After a Saturday matinee during the Off Broadway run at the Atlantic Theater in July, the audience was “talking back” about the sexual politics of Frank Wedekind’s Spring Awakening. The play–now at the Eugene O’Neill Theater on West 49th Street–concerns the calamitous consequences of adult-enforced silence and shame on a group of provincial German teenagers first discovering their sexual desires. Wendla dies during an abortion. Moritz shoots himself when he fails his final exams. And Melchior–the sort of boy who excels in the classroom while gleaning the glamour of rebelling against all he’s being taught–survives, but only after punishment and grief have taken their toll.
The audience was congratulating itself on its sophistication. “You couldn’t stage this in Dubuque,” one gentleman sniffed. He wasn’t far off. As recently as 1991, Boise’s Idaho Shakespeare Festival canceled Spring Awakening over a nude scene the director refused to excise. No gratuitous nudity here, but Michael Mayer’s straight-ahead direction of masturbation, sadomasochism and homosexuality, Steven Sater’s sometimes profane poetry to Duncan Sheik’s punkish–and loud–music and the angular, moshlike choreography of Bill T. Jones recharge the discomfort, even shock, the piece evoked at its first performances.
Such anxiety isn’t exclusive to the boonies or the bad old days, though. That afternoon, a woman asked of the guests onstage, “Do you think this play is appropriate for minors?” On the website broadwaybox.com viewers raved, but all but one recommended the play for Adults Only. A curious attitude, given that Wedekind’s protagonists are 14 years old.
Spring Awakening is like adolescent sex itself: It mirrors each era’s terrors and hopes, its ideas of childhood and maturity, innocence and evil. Instantly banned from the stage on publication in 1891, it was not performed until 1906. Then, Max Reinhardt’s striking production received a lengthy run and attracted, along with geshreis from the predictably scandalized, the adulation of critics from Thomas Mann to Leon Trotsky, who otherwise had no use for Wedekind’s “social nihilism” and “erotic aestheticism.” But the text was always served up sliced and diced.
The first American English-language production, in 1917, was smuggled onstage under cover of health promotion. The sponsor was the Medical Review of Reviews, a publication of an organization of progressive New York doctors and reformers. But the censors shut it down anyway, on the grounds that some minors might sneak past the ticket-takers, depriving parents of the opportunity to introduce them to sex through a “less turgid channel of education.” In 1964 the British National Theatre’s literary manager, drama critic Kenneth Tynan, battled the Lord Chamberlain over two scenes the censor wanted excised. Tynan and the censor reached some compromises, but the theater’s own board nevertheless banned the play. “Board censorship intolerable,” director John Dexter telegrammed, and offered his resignation. As late as 1973, a British scholar complained that “current editions still…rather prudishly only give the initial letters of ‘Penis’ and ‘Vagina.'”