Governors Island

A Special Installment of “A Helluva Town”

I recently ran an article on ROT about New York City’s unusual High Line Park, built 30 feet above the far West Side of Manhattan in the bed of a disused elevated rail line (see “High Line Park,” 10 October).  New York’s full of parks, as most people know, and not a few of them are unusual and even unique.  (The only other “park in the sky,” as Parks Commissioner Adrian Benepe called it, is the Promenade Plantée in Paris, the model for High Line Park.)  Another public space in the city that’s at least uncommon is Governors Island Park in New York Harbor.  If the High Line is a park in the sky, then Governors Island is a floating park.

I’d never been to Governors Island before July 2010, when I attended a performance of that summer’s Lincoln Center Festival on the island (see my ROT report on Teorema, 3 August 2010). The 172-acre island was an army post from 1794 until 1966 when the Coast Guard took it over.  In 1996, the USCG abandoned the station and in 2003, New York State and New York City “bought” the island from the feds for $1.  They still haven’t figured out exactly what to do with it all—some proposals have been floated, including some commercial, for-profit use, but many decisions haven’t been made—and at present there’s little there aside from old buildings, the park-like landscape, and the spectacular view of lower Manhattan, downtown Brooklyn, New Jersey, and the harbor with the Statue of Liberty prominent to the west and the silhouette of the Ellis Island immigration facility beyond.  At night, with the skyline and the East River bridges lit up, the view is worth the free ferry ride over, but the island isn’t currently open after 7 p.m. except for special events like the LCF performance, so getting to see that nighttime vista is tough.  There are also almost no facilities on the island yet, except for a few food vendors, swings, and hammocks for relaxing in the relative tranquility of an island in the middle of New York Harbor.  Basically, you can hang out, hike the circumference of the island, or pedal the bike path around it.  There’s a tour of the old military fortifications (which are a National Monument, so the guides are U.S. Park Service personnel) and there are some buildings in use for art exhibitions and installations, but otherwise, it’s basically a place for communing. 

The island isn’t even open for tourists during the week yet; it’s usual public operating hours are on the weekend from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Friday and until 7 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday, but in 2012, the island was closed to tourism on Fridays so that infrastructure upgrades can be accomplished.  (It’s also open on the Monday holidays during the season, Memorial Day and Labor Day.)  When Governors Island has been developed for visitors more than it was two years ago, I’ll wholeheartedly recommend a trip over for an afternoon.  Unhappily, unless the city expands the hours past 7 p.m. (or the island remains open later in the year than the end of September when twilight falls earlier), you’ll miss that evening ride back in the dark and the view from the island to the sparkling city over the water with the lower Manhattan and downtown Brooklyn cityscape lit up.  On the other hand, the ride is free.

In Upper New York Bay, the original, natural island was about 70 acres until the Army Corps of Engineers oversaw the dumping of nearly 5 million cubic yards of landfill from the excavation of the Eastside IRT subway tunnels at the south side of the island in 1912, adding about 103 acres to it.  About 800 yards off the southern tip of Manhattan, like the dot at the bottom of a Manhattan Borough exclamation point, Governors Island is separated from Brooklyn only by the width of Buttermilk Channel.  The Native Americans living in what is now the tri-state area, principally the Lenape, valued the island as a seasonal fishing camp and for its abundant hickory, oak, and chestnut trees, naming it Pagganck (“Nut Island”).  In 1611, Dutch explorer and fur trader Adriaen Block named the island Noten Eylant, the Dutch translation of Pagganck.  The local tribes began using Noten Eylant/Pagganck as a convenient location to conduct trade with the European settlers and in 1613, Jan Rodrigues from Santo Domingo, a free man of African descent, was posted to the island, becoming the first non-Indian to live there, to act as translator and trade negotiator for Block.  

In 1624, Noten Eylant was the landing spot for the first Dutch settlers of New Netherland, 30 families arriving from Holland on the New Netherland.  The first fortifications on Noten Eylant were erected that same year.  In 1633, Wouter Van Twiller arrived on the island with a 104-man regiment, making the first use of it as a military base.   On 16 June 1637, Van Twiller bought Noten Eylant from the Lenape Indians for two ax heads, a string of beads, and a handful of nails.  A year later, the Dutch government seized the island and maintained it as part of New Netherland until Britain captured the Dutch colonies in North America in 1664. 

In 1665, the colony of New Amsterdam was renamed New York and Noten Eylant was corrupted into Nutten Island for about a hundred years.  The British colonial assembly immediately saw Nutten Island’s natural beauty and set it aside exclusively for “the benefit and accommodation of his Majestie’s Governors” by 1674.  Though not used as a permanent official residence, the governor's house, originally built around 1703, is the oldest structure on the island.  Although Nutten Island was not officially renamed until after the American Revolution, it came to be called “The Governor’s Island” from then on.   

In 1776, the British evacuated New York and the Americans fortified the island overnight on 9 April with earthworks to protect New York Harbor.  The only shots ever fired in combat from the island, colonial troops fired on British ships during the Revolutionary War from the island until 27 August 1776 when the British defeated the colonial army in the Battle of Brooklyn (also known as the Battle of Long Island), the largest campaign in the war, and Gen. George Washington retreated from Long Island and the Governor’s Island.  New York City remained a royalist stronghold throughout the Revolution.

After the British surrender in 1783, the city and its islands returned to American control and what officially became Governors Island in 1784, losing both its article and its apostrophe, became the territory and responsibility of the newly constituted State of New York.  Officially, the island is part of the Borough of Manhattan, otherwise designated New York County.  (The boroughs are city divisions; counties are state entities.  For an explanation of New York City boroughs and their coterminous counties, see my ROT article “A Helluva Town, Part 1,” posted on 15 August 2011.)  The island served no military use for several years, but in 1794, with the country in need of a system of coastal defenses to meet threats to territorial security and foreign trade from the hostilities between Britain and France (the Napoleonic wars), New York State began the construction of Fort Jay—named for John Jay (1745-1829), a Founding Father, the second Governor of New York State, the first U.S. Secretary of Foreign Affairs (now called the Secretary of State), and the first Chief Justice of the United States—on the remains of the Revolutionary earthworks in the center of the island.  The star-shaped fort was completed in 1794, confirming Governors Island’s long history as a military base, and it was transferred to federal ownership in 1800.  Fort Jay, renamed Fort Columbus (until 1904), was reconstructed in 1806 and ’09, and Castle Williams—named for Lt. Col. Jonathan Williams (1751-1815), the first American-born military engineer and a grandnephew of Benjamin Franklin, who designed the circular fortification—was completed in 1811.  In the War of 1812, these coastal defenses helped deter the British navy from entering New York Harbor, which they blockaded instead. 

The Governors Island fortifications became militarily obsolete by 1830 and the island’s purpose became largely administrative.  During the Mexican-American War (1846-48), the island’s facilities were used as a recruiting center, a function that continued during the Civil War when Governors Island also served as a POW installation for captured Confederate soldiers.  Following the Civil War, Castle Williams was used as a military stockade, a prison for soldiers convicted of crimes, until 1965 and in 1878, the whole base became a major army administrative center.  In 1904, Elihu Root, Secretary of War (1899-1904) under Pres. Theodore Roosevelt, renamed Fort Columbus for John Jay and named the entire island’s military facility Fort Jay.  Root (1845-1937) instigated the 1912 expansion of the island to its current size with the landfill.  In World Wars I and II, the island served as a supply depot for the U.S. Army, including the Air Corps.  In 1939, Governors Island became the headquarters of the U.S. First Army. 

During Governors Island’s occupation by the U.S. Army, three members of the Grant family served there: Capt. Ulysses Grant (1822-85) was there in 1852-54; Gen. Frederick Grant (1850-1912), President Grant’s son, was in command there twice until his death in 1912; and Frederick Grant’s grandson, Col. Ulysses Grant III (1881-1968), was chief of staff for the commander there in 1936-37.  Wilbur Wright took off from and landed on Governors Island on 29 September 1909 for the first over-water flight in the U.S.  The Smothers Brothers comedy duo were born on the island, Tom in 1937 and Dick in 1939, and comic book artist Neal Adams (Batman, Green Lantern) was born there in 1941.  A couple of writers have lived on the island: Janet Lambert (1894-1973), a young-adult author of the 1940s through the ’60s, while her husband was the post commander in the 1950s, and Lois Lowry (b. 1937), author of The Giver (1993), during her high school years while her father was an army dentist posted there.  Michael Collins (b. 1930), NASA astronaut, spent a portion of his teen years on Governors Island.  On 8 December 1988, the island served as the meeting place of U.S. President Ronald Reagan, President-elect George H. W. Bush, and Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev.

In 1964, the Department of Defense designated Governors Island as one of the bases to be closed in 1966 to cut costs and reduce the number of underused facilities.  When the army moved out on Changeover Day, 30 June 1966, the U.S. Coast Guard moved in.  The USCG, an agency of the Department of the Treasury until 1967, consolidated many area facilities onto the island and was able to offer Coast Guardsmen schools for their children and recreational amenities for their families.  The island, the largest USCG base in the world (with 3,500 residents at the base), became the headquarters for the Coast Guard’s Atlantic Area Command.  The Coast Guard stayed on Governors Island for 30 years, leaving in 1996 when the facilities in New York City had become obsolete to the USCG’s coastal defense mission.  By then, the island had served over 200 years as a U.S. military facility.  During the 20th century (and some of the 19th), assignment to Governors Island was considered a prestige posting, not just for the military significance of the base—many officers stationed on the island went on to senior commands and greater responsibilities—but because of its connection to New York City, rapidly becoming the most important city in the United States and, as far as many thought, the world. 

During the island’s long military history, access was severely restricted and few New Yorkers, much less tourists, ever visited Governors Island.  Before the construction of Brooklyn’s Floyd Bennett Field, dedicated in 1930, Governors Island was considered for the site of a city airfield, but it was never built, and in 1939, New York City master builder, Robert Moses, proposed a cross-harbor bridge with one base located on Governors Island, but the War Department rejected the idea as an impediment to access to the Brooklyn Navy Yard across from the island.  The Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, which opened in 1950, crosses under the harbor, passing by the island’s northeast corner where a ventilation tower can be seen.  The only way to get onto the island, aside from trying to swim, is by boat or aircraft, and the military controlled the access by both.  It was a little like Alcatraz in reverse: those on the island could leave as they pleased but no one wanted to escape the little self-contained community; off-islanders who wanted to get in were prevented by water and armed guards. 

Between 1996, when the USCG left, and 2003, when the island first opened to the general public, it essentially lay abandoned, inhabited only by caretakers, maintenance workers, and National Park Service employees.  Ninety-two acres of the island, encompassing the two military fortifications, had been designated a National Historic Landmark in 1985, but no visitors could come over and appreciate it. 

The 1996 congressional legislation that mandated the disposal of federal property required that Governors Island be sold at fair market value, but Sen. Daniel Patrick Moynihan of New York inserted a provision in the bill that gave New York State first refusal on the property.  The state had to come up with a plan for the use of the island as a public asset and city and state officials, civic activists, and private developers all began pitching ideas.  A competition was held in 1996, attracting over 200 submissions from students, scholars, and professionals, including entries from 14 different nations.  On 1 April 2002, Pres. George W. Bush, Gov. George Pataki, and Mayor Michael Bloomberg announced that the United States would sell Governors Island to the people of New York for $1, and on 31 January 2003, 150 acres of the island were handed over to the State of New York; the remaining 22 acres were transferred from the Department of Transportation (of which the USCG was at that time a component) to the Department of the Interior and designated the Governors Island National Monument under the management of the National Park Service.  On 14 July 2010, New York City assumed responsibility for New York’s 150-acre portion of Governors Island from the state, and its administration was assumed by the Trust for Governors Island, a New York City agency.  Last 12 May, Mayor Bloomberg broke ground for the planned city park and public space, one designer of which is the firm of Diller Scofidio + Renfro, one of the architects of the High Line Park. 

The park will be located on 87 acres in the center of Governors Island which is currently undeveloped open area.  The northern end of the island, occupied by the historic military structures that include the housing and regimental administrative buildings as well as the fortifications, will remain essentially unchanged aside from necessary renovation and restoration of existing structures.  (One proposal rejected by the Park Service as inconsistent with the structure’s historic status was the conversion of Castle Williams into a New Globe Theater, conceived in partnership with London’s Globe.)  The coastal areas along the east and west sides of the island will be developed commercially.  The entire island will be ringed by a circumferential promenade. 

The current blueprint for the redevelopment of Governors Island spans 10 years, the first phase of which is now underway.  Phase one, expected to be completed by 2013, includes plans to upgrade Soissons Landing, the ferry pier, to provide better access to the island; redesign the Parade Ground for lawn sports; add park amenities to the 34-acre Historic District; construct a drinking-water system; repair the seawall; add Liggett Terrace, a six-acre plaza with seasonal plantings, and Hammock Grove, a new 10-acre shaded, wooded area containing hammocks for visitors; turn South Battery into a lawn around the historic fortifications; and install the 14-acre Play Lawn which will include two new baseball fields.  Plans for future phases of the development, for all of which Mayor Bloomberg has allocated $250 million, are in progress and the only restrictions are that they may not include permanent housing (that is, no condos) or casinos.  The aesthetic goal for the Trust, which oversees the renovations and improvements, is to develop the island’s accommodations and facilities without making the changes obtrusive, to provide more concessions and vendors to serve visitors without turning the island into a commercialized zone. 

In addition to the park and the National Monument, Governors Island is now home to a public high school, the New York Harbor School, originally located in Bushwick, Brooklyn, and artists’ studios run by the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council in one of the historic  buildings.  A three-acre commercial organic farm operated by a non-profit organization was launched on Governors Island in 2009, and two years ago, New York University announced plans for a satellite campus, complete with student and faculty housing, on the island.  Commercial development, along the shorelines, is also planned as a way to raise revenues; among some of the proposals are a conference center, restaurants, and retail stores.

During the season, a visit to Governors Island starts with the free ferry from the Battery Maritime Building at 10 South Street, catty-corner from the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, in lower Manhattan or from Pier 6 in Brooklyn Bridge Park at the foot of Atlantic Avenue at the corner of Columbia Street in Brooklyn.  (Both locations are accessible by subway and bus and there’s parking nearby, though street parking is limited.)  The boats run every half hour from Manhattan and every 20 minutes from Brooklyn and land you at Soissons Dock on the north end, almost directly across from the lower Manhattan departure point.  (There’s also a NY Waterway ferry across the East River from DUMBO, Williamsburg, and Greenpoint in Brooklyn that costs $4, plus $1 for bikes.)  The ferry trip was nearly the best part of my visit—a seven-minute cruise across a corner of the harbor with the city skyline at your backs, the Statue of Liberty in the middle distance, and the harbor spread out before you.  It’s a wonderful little treat in itself, especially on a beautiful day when you can stand at the rail and watch the harborscape flow by.  As the downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn skylines recede behind you and the New Jersey shoreline runs parallel to your route (albeit at a great distance), you get a fantastic view of the Statue of Liberty over the starboard side (where I happened to be standing) and Ellis Island beyond it.  The working harbor is also laid out around you with the various vessels that ply the waters, from pleasure boats to tour boats to ferries to tugs and other working craft, and the water shines and sparkles in the sunshine.  (Yes, I know it’s actually dirty.  It still reflects the sun.)  The last island-bound ferry from Manhattan leaves at 5:30 p.m. (5:10 from Brooklyn); the last return boats depart the slip at 7 p.m.

From Soissons Landing, the island offers a free tram (a sort of oversized golf cart) every 20 minutes to Picnic Point, an eight-acre lawn on the southwest corner that offers picnic tables, hammocks, and a spectacular view of the harbor and Liberty Island.  Otherwise, visitors are free to walk or bike around the island pretty much at will (except into areas closed for construction or renovation).  Bicycles can be transported on the ferry for free (except for the private ferries as noted) or there are bikes for rent on the island; tandems and quadracycles are also available.  Bike and Roll, the concession, offers Free Bike Mondays on the Monday holidays that the island is open.  (Bike fees are $15 for 2 hours, $20 for 4, and $25 for the whole day.  When the island reopens on Fridays, a limited number of free bikes will be offered.  Be warned, however: bikes have been known to “disappear” if you don’t keep them in sight.)  Aside from food trucks, the electric tram, and maintenance vehicles, automobiles and motorbikes are banned on Governors Island.  Though it’s scheduled for improvement, there is a 2.2-mile Great Promenade around the perimeter of the island that’s especially meant for bikers and strollers, providing the best views of the surrounding sights over the water, including Lady Liberty, the East River bridges, and the Brooklyn waterfront.

The federally administered Governors Island National Monument offers free guided walking tours of the historic area, led by Park Rangers.  This includes visits to Fort Jay and Castle Williams, Colonels Row, the Coast Guard barracks, Liberty Village (the Coast Guardsmen’s family housing area), St. Cornelius Chapel, and other sights among the over 60 structures in the monument district.  The two forts, with their long and unique military histories, have their own complex stories, but they’ve also served as locations for all kinds of non-historical events—such as the screening of a zombie film spoof at Fort Jay or the construction of a haunted house within the walls of Castle Williams.  The remainder of the island, the part that’s under city control, has few amenities so far.  Basically, you can stroll or bike around the island, picnic, kayak, hang out in the hammocks or Adirondack chairs provided, sit on the sand at the artificial Water Taxi Beach (no swimming, however), or fish (catch-and-release only and anglers over 16 must have a valid New York State fishing license).  Water Taxi Beach, just west of the ferry landing, is also a venue for concerts and dining.  There are art installations and the Figment Interactive Sculpture Garden as well as an 18-hole miniature golf course also designed by the artists of the collective Figment.  (Some of the holes are designed to recall New York City rooftops and the Cyclone rollercoaster at Coney Island.)  There are often special events, including reenactments, concerts (rock to classical) and performances, food festivals, or art exhibits and installations, scheduled for the island using the old buildings or the outdoor spaces.  This practice will expand considerably as the park is developed over the next decade.  One vision for the island park is to make it a “playground for the arts,” with its own cultural aesthetic developing autonomously and under the watchful eyes of the Trust and the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation (which approves proposals for cultural events and performances in city parks).  So far, the emphasis has been on offering as broad a spectrum of entertainments as possible and no proposal that’s been correctly submitted has been rejected.  Not that all the events will meet with the enthusiastic appreciation of all visitors as the quality and the clarity of the artistic concepts varies widely.

Nearly 450,000 visitors came to Governors Island in 2011 during the four months of weekends it was open to the public; it keeps increasing from season to season (which range from 50 to 60 days) and will certainly multiply quickly as new facilities and amenities are developed.  (Though the increase from 2010 was only one percent, attributed to a steamy summer and Hurricane Irene, the growth in tourism was over 100% from 2008 to 2009 and 60% from ’09 to 2010.  The Trust estimates that this year’s vistorship will cross the half-million mark.)  Currently, most of the structures on the island, though remaining eerily handsome Victorian or Romanesque Revival architecture, haven’t been renovated or restored and are still decrepit and empty like a ghost town.  At present facilities are limited: indoor bathrooms are located only in a building next to the ferry landing; port-a-potties are available elsewhere on the island.  Trailer bathrooms are located at Picnic Point and the indoor bathrooms and many of the port-a-potties are accessible to wheelchairs.  (There are restrooms at the Battery Maritime Building where the ferry departs Manhattan and Pier 6 in Brooklyn.)  Potable water, however, is generally not available on the island except the bottled water sold by the food vendors or the vending machines; there are as yet no water fountains.  Visitors can, of course, bring water with them from off island, which may be a good idea if you plan to hike or bike around the place. 

Visitors are welcome to bring their own food and non-alcoholic beverages, but grilling or cooking on the island isn’t permitted.  There are also some food suppliers on Governors Island, including several mobile vendors, such as coffee and sandwich trucks.  Food is also available at the King Avenue Food Court and Picnic Point from a number of concessionaires offering a variety of snacks, drinks, desserts, and light meals, though some prices can be high—$3 ice cream cones, $2 sodas and water—since they have a captive audience.  Though bringing in your own alcohol is prohibited, some of the vendors, namely Little Eva’s at Picnic Point and the Governors Beach Club on the north shore of the island, sell wine (including sangria at Little Eva’s) and beer for consumption on the premises.  (There are ATM machines on the island, but they charge a fee than can be substantial.  It’s better to bring your own cash.  The Governors Island Food and Amenities webpage gives up-to-date information about eating on the island: http://govisland.com/html/visit/food.shtml)

The island is extremely child- and family-friendly, as well as almost entirely wheelchair-accessible (including the ferries and most of the restrooms).  If you bring your own food, drink, and bicycle, a visit to the island will cost you nothing.  There are, however, some additional rules of conduct for visiting the island, aside from the ban on off-site alcohol; most of them are the same as for other New York City parks.  Smoking, of course, is prohibited, as are pets.  Children under 14 must be accompanied by an adult to visit the island.   Anyone may be searched, along with their packages and totes, and the Trust for Governors Island has the right to refuse entry to anyone at its discretion. 

For information about visiting Governors Island, getting there, what’s available, special events, rules, and so on, there are two websites, both with multiple pages of facts, information, and advice that will be helpful: the Trust for Governors Island’s site, http://www.govisland.com; the National Park Service’s site for the National Monument, http://www.nps.gov/gois/index.htm.  The information phone number for the Trust is (212) 440-2200 and the NPS number is (212) 825-3045.  It’s wise not only to check for scheduled events (http:/www.govisland.com/html/visit/calendar.shtml), but to see what new parts of the island have been opened or upgraded as it will be an ongoing project for about a decade.

'Teorema' (Lincoln Center Festival 2010)

[The Lincoln Center Festival 2010 took place around Manhattan from 7 through 25 July. With my theater companion Diana, I chose two performances from the offerings this year: the Toneelgroep Amsterdam’s Teorema on Governors Island and Complicite’s A Disappearing Number at the Koch Theatre at Lincoln Center. Below is my report on Teorema; my report on Disappearing Number will follow.]

On Thursday, 15 July, my friend Diana and I made our way downtown to take the ferry to Governors Island to see Ivo van Hove’s staging of Teorema for the Dutch theater company Toneelgroep Amsterdam, part of the Lincoln Center Festival. (Toneelgroep is Dutch for ‘theater company.’) The play is an adaptation by van Hove and Willem Bruls, the company’s dramaturg, of the film and novel of the same title by Pier Paolo Pasolini, the controversial Italian poet, writer, and filmmaker who was brutally murdered in 1975 at the age of 53. Van Hove’s been in New York a number of times as an independent director, working with Off-Broadway companies such as the New York Theatre Workshop (More Stately Mansions, 1997, and Hedda Gabler, 2004, both of which garnered him Obies; and Streetcar, 1999). He’s a relatively well-known avant-garde presence in this city’s theater life, so whatever Pasolini had made of his story in 1968, it was pretty certain van Hove’s take wouldn’t be straightforward. (Variety noted, in its review of NYTW’s Hedda, that “van Hove has made his reputation with revivals that run 180 degrees away from your average, typical interpretation of classic text.”) Though himself a Fleming (born in 1958 in Heist-op-den-Berg, Belgium), van Hove’s been director of Toneelgroep Amsterdam, the largest rep company in the Netherlands (and Amsterdam’s official theater company), since 2001.

The venue for this performance, Governors Island, had earlier been the site for a 12-hour LCF piece from Italy, a stage adaptation of Dostoyevsky’s The Demons by Peter Stein. (Van Hove also directed Cocteau’s La Voix Humaine there for the New Island Festival in September 2009.) The space was a commercial warehouse about 20 minutes by foot from the ferry landing. Since the performance was scheduled to start at 7 p.m., we were required to take a ferry from lower Manhattan at 6; the island was still light (and, as it turned out, pretty hot and humid) when we arrived. I’d never been to Governors Island; it’s really only been open to the public for about a year, I believe. The 172-acre island (which includes landfill from the excavation of the Eastside IRT subway tunnels) was an army post from 1783 until 1966 when the Coast Guard took it over. In 1996, the USCG abandoned the station and in 2003, New York State and New York City “bought” the island from the Feds for $1. They still haven’t figured out exactly what to do with it—some proposals have been floated, including some commercial, for-profit use, but decisions haven’t been made—and at present there’s little there aside from the park-like landscape and the spectacular view of lower Manhattan, downtown Brooklyn, New Jersey, and the harbor with the Statue of Liberty prominent to the west and the silhouette of the Ellis Island immigration facility beyond. At night, with the skyline and the East River bridges lit up, the view is worth the free 7-minute trip over. (There are ferries from Brooklyn, too, but they charge a fare.) The problem is, of course, that’s there are almost no facilities there yet, except for a few food carts, swings, and hammocks for relaxing in the relative tranquility of an island in the middle of New York Harbor. Basically, you can hang out, hike the circumference of the island, or pedal the bike path around it (bikes are available to rent if you don’t bring one over). There’s a tour of the old military facilities (which are a National Monument, so the guides are Park Service personnel) and there are some buildings in use for art exhibitions and installations, but otherwise, it’s basically a place for communing.

The island isn’t even open for tourists during the week; it’s public operating hours are Friday through Sunday, from 10 in the morning to 5 on Friday and 7 on Saturday and Sunday. The Lincoln Center Festival performances are by special arrangement and the ferry that took us over and back was a special charter for the LCF audiences. There were LCF guides at the landing to walk us to the warehouse-theater and even golf carts, if you could get on one, for those of us who found the trek a bit of a strain in the heat of the waning day. When I arrived at the Battery Maritime Building at 10 South Street, catty-corner from the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, I found Diana checking with a guard about the boat and the loading procedure. We went into the building next to the slip, mercifully air-conditioned, and heard from the LCF staff mustered there that the boat was going to be late, departing at 6:15, and that the performance would start later to accommodate our arrival if necessary. This was despite the admonition printed right on the ticket that the “ferry departs promptly at 6 pm” (my italics) and the suggestion that we arrive at least 15 minutes earlier than that. So we were stuck at the foot of Manhattan waiting now for 45 minutes instead of half an hour, with no alternative but to hang around until the ferry arrived. (I took the opportunity to eat the sandwich I brought, but I had to do it standing in the waiting area.) As far as I was concerned, this didn’t bode well for the forthcoming performance. (I’d never seen any of van Hove’s work, but the reviews always made me think of one word: self-indulgent. I had reservations about this production already, and I hadn’t even gotten to the island.)

Finally the boat arrived and we boarded as dusk began to descend over the harbor. I can say now, after the fact, that this was the best part of the evening—a seven-minute cruise across a corner of the harbor with the city skyline at our backs, the Statue of Liberty out over the starboard side of the ferry (where we happened to be standing), and the seascape of the working harbor itself spread out before us. (The return ride, in the dark with the lower Manhattan and downtown Brooklyn cityscape lit up, might have tied for the honor of best moment of the evening, but we’d had to sit through the performance by then and that took the edge off some.) In the future, when Governors Island has been developed for visitors more than it is, I’ll wholeheartedly recommend a trip over for an afternoon. Unhappily, unless the city expands the hours past 5-7 p.m. (or you travel in the fall), you’ll miss that evening ride back and the view from the island to the sparkling city over the water. On the other hand, your ride would be free; mine cost $42.50.

Well, I guess I’ve delayed the inevitable as long as I can. I have to tell you about Teorema, and I don’t really know what to make of the production. I’ve never seen Pasolini’s film, which is described as difficult and enigmatic—Variety labeled it surreal—but I know a little about the artist. Somehow, I can’t imagine Pasolini making much of this adaptation of his work, either. Pasolini’s art exuded passion, sensuality, sexuality (he was openly gay, though Teorema was the only film in which homosexuality was openly displayed), and even a little mysticism. His films often revealed considerable anger, too. He was a committed communist—he got into more trouble for his politics than his sexuality, though both caused him a lot of problems in his life—and he despised western middle-class consumerism, a characteristic that was at the base of Teorema. Yet van Hove’s interpretation is cold, emotionless, dispassionate, and unengaging. No one feels anything or, though voices are raised sometimes, shows any emotion. Van Hove incorporated many distancing techniques in his script and his production, as if he were deliberately trying to subvert Pasolini’s heat and fury. The other conclusion would be that van Hove misunderstood the material, which seems unlikely. I’m forced to determine that this was one of those “180 degrees away from your . . . typical interpretation” readings for which van Hove’s known.

I suppose it could be a case of “hot, southern temperament” versus “cold, northern reserve”—but I don’t believe in that dichotomy. At least one reviewer described the central character, a young man who enters the home of the upper-middle-class family and wreaks havoc on their existence, as a Dionysian figure, and I might describe the set and the performance style van Hove created as Apollonian, so perhaps there’s a different dichotomy operating. But I think I’ve gotten ahead of myself: I’m concluding an analysis before I’ve given you any idea what the show looked and felt like. Let me back up and see if I can come back to this in its proper order.

The story of the play (and the movie) is fairly simple: a stranger (called The Guest in the play; in the movie, he’s called The Visitor, played by Terence Stamp) arrives at the home of Paolo (Jacob Derwig), a wealthy businessman, and his family. The Guest (Chico Kenzari), who demands nothing from his hosts, raises romantic and sexual feelings in all the members of the household and has brief affairs with everyone in the house, including the dowdy maid, Emilia (Frieda Pittoors), as well as the teenaged son and daughter, Pietro (Eelco Smits) and Odetta (Hadewych Minis); the wife, Lucia (Chris Nietvelt); and the father. Just as suddenly as he arrives, The Guest departs and the family falls into chaos and destruction. Only the deeply religious Emilia survives the tumult, returning to her home village where she’s reported to have performed miracles. For Pasolini’s film, there are many interpretations offered, but it’s hardly surprising that The Visitor was seen by many critics as a Christ figure (Pasolini said he was God—any God) and the movie was seen as a religious allegory. Other interpreters saw the movie as an evocation of Pasolini’s homosexuality and his struggle to live as a gay man (the writer was forced to flee his hometown, Casarsa, in 1950 and go to Rome to live and work because of a sex scandal); still others asserted that the meaning was political and that Pasolini was condemning capitalism and the Italian bourgeoisie (Paolo, the father, turns his factory over to the workers and gives up his material possessions, even stripping himself naked at a railroad station). If van Hove accepted any of these interpretations, he didn’t put it on stage; he seems to have left the analysis entirely to the spectator without offering any clues or signposts. The stage director left the basic plot intact, but he took the mysticism and passion out.

The staging was minimalist. The set (by Jan Versweyveld, who also did the stark, harsh lighting), an open area covered almost entirely in gray industrial carpeting (walls darker, floor lighter), was sparsely furnished. The three walls were low, about eight or ten feet high, so we could see over them into the “backstage” areas beyond. (This was especially so if, like Diana and I, you sat up high in the raked seating area, arrayed like a proscenium house.) Up center was a doorway through which The Guest entered and exited the world of the family. In the center of the set was a wood-and-chrome table like you’d find in a postmodern boardroom. On the stage right side of the table was a short bench of the same construction; at the upstage end and on the left were single-seat backless stools that matched. This was clearly the dining table of the home, but it was also the place where the family gathered when they all appeared onstage together. (No food was actually served; much of the performance was pantomime with the exception of a few specially chosen activities.) Around the rest of the open set, designating other rooms of the house, were carpeted pallets (some light grey like the floor, others dark like the walls) representing beds (for the bedrooms of Paolo and Lucia, Pietro, and Odetta) and a couch (for the TV room up right, where Lucia spent much of her down-time). There were no rounded corners or soft edges, either; all the construction was right-angled and hard—even with the carpet upholstery, which was also the kind of material you’d find in a corporate office, not an upper-middle-class home. There was no character or personality to any of this; it was institutional, corporate, cold. This was not a welcoming or comforting home.

Other than those set pieces, the only set elements were several technical stations built into the side walls: two stereo turntables down right and left and two computer stations about center right and left. Aside from the techies who worked this equipment, these stations also functioned as the “offstage” neutral areas for the characters who never actually left the playing area. Hand props, such as Pietro’s guitar and Emilia’s vacuum cleaner, hung on the walls near the tech stations as well. Except for obstructed views because of structural pillars within the set area, the actors were always visible even when they weren’t “on.” (Even when Paolo went to work, he didn’t actually leave the acting area.)

Also in the space, principally in chairs right of center, was a string quartet (with the peculiar name of Bl!ndman [new strings]—and that’s no typo). They played live music (composed by Eric Steichim) like a soundtrack, but every now and then, some characters interacted with them a little. I read, however, that the music in Pasolini’s film was minimal and subtle. That was far from the case on the stage. The production was accompanied by a blanket of loud, blaring recorded music, contrasted with the occasional softer strings of the quartet. The sound was almost constant; if not from the sound system then from Pietro’s guitar, which he played twice in unmelodic screeches. The boy may be a sensitive artists beneath the surface, as we discover later, but not when it comes to music.)

The acting was essentially affectless. Characters might have raised their voices to suggest emotions such as anger or fear, but it was just volume; there was little emotional content to the voice. The actors’ bodies were similarly unengaged and they were blocked without regard to the audience, it seemed, because they often faced upstage or took other obscured positions. Along with the pantomime—which wasn’t used often; most of the business wasn’t even indicated at all—most of the text was delivered as narration, each character describing what he or she was doing, saying, or thinking. These speeches, drawn apparently from the novel Pasolini derived from his screenplay (which had almost no dialogue at all), were voiced interior monologues. (Some lines, all in Dutch with supertitles, were delivered twice, once in third person and then again in first person.) All the actors wore headsets, which not only made them all look like techies doing a sound check but it meant that all the lines came from the same source, whichever loudspeaker was nearest each spectator, regardless of who was speaking or where the actor was on the set. I heard everything from above my left shoulder and sometimes had to search the stage, occasionally with the help of opera glasses, to determine who was speaking. This technique also evened out the speech so that any highs or lows introduced by the actor was equalized by the tech.

There wasn’t any actual dialogue in the sense of one character addressing another and receiving a response. The only interaction among the characters, almost exclusively between one of the family members and The Guest (who spoke very little—he did have some exchanges with Emilia—since most of the narration by the others was about him), was physical—but always emotionless. Considering that much of the story was about sex, there was a fair amount of nudity. But even this was peculiar: only the men actually stripped; the women all mimed undressing but remained clothed even during the simulated sex. I have no idea what van Hove intended the dichotomous nudity to mean, except perhaps an allusion to Pasolini’s homosexuality. (As I mentioned, Teorema was the only movie in which Pasolini confronted gay sex, though many critics also noted that the film was omnisexual. The camera, however, apparently lingered on Stamp’s crotch and van Hove may be invoking this aspect of the cinema in his staging.) Although in the film, the sex was considered shocking in its day—the Catholic Church condemned the film and the Italian court tried Pasolini for obscenity—van Hove’s portrayal was bloodless; even the love-making was stylized and dispassionate. All the action in the play was demonstrated, as if van Hove were presenting a literal interpretation of the acting Brecht described in his writings. (The narrative line delivery also suggested a literal-minded take on some of Brecht’s ideas—such as when he’d tack on a “she said” to the end of a line.) I can’t say for certain that van Hove was using Brechtian techniques—I haven’t read anywhere that he’s a follower of Brecht—but if he was, it’s not my understanding of the German theorist’s concepts. (I won’t go into a disquisition on Brechtian theater techniques according to my lights, but I will assert that his ideas were much more complex and nuanced than van Hove’s application appeared to me.)

Those are the distancing techniques I mentioned earlier: the cold, corporate set; the affectless acting and narrative line delivery; the amplification of the lines; the blaring music and the on-set quartet; the lack of engagement between and among the characters. In my understanding of Brecht, his distancing tactics were intended to keep the audience from identifying with the characters and the situation on an emotional level. (He also didn’t want the actors to connect with their characters the way Stanislavsky wanted his actors to.) This was all done so that the spectators would look on the play as a new experience, not one they could relate to from their past, and see the details afresh and analyze the circumstances intellectually, not emotionally. Van Hove’s technique was enervating in the end—I didn’t relate to anything in any way; the performance had no effect on me beyond a case of fanny fatigue. In a recent post on ROT, I offered the opinion that using “alienation” as a rendering for Brecht’s Verfremdung is a mistranslation and inaccurate. That’s because he never intended to “alienate” his audience in the sense of making them hostile or antagonistic. I think that van Hove’s distancing procedures did just that, however. At least it did for me and Diana. If the director was trying to employ an adaptation of Brecht’s Epic Theater practices, he’s misapplied them. (If he was doing something else, then he left me in the dust somewhere.)

Most of what van Hove put on stage (or suggested) was straightforward and literal; Elisabeth Vincentelli called it “sterile and obvious” in the New York Post. If there was any symbolism or allegory in the play, it was derived from Pasolini’s work (with the possible exclusion of the nudity dichotomy). There were, however, two exceptions I noted. If there was a Dionysian-Apollonian divide invoked by van Hove’s staging, there was also an allusion to humankind’s bestial side, or at least the similarity between humans and animals. Throughout the play, the TV screen on the upstage right wall was tuned to Meerkat Manor, the British-made cable documentary series (aired on the Animal Planet channel) that anthropomorphized the little animals, encouraging a comparison with human society. Lucia, the family’s mother, retreated to the TV room as a way to get away from her motherly and wifely obligations, but even when she wasn’t watching TV, the show was running. The program and the meerkats were never mentioned in the text (Lucia did explain about using the TV to get away) and I’m still not sure what this was meant to convey. (Variety called it “baffling.”) The other animal image was more straightforward: shortly after the arrival of The Guest, the family dog burst into the home through a doggy door at stage right. He playfully chased The Guest all over the set, frenetically running from one corner of the space to another, up on the furniture, barking and grabbing at The Guest, until he ran back out the portal. (We met the dog, a Belgian shepherd, and his handler on our way off the return ferry. He’s the most mellow, even-tempered, and friendly dog; obviously he was well trained for that brief, frantic escapade.) For me, the dog scene, which was also never mentioned, was intended to show that The Guest had a magical effect on all the creatures in the house, that all the living beings, not just the people, were instantly attracted to him. When The Guest left the family, and they regressed into chaos, tearing the home to pieces, the implication was that they’d reverted to their animalistic nature, which they’d been suppressing in their ordered, empty, and meaningless bourgeois lives.

In the conclusion of both the play and Pasolini’s movie, the chaos that destroys the family following the departure of The Guest/Visitor leads the members to follow their true, formerly concealed and suppressed destinies. Pietro, the son, previously a repressed and friendless teen, leaves to become an artist; Odetta, the timid and fearful daughter with an Electra fixation on her father, sinks into catatonia; Lucia, the sexually frigid mother who had isolated herself from her family, pursues young men on the street; Paolo, the father who went through his life and work with a feeling of dissociation and disinterest, turns his business over to his employees and rids himself of his material possessions, wandering naked through the detritus of the destroyed home. Even the religious maid, Emilia, the only character who remains calm after The Guest’s departure, is affected: she returns to her village where she seems to perform miracles.

It may be unfair to judge the performances in Teorema since the production was almost certainly completely the construction of director van Hove. Nonetheless, I want to make a few points about the actors. They may have been little more than automatons which van Hove programmed, in which case they mostly did what he wanted well enough, but two actors stood out. First, Chico Kenzari as The Guest couldn’t remotely compete with Terence Stamp in the film. As I said, I’ve never seen Pasolini’s film, but I have seen Stamp in other work. He was 29 when he made Teorema and his performance was variously described as “magnetic,” “mesmerizing,” and “otherwordly.” Kenzari’s work was none of these; the Village Voice, saying that Kenzari “offers little charisma,” describes him as a “blank cipher.” That encapsulates my response, although it suggests that van Hove may have meant The Guest to be a blank slate on which the other characters inscribe their own images. If that’s what the director intended, it didn’t work for me. Kenzari, who looks quite different from the other actors (he’s swarthy, bearded, lithe; they’re pale, smooth, stiff), was more like a living prop to me, leaving a huge hole in the middle of this production. (It may be irrelevant, but while Stamp is a very good-looking man, and was an almost pretty youth, Kenzari is not physically attractive in my estimation.) On the positive side, however, Eelco Smits imbued Pietro (the son) with a dash of passion—possibly the only one in the show—especially when he was showing The Guest his art books and, in the end, painting vigorously on panels that were the remnants of his former home. Though quite a bit older than his character (Smits is 33), he nicely portrayed Pietro’s awkwardness when he finds himself attracted to The Guest and, when he’s naked with the stranger, he remains physically stiff, hiding his genitals with his hand or his guitar. (It may be significant, too, that Pietro is the most complex and interesting character in the story. I suspect that Pasolini saw the young man as his avatar—Pier and Pietro are, I believe, both versions of the same name—and put more of his own experiences and sentiments into the creation.)

The film and play’s title, Teorema, means ‘theorem’ in Italian. Pasolini (and van Hove by default) seems to have posed the hypothesis that if the bourgeoisie could somehow be relieved of their inhibitions and societal masks, they'd go nuts, collapse, and turn into artists and mystics. Given Pasolini’s politics, the film may have made a better case for this theorem, especially if the film was as enigmatic and mystical as the reports have it. But van Hove’s literal and direct demonstration of the disintegration, with all the distancing tactics he employed, doesn’t convince me that this is any more than the portrait of one seriously dysfunctional family and the force (whatever he is) that came along one day and burst their protective bubble. Most bourgeois manage quite well, thank you—and even do some good now and then I believe.

In the end, however, no matter how intriguing this description makes it sound, the resulting performance, which was only 100 minutes (fortunately), was enervating and impressed me as intellectually pretentious. Pauline Kael said the film was the kind “that looks like art”; I’d apply the same characterization to the play. Several reviewers put some of the blame on the differences between the late ‘60s of Pasolini’s movie, when sexual freedom and the open expression of sexuality were startling and provocative notions, and the end of the first decade of the 21st century, when those ideas are no longer shocking or even new. Even Pasolini’s avid anti-capitalism and his disgust with the bourgeoisie and their complacency is far from a new theme for popular art. I suppose that could be part of van Hove’s problem, but I’d put more of the blame on his artistry (or lack of it, if you wish). What Pasolini seems to have accomplished with innovative and interesting techniques (the lack of dialogue, for instance) and cinematic tactics (close ups on the actors’ faces) van Hove didn’t or couldn’t employ. He made everything literal and then, to disengage us even more from the action, he used deliberately distancing and alienating (in the non-Brechtian sense) techniques. Brecht wanted us to think about what we saw, not react with emotion; Pasolini wanted us to become as enraged and passionate as he was. But van Hove just ended up making me want to go home.

In his New York Times review of The Demons, the all-day performance that preceded Teorema on Governors Island, Charles Isherwood bemoaned his “door-to-door time commitment” of 15 hours. Mine was a scant 5½ hours for the 100-minute performance. That’s a rather large investment, exacerbated by the dearth of amenities on the island, considering how little reward it brought. Under the circumstances, I think that using Governors Island as a performance venue was little more than gimmick-siting. (The LCF brochure’s description of The Demons characterizes the Governors Island site as “in feeling, a world apart” from the rest of New York City. I find that a little hyperbolic, but even if it weren’t, once you’re inside the warehouse-theater, it’s irrelevant anyway.) Had I appreciated the play better, I might feel different, but I know there are more accessible spaces available that don’t take as much effort or time to reach. Past large-scale shows I’ve seen were at the Park Avenue Armory (where the RSC will recreate their 930-seat Stratford theater next summer for LCF), Damrosch Park, and even the Park Slope Armory in Brooklyn.

[The Italian word teorema means ‘theorem.’ That’s a propitiously coincidental fact because the subject of Complicite’s A Disappearing Number, the second show I saw in the Lincoln Center Festival, is theoretical mathematics. The play centers on several theorems of Srinivasa Ramanujan, a brilliant, self-taught Indian mathematician. Come back to ROT in the next few days to read my report on that production.]