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When Karol Wojtyła was elected pope in October 1978, he immediately won over the Church by his direct and personable manner. Some of us remember the moment when he emerged on the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica, opening his arms wide in a broad, confident gesture as he greeted the faithful in fluent Italian, then imparted a blessing in clear Latin Where did John Paul II learn to connect with crowds? Where did he learn to speak as if to each one of us individually, often in our native tongues? What about his exceptional powers of concentration in front of cameras that trailed his every move and during liturgies with millions of people in attendance?
On the supernatural level, guidance of the Holy Spirit was certainly paramount. On a purely human level, Wojtyła’s command of public situations suggests a link to his early theater experience. For the pope, as it turned out, had once been an actor. He had written six plays: David (1939), Job (1940), Jeremiah (1940), Our God’s Brother (1950), The Jeweler’s Shop (1960), and Radiation of Fatherhood (1964). Throughout his life, he also published poetry. Theater and poetry, both keenly attuned to the power and nuances of the spoken word, not only taught the future pope vital skills of public presentation, but also, it can be argued, placed him on the doorstep of theology.
View the PHOTO GALLERY at the end of this article to learn more about Saint John Paul II's involvement in the theater and how the experience formed him.
An artistic youth
Karol Wojtyła’s stage experience began in his teens. He performed in school productions in his hometown of Wadowice, almost always playing the male lead. Also in Wadowice, he met his mentor Mieczysław Kotlarczyk, a secondary school teacher and theater critic, who encouraged the young man’s interests in literature, philosophy, and drama. Gifted in the humanities, Wojtyła went on to study literature at the university in Kraków.
A year later, the Second World War broke out. Following the German invasion of Poland from the west launched on September 1, 1939, the Soviet Union crossed Polish borders from the east approximately two weeks later. The two totalitarian powers annexed large swaths of western and eastern Poland, respectively. Areas closest to Germany were incorporated into the Third Reich, while territories in central Poland were renamed as the General Government and placed under Nazi control. Repressive measures extended beyond military aggression into every domain of life. The German regime closed schools and universities, prohibiting formal education beyond the fourth grade. Similarly, all cultural centers, including theaters, were initially shut down, then selectively reopened under strict censorship and allowed to only provide cheap entertainment, often in the service of Nazi propaganda.
The Polish population responded by organizing a fully functioning clandestine government, army, system of education, and cultural initiatives to name just a few institutions of the underground state. To learn, students and faculty at all levels met in secret, frequently changing locations to evade German police. My father, then a young boy, even remembers a doctoral defense being conducted in his family’s home, where the candidate and his dissertation committee gathered with all the formalities required for granting academic degrees. Like education, serious theater in occupied Poland went underground. Actors, directors, and playwrights worked clandestinely, sometimes even in concentration camps where imprisoned theater artists organized performances and shared with fellow inmates what they knew best: the gift of poetry and song.
The Rhapsodic Theater is born
A resident of Kraków, Karol Wojtyła found himself under German occupation. He continued his university studies covertly, while working at a quarry and a chemical plant to avoid deportation. Meanwhile, his mentor Mieczysław Kotlarczyk moved to Kraków to establish the Rhapsodic Theater in 1941, and their friendship was rekindled. Wojtyla became a founding member and actor in the company. The Rhapsodic Theater belonged to the same nation-wide resistance effort as countless other endeavors in occupied Poland. By presenting programs of poetry and drama, it sought to nourish intellectually and spiritually where war systematically degraded and dehumanized its victims. Participation carried the penalty of death.
Since large-scale public performances were impossible, the Rhapsodic Theater met in private apartments. There was no stage or scenery. A piano in the corner of a living room, a drapery on the wall, a lamp or candles (a wartime luxury) delineated the performance space. For the actors, simple black attire without makeup or props sufficed. Freed from the usual external trappings, performances foregrounded recitation of poetry and plays culled from the vast repertoire of Polish literature. Between 1941 and 1945, the company gave a total of seven premieres, for reasons of safety shown before invitation-only audiences.
Wojtyła performed with the troupe from its inception, even after he entered the clandestine diocesan seminary in Kraków in 1942. As priest and bishop, he continued to write poetry and drama. He also maintained close ties with his former mentor and colleagues from the Rhapsodic Theatre and readily offered counsel to other theater artists. Once again, my father — then an aspiring director — recalls personal conversations with bishop Wojtyła, who always found time to discuss artistic and ethical challenges of theater life.
An extraordinary stage presence
As pope, John Paul II undoubtedly drew on his stage experience. I can’t help but think that his remarkable public presence and verbal agility derived in large measure from the many hours he had once spent in the theater. With confidence he delivered public addresses, extemporized speeches, quipped about the weather in Central Park, and made up witty lyrics to folk tunes while visiting with former students in the Vatican. From decades-old theater memories, he conjured up names and faces, as he did during an audience my father and I attended when he recognized my last name, then asked about my dad. He felt comfortable with people and made them feel at ease even as perpetual interaction exhausted him, especially in later years.
There was another way in which the Rhapsodic Theater informed the pope’s life. Because of the scarcity of means, the spoken word became the primary vehicle of expression in the Theater. Speech, not action, carried the performance. Word, not movement, conveyed meaning. This type of reader’s theater, where actors read or recite poetry has had longstanding traditions. In a wartime setting, however, the spoken word acquired deep poignancy. Theater was no longer a pastime pursued for leisure and entertainment, but an act of defiance and a mission: a quest to lift the audience beyond the primal fear and struggle for survival in a terrorized country toward contemplation of ideas that made one fully human. Reciting high poetry and drama, actors of the Rhapsodic Theater came to resemble the ancient Greek rhapsodes, poet-singers, who built up a repertoire of verses to ultimately sing as if inspired by the gods.
In the Rhapsodic Theater, the spoken word, chosen and delivered with precise intention and intonation, revealed the dynamic content of ideas, capable of shaping the human subject. This kind of theater deployed the word—sharp and efficacious—for its generative and transforming capacity. As such, theater of the word approached the threshold of theology—literally the study of God’s word. For Karol Wojtyła, leaving the stage for seminary may not have been a radical departure after all.
Editor’s note: Our look at the theater work of St. John Paul II will continue next month with an exploration of his 1950 play, Our God’s Brother. Our thanks to the Acacia Theater Company for allowing us to us a production photograph in the accompanying photo gallery.
