Author Archives: drler79

Angels Falling Across the Cycles

Posted on by under Mystery Plays, York Mystery Plays 2026

A look at how the York play “The Creation & Fall of the Angels”, on which “The War in Heaven” is based, compares to the plays of the same story across the three other English biblical dramatic cycles.

York’s Mystery Plays are one of four manuscript groups termed “cycle plays”. All of them have the same premise, the dramatisation of the biblical story from Creation to Doom. The Chester Plays belonged to their city on a model similar, but not identical, to York. The Towneley Cycle are also sometimes called the “Wakefield Mystery Plays”, because they were originally thought to belong to that city; today there is only agreement that we don’t know for sure where they are from, or how they were performed. We know even less about the N-Town Plays, which are probably from East Anglia; they may actually be a collection of plays that were compiled together to form a cycle, rather than having ever been played as such, in the manner of the other plays.

All of the cycles start with the Creation of Heaven and the Fall of Lucifer and the rebel angels, so while the story of our play is well represented in the group (this is not true for every play; not all of the stories appear in all of the cycles), we thought it would be interesting to look at how the other opening plays compared to one another. Here’s a brief look at what you’ll find, if you look at them together:

– The play’s length varies considerably. The N-Town play has fewer than a hundred lines, while Chester’s clocks in just over three hundred. (Towneley and York tie at one hundred sixty each.)

– The short N-Town play includes only four characters: God, Lucifer, a Good Angel and a Bad Angel. Though York is twice its length, it only adds a second angel- one is designated a Seraphim and the other a Cherubim*. Despite being equal in length to York, the Towneley “Creation & Fall” includes nine characters, populating Heaven and Hell slightly more thoroughly. Chester’s angels are the reason the play is so long: eight types of angel are represented in the play, in addition to God, while Hell contains two demons, as well as Lucifer, and Lucifer’s companion in both dominions, Lightborne. He is unique in the plays; no other angel or demon, besides Lucifer, is given a proper name rather than a categoric title.   * Note to the sharp-eyed: Seraphim and Cherubim are indeed the plural forms of types of angels. This is how they are named in the plays. Whether that means that each one is effectively a representative spokesangel of its class, or whether a group of actors recite their lines in chorus to create that plural, isn’t noted.

– York’s play belonged to the Tanners (alternatively called the Barkers). Although the Chester plays may not have been “owned” by guilds on quite the same model as York, Chester’s Tanners have also been considered responsible for their “Creation of Heaven and Fall of Angels” play. We don’t know if the N-Town plays were affiliated with a particular location- it’s possible that they weren’t owned by a single city- and there’s no indication of guilds being responsible for particular plays. Only four of the Towneley plays given any suggestion of guilds, and one of the plays that does is this one. If you happened to guess that the guild named is the Barkers, you win! The association of this guild with this particular biblical story, in performance, was apparently strong across England.

– In the York play, the angels don’t argue about whether to worship God or Lucifer. Lucifer brags, and repeatedly tells the angels that they should worship him, but the Good Angels simply continue to worship God. Those angels who are cast down to Hell with Lucifer don’t say much; it’s the only play where the angelic argument comes down to picking a side and then stubbornly staying with it, rather than actively trying to fight the ones who have made a different choice. 

           By contrast, the bulk of the Chester version is a disputation between various types of angels and Lucifer, as they try to convince him of his misguided pride. The Towneley play likewise offers back-and-forth argument, but their play takes a different tactic: once Lucifer has made his pitch for superiority, the angels then argue amongst themselves over who will follow him and who will follow God, rather than arguing with Lucifer himself. The shortness of the N-Town play does not allow for much debate, although even in its briefness the Good Angel informs Lucifer that he is in error.

            It’s a shame we know nothing about the authors of any of these plays, as these distinctions prompt interesting questions about angelic agency, how much power Lucifer truly has (versus how much he thinks he has!), and the usefulness of debate make for interesting perspectives!

– In the Towneley play, God’s creation of the world is also included in that first play. All of the others have “The Creation” as their second play. That changes what God has to accomplish in the play, so in that iteration, much of God’s opening monologue has to be given to the work of those first few days. In fact, in this play he doesn’t enter into dialogue with the angels at all, he creates them and then is offstage for the rest of the play.

            York’s God is slightly more interactive, naming out Lucifer specifically. But he shares an interesting feature with the Towneley God: in both plays, the fall happens without an explicit directive from God, as if Lucifer’s words alone cause him to be spontaneously ejected from Heaven. As God does reappear to close the play with a monologue about what has happened and why, one has different staging options for the actual moment of the Fall, and could choose to depict God’s actions as direct.

            The Chester God is particularly active in his relationship with the angels, speaking with them at length, and picking Lucifer and Lightborne out especially, as if he knows they have special capacity that may also lead them astray. (One reference describes his commandments to them, not to let pride dominate them, as a dare.) His response to their downfall is almost sorrowful rather than angry.

            N-Town’s version of God dominates the short play, with almost half of its lines belonging to him. What stands out about him is that he expounds on his nature as a trinity more than the others. Chester’s also speaks of this (York’s and Towneley’s do not), but it feels less pronounced in the much-longer play.

            What one takes away from looking at the “Creation and Fall of Angels” plays as a comparative group is just how different medieval perspectives were on the Bible story and how to dramatise it. These Gods are not identical, and their angels, whether good or bad, seem to have quite different characters. From the standpoint of staging the plays, we can look at this as a chance for creative license: although the characters of our particular play seem to think and behave in a certain way, there is scope for seeing them as individual rather than merely as a “type”, and we can do so not because our modern sensibilities have taught us to approach the theatre that way, but because even in the Middle Ages, everyone saw things just a little bit differently.

Director’s Notes: Comedy Tonight!

Posted on by under French Farces, Historic, Musings

It’s #FarcesFriday, and our director, Laura-Elizabeth Rice, is back with reflections on choosing to work with medieval French farces, and how we chose our plays.

Two memories:

I’m six years old, listening to a group of boys sitting around one’s school desk. One of them is using a hand under his armpit to make noises that mimic gas, and they’re laughing like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. And I find myself thinking, I can’t wait to be an adult, so people won’t find fart jokes funny anymore, because they aren’t! (Oh, the innocence of youth!)

I’m eighteen and in university, in a class that’s supposed to be on Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, but our professor has decided that, instead, we’re going to be focusing on the question of “what is comedy?” He’s a young, early-career lecturer; it’s painfully obvious that he’s anxious to spit out the silver spoon he was born with, and his way of doing this is to argue strenuously that slapstick is the only valid form of comedy, because if you like anything else, you’re being a snob. I don’t think slapstick is funny at all. I’ll spend the semester arguing that watching someone be injured or made to feel embarrassed isn’t amusing, and that I don’t think that inherently makes me stuck-up.

I’m sharing these memories because it’s deeply ironic that I, of all people, should be spending time working on farces, a genre that relies heavily on physical and/or bodily humour… and irony is often a foundational part of comedy. Moreover, it’s worth knowing a little bit of that background, to help explain why, of all the farces in all the theatre in all the world (or at least, in France!), we should have settled on Master Pierre Pathelin and The Washtub for our upcoming reading.

Medieval comedy isn’t absent from the English canon of dramatic literature, but it’s quite limited, and exists entirely within wider dramatic genre that aren’t focused on laughs. Joseph’s Trouble About Mary is pretty funny, because it’s a pragmatic look at a Biblical moment that is usually held in pure reverence. The Second Shepherds’ Play is a strange combination of comedic folk play married to the more standard Christmas story. Our old friend, Mankind, has much bawdy humour, but its purpose is to be held up as an example of what not to be. There just isn’t a vast body of secular comedy from medieval England that exists solely because people wanted a laugh. 

It’s different in France. There are hundreds of farces from medieval France. Unfortunately, the majority aren’t available in translation; if you don’t read French- and medieval French at that!- these plays remain largely a literal and metaphorical closed book. This is changing (most notably, several collections translated and adapted by Jody Enders, which I highly recommend as entertaining reading even if you have zero interest in putting a farce onstage), but a lot– the majority- of the enormous body of farce remains just out of reach. So while I knew that, in deciding to present a comedy, we would be looking past English borders, the language question meant limitation among riches.

That said… once you start reading what is available in English, you confront the challenge of translation that isn’t about language or even France vs. England, but about cultures across time. My undergraduate lecturer was correct that slapstick has indeed stood the test of chronology- medieval people would have understood those six year old boys!- but the line of what is acceptable has definitely shifted. It’s quite shocking to realise that a significant percentage of medieval comedy is about violence, particularly domestic. Imagine watching a “Punch & Judy” show but with actors instead of puppets; men and women may give as good as they get, but the violence is unrelenting. There are those who argue that it is so exaggerated that it becomes comic, because it’s completely unrealistic, but we still felt it was over the line where we felt comfortable. 

The Washtub is marital comedy, but it still works as comedy if one ignores or excises stage directions that indicate the couple being violent towards one another- that is a disposable “extra” that isn’t necessary dramatically. Even without that, there is physical comedy, and it follows the slapstick trope of exaggeration of physical events: it’s unlikely that a grown, fully conscious woman would drown by falling into even a large medieval washtub in her own home; all she has to do is stand up! Thus much of the comedy centres around the absence of injury that the audience appreciates, but the character doesn’t; the rest is clever one-upmanship between spouses, of the sort that is still a staple of television sitcoms.

Pierre Pathelin is probably the best-known medieval French farce- possibly the best-known medieval French play, full stop, and I suspect that one of the reasons this is true is because it almost totally lacks violence-as-humour, so it hasn’t turned the corner into being more offensive than funny. It pokes fun at lawyers (another tradition that has carried on!), at unearned pomposity, and the idea of the clever scoundrel getting away with one-upping those considered his “betters” still resonates. It also includes a twist at the end that reminds me that my university lecturer did make some good points: reversal of expectation can be one of the criteria for defining comedy. In Pathelin, everybody is trying to cheat everyone else, and virtually everyone has some comeuppance along the way. 

I suspect that the same thing that made me read these plays and say, I want to do this!, is the same thing that has made them the best known among a fairly obscure genre: their surprisingly delicate balance between the hyperbolic actions of slapstick, and the jokes that ask the audience to contribute some thought or knowledge. You can appreciate them for exactly what they lay out in front of you- isn’t a man bleating “Baaa” in a courtroom ridiculous?- or you can be entertained because you know something about law and what Pathelin is faking. Or both. Meet them where you are. The medieval French writers gave us plays which understood what neither a younger version of me, nor my university teacher, did: that “funny” needn’t have a hierarchy; there are only different, and complimentary, ways of making an audience laugh.

Director’s Notes: Where to Begin

Posted on by under Musings, Mystery Plays, York Mystery Plays 2026

Some notes from our director, Laura-Elizabeth Rice, on where her work with The War in Heavenbegan, getting to know source material, and what she’s learned so far about angels and devils.

In the beginning was the word…

Well, in the theatre, the beginning is the word: the script. Ours, for The War in Heaven and the rest of the Mystery Plays, is a brand-new translation by Dr. Alan Heaven. As a word geek, I’m enjoying getting to know a new iteration, thinking about the words that are chosen, hearing them out, rolling them around in my mouth, considering the echoes of the original, and contemplating why different translators make the choices that they do. Of course, the Mystery Plays are themselves the product of adaptation, of the stories of the Bible, filtered through medieval tradition and understanding. How much tradition of the ancient world influenced the Bible is a much deeper theological debate than I’m willing to entertain, but suffice to say that by the time we’re looking at Mystery Plays today, there is not one “beginning” point but many.

I decided, however, to start with the place that medieval people would have considered the source text, which is the Bible. There are, of course, many different translations of that, too; for the sake of purity, I should probably have consulted one of the earlier Latin iterations- likely the Latin Vulgate- but, confession!, I don’t read Latin particularly well. As a creature of the twenty-first century, instead I hit the internet for one of those webpages that shows various versions side by side, for comparison. Of course it cannot include all the variations of Biblical translation, so I cannot say that any of my discoveries are conclusive. But hope they can be considered a starting point for understanding the play that I hope I can bring out for actors and audiences!

God as a concept seems simultaneously completely obvious (an omniscient, all-powerful entity), and completely ineffable, even- especially- if one is not a person from, or of, a faith tradition. But that, at least, is an answer I could give if someone needed a definition. Yet I realised that if I were asked, “What is an angel? What is a fallen angel?” I actually wouldn’t have a good answer. I’ll come back to this at a later date, but the point now is that I wanted to know exactly what the Bible had to say about them, since their actions drive the play. 

Angels are scattered throughout the Bible- a search suggested there are approximately 300 references to them, depending on which translation you’re looking at- and yet they are never very well defined. The word “angel” means “messenger”, and that’s the capacity in which they appear most frequently, as interlocutors between God and people. Sometimes they are corporeal and sometimes they aren’t, but when they do have a physical presence, they have hands and faces, and sometimes accessorize with a sword or a staff. They can interact with people physically as well as vocally. They’re impervious to fire, and can appear and disappear. One of the few absolutely stated facts about angels is that they don’t have marriages, although whether this implies that they have genders or not isn’t clear. Particularly interesting in terms of the workings of a war in heaven, they don’t just intercede with humans to bring messages; they’re also often God’s agent of smiting, striking people down when they’ve displeased the deity. They also don’t die, which certainly has implications for the outcome of a war in heaven, and perhaps why being sent to Hell is their punishment for rebellion.

Fallen angels aren’t really called such, at least not in any of the translations that I’ve seen, and Satan gets fewer than 50 namechecks. But there are several occasions when Satan (his name means “the tempter” or “the accuser”) hangs out with angels, sometimes those held up in contrast to him, and sometimes with the implication that he has angels which belong specifically to him, separate from God’s. Satan can “masquerade as an angel of light”, which one can read to imply that he is an angel in opposition to light- i.e. an angel of darkness- or perhaps that he is no angel at all. After all, he’s also equated in Revelation with a dragon and a serpent. There is altogether quite a bit less in the Bible about fallen angels or Satan than one might assume, given the weight they carry culturally in both the Middle Ages and today. 

The War in Heaven is, traditionally, called “The Fall of Angels” in the medieval plays. Along with the creation of Heaven, it’s part of the first play in all four cycles. I had therefore assumed, as medieval people seem to have done, that this was a story from the earliest idea of time, in Genesis. But in the Bible, it makes only a brief appearance, in the book of Revelation (12:7-9), at the end of the Bible. There is an earlier allusion (Luke 10:18) where Jesus says he “saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven”, but there is no further detail of the context in which this occurred. And since Jesus isn’t born until the New Testament, presumably the angelic fall wouldn’t be contemporaneous with the creation of the world. I actually quite like the circularity of this, as if the end is in the beginning and the beginning is in the end.

I was surprised that these characters, and the story of the war in heaven, did not feature more prominently in the Bible, given how strong the narrative, and subsequent artistic, traditions seem to be. On the one hand, creating them dramatically almost from whole cloth is a real challenge! On the other hand, it also means the possibilities are endless… almost. It’s still medieval drama, after all! For now, what it really tells me is that I have a lot more research to do, because clearly a great deal of tradition had built up around these characters and events prior to and during the Middle Ages. And that, reader, is part of our play…..

Another Announcement: French Farces!

Posted on by under Farces, News

This summer, it’s not just Mystery Plays. Just like medieval people, we appreciate the emotion of a drama like The War in Heaven, but we also sometimes just want a really good giggle (and maybe a beer). And so we’ve decided to bring you both!

We’re kicking the season off with a fun, casual event (in a pub!) for both actors and audiences! On 9 May, we’ll be holding a dramatic reading of two medieval French farces. These plays are clever and comic, secular and silly… a nice balance to the drama of the magisterial Mysteries. We’ve chosen the witty legal comedy Master Pierre Pathelin and the marital slapstick The Washtub to showcase the variety of humour that was so much a part of the late medieval world. 

We’ll have more details later, but mark your calendar now for an opportunity to see just how varied medieval theatre can be!

An Exciting Announcement: York Mystery Plays 2026!

Posted on by under Mystery Plays, York Mystery Plays 2026

We’re back!

It’s been a challenging series of years for us, as it has been for many small theatre groups across the UK, but we are thrilled to tell you that we don’t just have news to tease, we have exciting news right now.

This summer, the Mystery Plays are returning to the city centre of York, and HIDden will be with them!

The Mystery Plays is, effectively, the parent stem of HIDden Theatre. We exist because our founders were involved with a performance in the 2010 plays, and we decided we wanted to keep exploring and presenting historic drama from the past. So we came back in 2014, when the current team started working together. 

We all have incredibly happy memories of that experience, and have hoped circumstances would allow us to return. This year, after all the difficulties of the past years- through a pandemic and many changes of personal circumstance- we’re thrilled beyond measure to be working on The War in Heaven (traditionally the Fall of the Angels). It’s the first play in the cycle, so we’ll be leading the parade! It’s quite an exciting play, depicting both Heaven and Hell, and sets up the struggle between good and evil.

Along the way to production, we’re looking forward to sharing not just our journey, but also some history of the plays and the medieval world with you, and we’ll also be pointing out what else is going on, because this year it’s not just two days of performance, it’s an entire festival. So there’ll be lots of ways to discover the Mystery Plays… and lots of ways to get involved.

On that note… we are going to be acting as the “guild of waifs and strays”. That means that if you’re someone who has an interest in participating in the Plays, but you’re not a member of a group that’s already involved, we’re here! Whether you love to perform or you’re interested in backstage projects like building or costuming, or you’d like to be part of our waggon crew, there are going to be lots of opportunities. Get in touch! (You can message us by visiting the “About Us” section of this site, and filling out the form there.)

The full cycle of plays will be performed on 28 June and 5 July, with the full festival arranged around those dates. We hope to see you there!

Everything Live

Posted on by under News

It’s a truism of working with historic drama that you can never really recreate the experiences of the past, for performers or audiences. In recent readings for The Vital Spark, I came across a comment about the way that encores used to involve a performer singing a favourite song over and over again, because there were no other chances to hear it. As someone who plays songs on loop for hours, or days, while I’m working on a project, or to learn the lyrics, as someone who used to hit rewind and play on cassettes dozens of times in a row, this struck me as a window into how truly foreign the past is. Leaving aside the philosophical questions of performative ephemerality, this is one of those vastly profound differences between the experience of the modern world and that of the past. I cannot conceive of life without my recordings or videos, yet for most of history, every performance happened once, and never again.

For the actors, this might not have mattered tremendously; if they were performing the same show for several nights or weeks at a run, the experience probably closely resembled that of today: each one is different, but in an ideal world they are as close to identical as possible. Perhaps for musicians it offered a different challenge: every song would have to ‘stick’ from the very beginning; there would be no room for a piece to grow on you over time or through replaying. Certainly for the audience it must have been very different from today. The only chances you ever had to experience a performer’s gifts were right there, for that little space of time. No recording to take home at the end of the night, no album to learn before going to the gig, no television special where you might pick up some familiarity with the material. And if you particularly loved some aspect of a performance, it could only ever live in your memory. Moreover, the experience could only be shared with those who were also there; you couldn’t simply pass over the earphones and say, “you’ve got to hear this.” Maybe you’d take home favourite songs to sing with your family, or some of a comic’s jokes would make it into your own conversation. I have to wonder if this created a different kind of memory- not just of the thing itself, but the actual human mechanism for mental recording, a capability that we, with our ability to record the entire world electronically, have lost. (Could anyone today repeat the feats of Homer, reciting his epics?)

I wonder if it created a secondary, private round of performances. Did people go home to friends and family who hadn’t been there and, in trying to explain what they’d seen, end up acting out their favourite parts of the performance? Did they ever do it as a way of keeping that memory alive? Most recordings, audio or film, are not made as a document for posterity. They are made because we understand that someone who has experienced a performance might like to see or hear it again, or because we know that there are those who would like to be there in person but can’t. But before the twentieth century, to miss a performance was to miss it forever, and to see it again you had to be there again- and could only do so for the length of the run. Surely that must have created a unique emotional connection, for we hold in different value those things which are limited.

And surely, too, something has been lost to us with the illusion, however inaccurate, that we can capture a performance forever, to be replayed as many times as we choose. This is one aspect of historic drama that we can’t even approach recreating, because we know that the world is full of options for ‘capturing’ the event for infinite encores. This is the opposite of the side of me that obsessively records, photographs, and collects. I’m not sure I could give that up. But these thoughts will certainly give me pause the next time a show is about to go up and a find myself setting up the tripod.