Valladolid Brings the Core to the Stage

“Aristotle is a pagan, and is burning in Hell,” Bartolomé de las Casas (Gerry Bamman) passionately declares in Jean-Claude Carrière’s drama The Controversy of Valladolid. “Goodbye, Aristotle!” Las Casas’ frustration echoes that of Contemporary Civilization students, but he objects to more than just the prospect of reading yet another cheap Hackett paperback. Living at a time when Aristotle ranked just below God in authority, de las Casas must overturn 1,800 years of scholarship in order to prove his claim: that the inhabitants of the New World are human and possess souls.

Carrière’s problem is almost as formidable: there’s at least 2,500 years of theatrical scholarship demonstrating that most people don’t care to spend $50 to watch two men reenact an obscure debate for an hour and 45 minutes. Like de las Casas, though, Carrière challenges conventional wisdom fearlessly. The result is an engrossing and eminently intriguing contribution to contemporary discussions about war, religion, and politics.

Carrière’s script, translated from its original French by Richard Nelson, owes its phrasing more to the 21st century courtroom than to the 16th century monastery in which de las Casas and his opponent Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda confront each other in the play. The lines Bamman and Steven Skybell (Sepúlveda) deliver could just as easily be spoken by participants in contemporary discussions: Chirac or Kennedy or Rumsfeld or Rice, although the direct eloquence of Carrière’s phrasing is perhaps a bit beyond President Bush.

The strength of the Public Theater’s production, however, is that it does not dwell upon those similarities. The connections are the audience’s to make. That’s not to say, though, that the cast members give reserved performances.

Bamman’s de las Casas is full of righteous fury as he catalogues the brutal crimes committed by the conquistadors; he can barely contain himself as he describes the tortures and executions he has witnessed. Other stories he tells with mournful laughter: the Indian who asked him, “What do the Spanish do with all that gold—eat it?”; another who remarked, “I’m feeling a little Christian because I’ve learned to lie a little.” Bamman makes de las Casas’ desperation palpable—the stakes are clearly higher than victory in a mere debate.

Sepúlveda is also acted with incisive sympathy. To the credit of Skybell, Carrière, and director David Jones, Sepúlveda does not become a villainous lunatic or a stand-in for certain despised American politicians. Instead, Skybell’s Sepúlveda is an even-tempered Aristotelian, as confident in his interpretation of truth as de las Casas is in his. And while Sepúlveda’s ultimate goal—the redemption of Indian souls, whatever the price—is less worthy by contemporary standards than las Casas’, Skybell makes his religious zeal not only believable but almost sympathetic. That’s no small achievement when the role calls for Skybell to describe the Indians as “demons.”

Therein lies one of the difficult truths Carrière so adeptly embeds in his play: just as lunatics are found on both sides of every debate, so too are rational thinkers. To the Chiracs and Kennedys of the world, it’s self-evident that the Rumsfelds and Rices have nothing insightful to say, and vice-versa. Valladolid is a model of the genuine exchange of ideas unfortunately lacking in contemporary discourse.

But it’s also proof that a genuine exchange of ideas need not—and perhaps cannot—take place in solely conversational tones. Valladolid is surprisingly and enjoyably theatrical, not only in its widely varying decibel level, but also in its mix of farce, drama, and tragedy. It’s almost a 16th century version of Columbia’s visiting artist Peter Brook’s Marat/Sade, in which the conventions subverted are those of debate rather than theater, and the interruptions are caused by outbreaks of violence rather than nymphomania.

Overseeing the debate is the Papal Legate (Josef Sommer) who is sent to Valladolid to decide whether the Indians are fully human or not. Sitting placidly on a dais and dressed in the scarlet robes of a cardinal, Sommer’s Legate speaks with quiet, deliberate authority, never revealing his own opinion until the very end. Despite his scrupulous reserve, it is the Legate who creates the surprises which lead to some of the play’s most dramatic moments.

Chief among those surprises is a family of Indians imported to Valladolid. Described only as Male Indian (Ron Moreno), Female Indian (Monica Salazar), and Indian Child (Jeremy Michael Kuszel), they are subjected to a series of bizarre and even cruel experiments devised by the Legate to determine if they are human.

Aside from those moments, however, Valladolid is a resolutely staid production. Director David Jones’ staging is notable only for its focus on the actors. Klara Zieglerova’s set seems historically accurate, although the massive, strangely cropped mural at the rear of the stage depicting Christ carrying the cross detracts from her otherwise scrupulous attention to detail.

But staid is an underrated attribute in theater, and in Valladolid it serves to set Carrière’s subtle social commentary in starker relief. One can only imagine what a so-called innovative production might have been: flashy lighting, modern costumes and set, and perhaps some multimedia. More exciting? Perhaps. More relevant? Certainly not. And although today de las Casas is enshrined in the CC syllabus alongside Aristotle, the debate he and Sepúlveda began continues today across the world. Those seeking to understand the world better would do well to begin in Valladolid.