The Invisible Artisans: When Translation Meets Theatre
There’s something profoundly humbling about the work of a translator, especially in the realm of theatre. It’s an art that thrives in the shadows, often unnoticed until something goes awry. Personally, I think this is where the beauty and tragedy of translation collide. When Monica Capuani, one of Italy’s leading theatrical translators, describes herself and her peers as ‘children of a lesser god,’ she’s not just being modest—she’s highlighting a truth that’s both poignant and unsettling. Translators are the invisible architects of cultural exchange, yet their craft is so often undervalued. What makes this particularly fascinating is how their work can either elevate or dismantle a piece of art, all while remaining largely unseen.
Take Capuani’s recent project, translating Marina Carr’s Mirandolina for the Italian stage. On the surface, it’s a reimagining of Carlo Goldoni’s 18th-century comedy La locandiera. But dig deeper, and you’ll find a complex web of cultural translation, linguistic precision, and emotional resonance. Carr’s adaptation, set in contemporary Dublin, explores the theme of female fear—a topic that, as Capuani notes, gained new urgency in Italy following the murder of Giulia Cecchettin in 2023. What many people don’t realize is that translation isn’t just about swapping words between languages; it’s about capturing the weight of history, the nuances of culture, and the pulse of contemporary relevance.
One thing that immediately stands out is the circular nature of this project. Capuani first translated Goldoni’s Italian text into English for Carr to adapt, and then restored Carr’s Irish-infused version back into Italian. This isn’t just translation—it’s a cultural relay race, where each handoff requires precision, empathy, and a deep understanding of both the source and target audiences. From my perspective, this process underscores the translator’s role as a cultural intermediary, someone who bridges gaps that machines could never navigate.
What this really suggests is that translation is as much about interpretation as it is about replication. Capuani’s collaboration with Carr involved painstaking attention to rhythm, word choice, and emotional texture. For instance, when Carr used regionally marked or unusual language, Capuani had to find Italian equivalents that carried the same weight and effect. This raises a deeper question: How much of a work’s essence is lost when we rely on tools that lack human intuition?
The rise of AI in translation is a case in point. Capuani compares its impact to the way the internet disrupted journalism, and I couldn’t agree more. AI can produce translations quickly and cheaply, but it lacks the contextual understanding and emotional intelligence that human translators bring. If you take a step back and think about it, translation isn’t just about words—it’s about the associations, histories, and emotions embedded in them. A detail that I find especially interesting is Capuani’s anecdote about her psychoanalyst pointing out the French word père (father) hidden in her use of the English word ‘impaired.’ It’s a reminder that language is never neutral; it’s always layered with meaning.
This brings me to a broader point: the undervaluation of translators is symptomatic of a larger cultural issue. We live in an era where speed and efficiency often trump depth and nuance. Translators spend hours, even days, weighing every word, yet their contributions are frequently overlooked or erased. I’ve seen play programs that omit the translator’s name entirely, as if the text magically appeared in the target language. This isn’t just unfair—it’s a disservice to the art itself.
In my opinion, the debate around AI and translation isn’t just about job security; it’s about the survival of a craft that enriches our cultural landscape. Sonia Folin’s essay Survival of the Translator drives this home beautifully. She compares the frustration of navigating an automated phone system to the limitations of machine translation. We press zero because we crave human connection, empathy, and understanding—qualities that AI can’t replicate.
As Mirandolina takes the stage at the Abbey Theatre, I’m reminded of the power of this invisible art. Capuani’s translation isn’t just a conduit for Carr’s words; it’s a testament to the resilience of human creativity in an increasingly automated world. If there’s one takeaway, it’s this: translators are not lesser gods—they are the guardians of meaning, the keepers of cultural memory. And in an age where AI threatens to flatten complexity, their work has never been more vital.
