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By Jayanthi Liyanage

The drama and debacle of "Phantom of the Opera", has left a huge question mark about the future of English theatre in Sri Lanka. Especially the future of reproductions, translations, adaptations, arrangements or all other transformations, that for all intent and purposes appear paralysed on the Performing Arts chequer board?

Would the present predicament pave the way to a new mushrooming of national theatre creativity? Would it be viewed as a springboard for a new identity of (horrors) a hybrid hodge-podge churned for the money-kicking modern Asian markets which are rapidly becoming "faceless"?

Or, more significantly, is this the beginning of the end, the downhill plunge of local English theatre which has just reared its head after a prolonged hibernation? Does this mean a closing of local doors to qualitative "world theatre" and a widening void for the country's adult and student English theatre-enthusiasts?

The central figure of last week's theatre controversy, producer Jerome de Silva of the Workshop Players, expressed devastation at being compelled to cancel the staging of "Phantom of the Opera", when the Sunday Observer contacted him.

The play, which was scheduled to go on the boards at the Lionel Wendt from October 17 to the 27 was cancelled, a mere 24 hours before opening night, following a warning by the Really Useful Company of Australia, not to go ahead with the staging since they had not obtained a production licence. The warning was e-mailed to de Silva and later relayed via a telephone call to the Lionel Wendt.

Lamenting on the theatrical mortification, de Silva pondered on the likelihood of the whole fiasco being initiated by a malice-harbouring local hand. "Otherwise, why did the Really Useful Company wait until the opening night when the production was announced six months ago?" he questioned.

While de Silva's lament may be justified from an ideological perspective, what's more important, and what has apparently opened up the Pandora's box of legal theatrical issues, copyright nitty gritties and ethics involved in obtaining the necessary permission when staging a play.

This is clearly evidenced when de Silva says he was aggrieved to learn that the copyright owners of "Phantom of the Opera" did not grant licences to amateur productions on the grounds that producing the play also involves a high technical sophistication which amateurs are not capable of. Also, the question of meeting the dizzy cost of Royalty.

All this gives rise to a pertinent question - if this is the case with all local "world" productions, how can the Sri Lanka theatre-camp, mainly composed of amateurs, fulfil their ambitions of providing local audiences with high quality entertainment. And more significantly how can the local theatre-fans ever whet their fervour for "world-quality" theatre within home territory when the fact remains that only around 300 of the 6,000 odd Colombo theatre audience would ever have the opportunity of going overseas to see a world renowned contemporary stage production.

The 'Phantom' nightmare also brings up the question whether the prohibitive stance would prune school theatre, much vaunted for the language and personality development of our young?

De Silva lamented that in his 32-years of teaching drama, free of charge to amateurs and the under-privileged, and producing school play, the Workshop Players had never earned to match the high royalties, the like of which is demanded by contemporary playwrights and publishers overseas. "Rs. 1,000/- is about the highest we price our tickets for a stage play. If we are to pay royalties, we might very well have to price the balcony at Rs. 5,000/- and other seats at Rs. 10,000/-!"

Mohammed Adamally of the Performing Arts Company, who says that "the fate of Phantom" has made many producers to put their own productions on hold while "rethinking their approach", agrees. "Colombo pays an average of 1.5 pounds for a theatre show. In UK, the lowest which is for a street show ticket, is 20 pounds!"

His view was shared by an American on a visit here, who commented, "Your theatre is so cheap! Back at home, it's a luxury and we rarely go for theatre."

Needless to say, this is also a high pointer to the general haziness which exists when it comes to local theatre copyright issues, where producers carry on staging reproductions, adaptations and translations with scarcely an inkling of what might descend on them - if and when it does choose to descend.

Dr. D.M. Karunaratne, Director, Intellectual Property Rights of Sri Lanka, refutes a comprehension borne by quite a few local producers, that the local copyright law, coming from the third world, has provisions for appeal to the Ministry of Trade for a determination, when facing exorbitant royalties which could vary depending on the newness, success and prestige of the play being reproduced.

Adamally admits he had to pay a licence fee of 5,000 pounds sterling for his "Run For Your Wife" amateur production which came 20 years after the play was written.

While Adamally argues the moral merits of balancing author rights as against that of the community at large, he stresses that "Our audience developed theatre as part of their social life and subsidiary industries such as lighting, sound and techniques grew with them."

Karunaratne questions outright, "If I violate your copyrights, isn't the first thing you do is go to courts and obtain an injunction and a letter of demand for compensation?

"In certain countries, you can apply to the local office of copy rights for a compulsory licence given at a justifiable cost, if the author demands from you a very high royalty," informs Dr. Karunaratne. "But we do not have such an appellate body.

The new Intellectual Property Law, expected to be implemented next January, aims chiefly at protecting performing artistes who are left to fend for themselves after retirement."

The new law concentrates on balancing the "neighbouring rights" of the performer as against the rights of the composers of lyric, music and dance.

Why was the aspect of the compulsory licence not looked into by the new law? "Because no one asked for it," he retorts.

"That was after we had announced the draft of new laws in the press and requested public input." Could any example be more eloquent than this for the galore of local misconceptions and miscomprehensions existing on copyrights, with the majority being totally vague on drawing clearly-defined demarcations on where the rights of the owner ends and where those of the reproducer or the adapter begins?

"Schools have traditionally done old theatre and very few ventured into contemporary," says Adamally. "If amateur theatre groups are given licensing flexibility to go into newer productions, schools can take on more socially-relevant plays."

With the present scenario, the financially-stricken local amateur theatre is constrained to console itself with folklore and compositions which become public property 50 years after the death of the writer, or as Adamally expressively states, "workshops of Oscar Wilde."

"Through our theatre work shops, many young people learnt English, confidence and poise to secure prestigious jobs in banks and advertising," points out De Silva. "Reproductions were our manner of survival for taking amateur theatre throughout the country and we are thankful to fans who keep us going by not asking a refund of Phantom tickets as we are faced with the impossible task of covering a cost of nearly Rs. 2 million!"

"When English theatre dies, it will be the standards of local English which will be dying", say both de Silva and Adamally, who avow of not giving up, "We will certainly keep English Theatre alive in Sri Lanka!"

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