Reboot, Relocate, Reimagine: Making Best Use of Traditional Myths and Historical Literature

Constance Devernay-Laurence in Coppelia. Photo: Andy Ross.

‘Coppélia’ is a late 19th century comic ballet, choreographed originally by Saint-Léon and then Petipa, and set to the music of Delibes. Its narrative derives from a Hoffmann short story in which a reclusive inventor crafts a dancing doll so lifelike that a village youth falls madly in love with it. 

I have seen the work a few times and come to the conclusion that it is a somewhat silly museum piece. 

I recently attended a performance by Scottish Ballet of its new version of ‘Coppélia’, choreographed by Morgann Runacre-Temple and Jessica Wright (Sadler’s Wells, London). The drama has been relocated to Silicon Valley and the inventor is now a black polo-neck wearing tech titan. In his NuLife lab he is creating Coppélia, an AI woman that he hopes to transform into a cyborg. A young man becomes besotted with the digital automaton.

With its futuristic candy-coloured costumes, suggestive of ‘Metropolis’; its athletic bobbed dancers; and its elegant integration of screen technology, this new ‘Coppélia’ is smart, slick and dazzling. In rebooting the ballet, the dance-makers have successfully embraced themes of tech megalomania; clones and the metaverse; the nature of 21st century relationships. ‘Coppélia’ has been reborn.

I can think of quite a few theatre productions I’ve seen over the years that have relocated or reimagined a traditional story or historic work, and in so doing have transformed it into something completely contemporary.

When Shakespeare’s ‘Henry V’ was transposed to the Iraq War, the ethical issues of the conflict seemed terribly real. When Macbeth was recast as a 20th century African warlord, the fierce brutality at the heart of the drama struck home. When Hamlet and Ophelia were presented as gaunt student goths, the audience was prompted properly to consider their fragile youth.

Bruno Micchiardi as Dr Coppelius. Photo: Andy Ross

In 2018 director Marianne Elliott swapped the gender of the main character in Stephen Sondheim’s 1970 musical ‘Company.’ Whereas the traditional male lead in this role can come across as careless and complacent, here we were presented with a successful woman in her mid-30s, unable to commit to a steady relationship and confronted with a ticking clock. It was much more interesting.

'Success is a journey, not a destination. It requires constant effort, vigilance and re-evaluation.’
Mark Twain

Of course advertising campaigns have often drawn on established cultural motifs to achieve immediate recognition and shared reference points.

Back in the day my own Agency, BBH, produced a Lynx/Axe ad that reimagined the fantasy film ‘One Million Years BC’; an Audi ad that channelled Jimi Hendrix; and a Boddington’s ad that mimicked Rene Magritte. And more besides.

The most interesting cultural appropriations not only borrowed from a source story. At the same time they introduced some new interpretation of that tale and integrated the brand in a compelling way.

In 1992 BBH shot a Levi’s ad based on the Cinderella myth. In this version the protagonist in search for love is not a male prince, but a female heroine. She must find the one man who can fit into a discarded pair of worn 501s. Because ‘no two pairs are the same.’

In 2012 The Guardian employed the fable of the Three Little Pigs as a platform to showcase the power of live, participative news reporting; of expert, campaigning journalism across multiple platforms.

At their best commercial reboots, relocations and reimaginings both borrow from, and invest in, the original myths and legends. They make both the story and the brand more relevant.

Inevitably not every new theatrical interpretation I’ve seen has been entirely successful.

One summer my wife and I treated ourselves to some country house opera, booking to see 'La Bohème' at Glyndebourne. As we drove down through rural Sussex, we put behind us the stress, grit and grime of urban life. It was a proper escape. However, this production of the Puccini classic transposed its impoverished artists from the Latin Quarter of 1840s Paris to the hipster scene of present day Hoxton in East London. This was indeed a sound directorial decision. Sadly we’d driven three hours to arrive at a familiar place just a mile from home.


'Back to life, back to the present time,
Back from a fantasy.
Tell me now, take the initiative.
I'll leave it in your hands, until you're ready.
How ever do you want me.
How ever do you need me.’

Soul II Soul, 'Back to Life (However Do You Want Me)’ ( Jazzie B, C Wheeler, N Hooper, S Law)

No. 412

Disruptive Dreams: A Tour of France with My Brother, Two Mates and Van Morrison

‘If my heart could do my thinking
And my head began to feel,
Would I look upon the world anew,
And know what's truly real?’
Van Morrison, ‘
I Forgot that Love Existed

Some time in the late 1980s I went on a road trip round France with my brother Martin and friends Mike and Thommo. 

Crammed into a small, silver Citroen AX, with our sports bags strapped to the roof and with nothing booked, we disembarked at Calais and plotted a path towards the Loire Valley. 

Since Martin and I were feeling flush, each night we shared a room in a modest hotel, while Mike and Thommo settled for the local campsite. When the four of us reported at the first establishment and requested ‘une chambre a deux lits,’ the proprietor was somewhat challenged. Martin, realising the misunderstanding, gestured towards Mike and Thommo and explained:

‘Non, ils font le camping!’

We started each day with strong coffee, golden croissants, President butter and apricot jam, and each evening we feasted on quite extraordinary food and wine - whether at a smart local restaurant or a truck drivers’ cafe. 

‘Fruits de mer et confit de canard, s’il vous plait.’

Thommo couldn’t cope with the unrelenting richness of the meals, and so we took one night off, settling for local ‘Loveburgers’ washed down by 1664. 

We moved on to the Vendée and the Dordogne, through the Auvergne and up to Burgundy, Alsace and Lorraine. And at each new location I dusted off the remnants of my O-Level French.

‘Pardon, maisonette, je n’ai pas de la monnaie.’

‘Ah, c’est l’année des guêpes!'

We explored lush green landscapes, rugged mountain roads and bleak grey hamlets. We encountered old men playing boules on village squares and young men playing baby-foot in late night bars. We avoided one town because on approach it seemed to be very smelly. Only later did we realise that we’d been following a sewage lorry round a ring road.

We were accompanied on the trip by Van Morrison’s elegiac ‘Poetic Champions Compose’ album, on repeat play. It seemed entirely appropriate.

'You're the queen of the slipstream with eyes that shine.
You have crossed many waters to be here.
You have drunk of the fountain of innocence.
And experienced the long cold wintry years.’
The Queen of the Slipstream

On the long journeys Scouse Mike would amuse himself by hanging his head out of the car window. And when the two campers returned to their site each night, he insisted that Thommo stay up into the early hours drinking cheap warm red wine from plastic bottles.

Inevitably on a holiday of this nature, although we were pretty much aligned in terms of evening adventures, there were some disagreements about how to spend the daytime. Martin and I were interested in churches and chateaux. Thommo leaned towards nature and wildlife. Mike just wanted to have fun. 

To accommodate Mike we took in a terrifying luge trip down a mountainside. And when we visited the tomb of Eleanor of Aquitaine at the magnificent abbey at Fontevrault, he persuaded Thommo to stay outside and play footie. On another occasion he took over the map, and, without conferring, navigated us to a beach crowded with locals in skimpy trunks and bikinis. This was not my natural habitat. In protest I sat on a towel fully clothed with my top button done up. 

'Let go into the mystery.
Let yourself go.
You've got to open up your heart,
That's all I know.
Trust what I say and do what you're told,
Baby, and all your dirt will turn
Into gold.'
The Mystery

We all look back on the holidays of our youth with great fondness. These were simple, carefree, happy times. And perhaps our exploits were all the more special because they were characterised by surprise, serendipity and strangeness. Everything seemed mysterious.

I read recently (The Guardian 14 May ‘Weird Dreams’) about a new theory of dreams.

Dreams have long fascinated scientists and psychoanalysts. Freud believed they were ‘disguised fulfilments of repressed desires.’ And through the years experts have variously hypothesized that they help us process our emotions; consolidate our recollections; make creative connections between memories; and practice our survival skills.

Erik Hoel, a research assistant professor of neuroscience at Tufts University in Massachusetts, has proposed that, by introducing the strange and bizarre to our habituated existence, dreams equip us to cope with the unexpected.

His theory was inspired by the field of machine learning. Artificial intelligence often becomes too familiar with the data with which it’s been coached, assuming that this ‘training set’ is a perfect representation of anything it may subsequently encounter. To remedy this, scientists introduce some chaos into the data in the form of noisy or corrupted inputs.

Hoel suggests that our brains do something similar when we dream.  

‘It is the very strangeness of dreams in their divergence from waking experience that gives them their biological function.’

This suggests to me that we should think seriously about the role of the unusual and unfamiliar in our lives. 

Perhaps we should more actively embrace strange and bizarre events in our personal and professional worlds; not just in our dreams or on holiday, but in our day-to-day experience. Maybe we should use the weird and wonderful to ward off the narrowing perspectives brought on by habit, custom and age. Maybe we would do well to regard disruption, not just as a revolutionary market force; but as a necessary part of our daily regime.

Despite our excellent gastronomic adventures, by the last night of our tour of France I was pining for some familiar food. Spotting ‘fromage blanc’ on the menu, I assumed it was cheddar and ordered it with eager anticipation. When it arrived it was worryingly soft and smelly. 

I ate it nonetheless.

 

'I've been searching a long time
For someone exactly like you.
I've been travelling all around the world
Waiting for you to come through.
Someone like you,
Makes it all worth while.
Someone like you
Keeps me satisfied.
Someone exactly like you.’
Van Morrison, ‘
Someone Like You

No 328