Slice of death
Never on such a small stage and in the space of two hours has such carnage been wreaked
The building still stands, a bright yellow exterior at the dead end of a cobble stone alley. It bears the name of its current tenant, the International Visual Theatre, a theater and publishing house focused on the deaf community that has occupied the space for the better part of two decades.
When the compact theater opened in a converted chapel three years ahead of the turn of the century, it was one Paris’ smallest at just under 300 seats. The Grand Guignol was a fixture of the French capital for six decades, carrying on through two World Wars.
Some attributed the eventual decline to the advent of Hollywood. The tableaus that played out each night on stage ultimately couldn’t compete with wonders of the motion picture. The Grand Guignol’s owners, on the other hand, blamed a different culprit entirely. Ultimately, they suggested, the theater simply couldn’t compete with the horrors of reality.
In a Time Magazine article from 1962, the theater’s final director, Charles Nonon, responded somberly, “We could never equal Buchenwald. Before the war, everyone felt that what was happening onstage was impossible. Now we know that these things, and worse, are possible in reality.”
The article explains that, (from a technical perspective, at least) the show was “as good as ever.” The blood, hand-mixed each day by Nonon, came in nine shades of red, pumped through red rubber hoses and sponges, and out of spoons in a recreation of gouged out eyeballs. The eyes, supplied by a taxidermist, were covered in aspic and stuffed with anchovies.
The Grand Guignol’s demise didn’t occur overnight. An article penned half-a-decade prior by The New York Times, strikes a melancholy balance, describing the tangible fading of a once-vibrant theater of horrors. There are similar tricks at play here, like prop drawers full of implements, foaming mouths and daggers that squirt blood. “For stabbings, women are preferable to men, because men’s cleaning bills are bigger,” the story matter-of-factly reports. “For head wounds, on the other hand, it is advisable to use men as victims, since their short hair is easier to wash.”
And while the piece ends on a hopeful note, a stage director points to a similar culprit as Nonon, sighing, “The war, did us a lot of harm.”
Paris was, of course, a mere 13 years removed from the existential horrors of a Nazi occupation. Perhaps the most reliable metric of all was the virtual non-existence of audience faintings in those waning days, down from a reported two per night.
It was a good run, by any stretch. After the theater’s founder and first director Oscar Méténier gave audiences a glimpse at the lives of lower class subjects, playwright Max Maurey quickly shifted to the programming for which the Grand Guignol would become best known. During his tenure as director, Maurey changed the subject matter from slice of life to to what contemporary critics called “slice of death.”
Mirroring the horrific scenes played out in daily papers, the shocking murders conducted on stage were an instant hit with audiences. Gouged eyeballs and chopped heads flew into the audience, while and acid thrown in a face would melt into a sticky substance made of latex.
André de Lorde, who daylighted as a librarian, took the plays to the next level as the "Prince of Fear,” penning 150 in all. “He was a mild, sweet little man always smiling,” a fan said of the writer. On occasion he collaborated with Alfred Binet, the psychologist behind one of the earliest – and best known – IQ tests.
The theater counted Ho Chi Minh among its fans and played host to other world leaders like the Sultan of Morocco, King of Greece and Princess of Holland. General Patton paid it a visit not long after Paris’ Liberation. “Blood and Guts at the Grand Guignol,” a local paper’s headline screamed the following day, in homage a nickname the general had earned after a press conference earlier that year. Eager fans snapped up tickets, convinced it was the name of a new show.
“I’ve almost come to the conclusion that the only way to frighten a French audience since the war is to cut up a woman on the stage,” said Eva Berkson, who ran the theater in the immediate aftermath of the war. “A live woman, of course – and throw them the pieces.”
Berkson ratcheted up the violence even further, to better compete with growing audience desensitization. During one show, kidnappings and murder ensued as actress Nicole Riche occupied in the stage in her underwear.
“Never on such a small stage and in the space of two hours has such carnage been wreaked,” a Parisian paper proclaimed. “That is easily a record, even for the Grand Guignol.”
Sources:
Why the Grand Guignol was so shocking https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20190304-why-the-grand-guignol-was-so-shocking
Fading Horrors of the Grand Guignol https://www.nytimes.com/1957/03/17/archives/fading-horrors-of-the-grand-guignol-after-sixty-years-the-paris-the.html
The Theater: Paris Writhes Again http://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,811752,00.html
Murders in the Rue Chaptal http://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,886404,00.html