OnStage: Dueling egos begat the Guthrie

Shortly before the new Guthrie Theater opened in 2006, architect Ralph Rapson toured the building. It was bittersweet for the man who had designed the iconic original on Vineland Place in Minneapolis. But Rapson found some solace in the new place. The signature thrust stage, with that gloriously asymmetrical scheme, was largely intact. Better yet, there was more legroom for patrons. Rapson smiled. Guthrie believed in jamming people together, and this new arrangement would have driven Sir Tyrone crazy.

Rapson and Guthrie's relationship could best be described as prickly. The suave, articulate theater director swept into the Twin Cities in the early 1960s and had cultured classes swooning over his vision of a great regional theater. Rapson was a sturdy Midwestern architect -- renowned in his own right as head of the University of Minnesota School of Architecture -- but decidedly in the shadow of the 6-foot-7 Guthrie. As they traded ideas and sketches for the new theater, they bickered over legroom, the building facade, the distance of the balcony from the stage, the beggaring of backstage space.

"What should a theater look like?" Rapson reportedly inquired after Guthrie had torpedoed a pile of concepts. "Keep drawing and I'll tell you when you've got it right," Guthrie is said to have replied.

Playwright Jeffrey Hatcher has created what he calls "a vaudeville essay about theater and architecture," based on the stories of Rapson and Guthrie's tête a têtes. "Tyrone and Ralph" premieres at the History Theatre in St. Paul this week, with actors Steve Hendrickson (the tall one) and Mark Benninghofen as the sparring geniuses.

Hatcher originally thought he'd write a one-man play about Guthrie. But as he cast about for dramatic conflict, he brought in Rapson.

"Something that struck me, and I haven't been able to disprove this, is that there aren't any photographs of the two of them together," Hatcher said. "Of all these people involved in putting this thing together, these guys are never together in a picture, which is really weird."

A city charmed

Hatcher talked with several eyewitnesses to the theater's conception and construction in the early 1960s. Guthrie blew into town like a storm, a legend with charming wit and energy. A natural actor, he commanded a room "like Harold Hill," Hatcher noted. He had confidence. He had done this sort of thing at Stratford, Ontario. That template could work here.

Rapson, however, had no intention of simply being Guthrie's sketch pad. He acquiesced to Guthrie designer Tanya Moiseiwitch's thrust stage, but he brought an important tweak that introduced generations of Twin Citians to the word "asymmetrical." Rapson looked at the Stratford auditorium and felt the seats were too far afield.

"Ralph was able to squish the seats forward," Hatcher said. "It's the only thrust I can think of in the country where the balconies feel like New York balconies, forced forward."

Guthrie wanted them farther forward. Rapson resisted on grounds that it would make the main floor feel claustrophobic underneath the overhang. In his book "A New Theatre," Guthrie allows that he was swayed by the argument in the planning stages, but regretted it once the theater opened. "We were needlessly cautious," he wrote.

More irritating to Guthrie was the emphasis on the building's exterior. Here was a man used to working in New York, where brick facades are jammed on top of each other and all that matters is what's inside. Rapson's open and airy design seemed wrong. It stole space from the back stage, Guthrie wrote in his book and it threatened to make the theater more costly to operate.

"He didn't want all that glass," Hatcher said. "He felt the maintenance would suck money away from what could be put into the stage."

One final contretemps

The theater opened in May 1963 and for a moment, everyone smiled and relaxed. Rapson had won many points and Guthrie could be pleased that he had started a regional theater movement.

Then Guthrie wrote his book, in which he talked "frankly about our relationship, which was not wholly satisfactory to either party." He sent galley proofs to Rapson, who marked them up with vigorous corrections.

"Guthrie sent back a note that said, 'Dear Ralph, so sorry you feel this way, but as it happens, it's too late. Sorry, gone to press,'" Hatcher said. "Guthrie got to write the history, but I hope that actually in some way, this play balances it a bit."

Rapson attended a reading of the play in January and later lunched with Hatcher to talk over his impressions. The old man had no issue with the fictional freedoms Hatcher had taken. What riled Rapson a bit, Hatcher said, were the moments when it seemed he was made out to be the country rube.

In the end, Hatcher feels, the theater had two fathers. Guthrie's name is immortalized on the structure next to the Mississippi River. If he could see the maintenance bills today, he might roll over in his grave. Rapson, who died four weeks after that lunch with Hatcher, remains a much-beloved and respected man in the community. And even though he was not a tall man, that extra legroom in the new place made him smile.

Graydon Royce • 612-673-7299