried.
"From what I understand," Black said through his
laughter, "nobody could straighten him out."
But on a more profound level, Black detailed his biggest
singular thrill of the Greensboro competition garnering the
professional praise and personal friendship of Broadway
director Alan Schneider, who was one of the Festival judges.
"He was talking to me and Weiss (the day before the
Greensboro production of Volpone) and he said, 'You know, I
like you guys, but I've got to see your show tomorrow and if
it's bad I'm really going to come down on it strong' The
terrific thing was that at the intermission of the show, he
came over and said, 'I'm not supposed to say anything to you,
but this is fantastic.' After the show, he called us over, and
Weiss and I were standing there, and he said, 'That show was
really unbelievable. I've done a lot of stuff, but I couldn't
have done that show. No matter what comes up in the critique
tomorrow, don't feel under any obligation to change anything
because, to tell you the truth, I think you'd be a fool if you
changed anything.' So that was really neat because he's not
Fred Schwartz from Podunk U.
"It was also nice from another angle in that he was not coy
about being enthusiastic about it, which is really refreshing
because that's one of the problems of the academic theater:
there's always an attempt to moderate. I don't think we come
down hard enough on something that's bad, or really get high
enough about something we think is really good. We just keep
hedging our bets."
Given the lavish plaudits he has won for Volpone, it would
seem only natural that Black would entertain notions of
abandoning academia for the professional theater. Yet such
isn't really the case
"I keep all my options open. I like both, though, and I
don't see any real disparity between the two. Unless you're
really in a commercial situation, as you are in New York,
there's almost invariably a teaching function associated with
theater. I directed at a Little Theatre and we actually had a
school attached to it. So I really think I'm in the professional
theater right now."
Black has spent most of the current academic year working
on Volpone, polishing it to the point where one of his cast
commented that it was "five times better than when we first
did it in October." The director looks upon the process of
reviving the show twice after lay-offs – once for Greensboro,
again for Washington – as "really strange."
"You'd get this overwhelming sense of deja vu. You'd get
the show at exactly the same rehearsal place three different
times, and you'd just have to keep slapping yourself."
Whether Black had to slap himself or not as he watched his
production performed twice in the national cultural center is
purely conjectural, but probably unlikely – unless it was to
ward off fatigue. Throughout the set-up, performances, and
late-night party, he carried himself with poise and assurance,
as if playing the Kennedy Center were a natural part of his
life, a commonplace activity.
He appeared relieved to have it behind him, though, by the
time he, his wife and two daughters walked through the
massive parking garage beneath the Center, toward his car and
the exit gates. He swore he felt no let-down, no anti-climax;
that only comes after an opening night, he explained, and this
was, after all, more of a closing night.
But the energy which was the keynote of his Volpone was
still alive in him as, without warning or apparent reason, he
broke into a full run, making a mad dash across the garage to
his car, leaving those that followed with the distinct
impression that, before too long, this inexhaustible energy –
combined with an eclectic talent – would again lead him to
the theater and stratosphere above.
![]() | The Cavalier daily Wednesday, May 9,1973 | ![]() |