Re-Orientation

For me, the New Year signals a time for introspection -- for evaluating what I have done, what I am trying to do, and how I am trying to do it. On New Year's Day, I picked up Epictetus' The Art of Living, and I found this, which seemed to speak directly to me:

Keep your attention focused entirely on what is truly your own concern, and be clear that what be­longs to others is their business and none of yours. If you do this, you will be impervious to coercion and no one can ever hold you back. You will be truly free and effective, for your efforts will be put to good use and won't be foolishly squandered finding fault with or opposing others.

As I looked back at the many posts since I began this blog fifteen months ago, I found many recurring themes, all of which tended to center upon quality and nature of the relationship between the theatre artist and the audience. I have promoted a focus on the local, and the artist's responsibility, shared with every other citizen, with the improvement of their community and society.

But I have also tended to express these themes through opposition -- finding fault with the ideas of others, opposing others -- squandered efforts that Epictetus rightly labels as foolish. I then remembered a story that Joseph Campbell often told when discussing quests:

The knights of King Arthur's court were seated at table and Arthur would not let the meal be served until an adventure had occurred. And, indeed, an ad­venture did occur. The Grail itself appeared, carried by angelic miracle, covered, however, by a cloth. Everyone was in rapture and then it withdrew. Arthur's nephew Gawain stood up and said, "I propose a vow. I propose that we should all go in pursuit of this Grail to behold it unveiled." And it was deter­mined that that was what they would do. And then occur these lines which seem to me so wonderful: "They thought it would be a disgrace to go forth in a group. Each entered the forest that he had chosen where there was no path and where it was darkest."

We each of us are on a quest for the same grail: a dynamic, exciting, creative, innovative, and vibrant theatre that speaks truth to power, and wisdom to all. But each of our paths are different, and we each enter the forest on our own path where it is darkest. We cannot follow others, but must blaze our own trail.

I have spent too much time shouting to others that their path was wrong, and that mine was better. I would have been better off focusing on my own concern, my own quest, and describing as vividly as possible what I found as I traveled.

And so that is what I plan to do now.

My current interest is in community-based theatres. As Robert H. Leonard and Ann Kilkelly say in the subtitle to their excellent book Performing Communities, "grassroots ensemble theaters deeply rooted in...U.S. communities." Theatres like Carpetbag Theater Company, Cornerstone Theater Company, Dell' Arte Company, Jump-Start Performance Co., Los Angeles Poverty Department, El Teatro Campesino, Roadside Theater, the Omaha Magic Theater, the Medea Project, and WagonBurner Theater Troop. I am interested in people like Augusto Boal, Robert Gard, Jan Cohen-Cruz, James Bau Graves and Rhodessa Jones. I am fascinated by books like Performing Communities, and Local Acts, and Grassroots Theater, and Rainbow of Desire, and Pedagogy of the Oppressed, and Composing Ourselves and Imagining Medea and Cultural Democracy.

All of this, and much, much more will provide a very rich pathway for me to follow and describe. Frank McCourt, in his inspiring recent autobiography Teacher Man, says that "Teaching is bringing the news." In many ways, so is blogging. I intend to bring the news of what ideas and plays and theatres and people I come across as I broaden my theatrical horizons to include a part of American theatre history that has, at least in my experience, been overlooked. I have been guilty as any in this regard. I have said, when teaching modern American drama, that it began with O'Neill, and everything before was imitative claptrap. How can such a thing be said, I wonder, when one considers the amazing Little Theatre Movement of the early 20th century, without which Provincetown and O'Neill might never had succeeded?

The plays, theatres, and issues of the New York theatre scene are well covered by many of my fellow bloggers. The best service I can offer is to supplement their valuable contributions with a view from a different pathway, so that others who stumble upon our descriptions perceive an array of choice for their theatrical careers.

For those who have followed this blog over the months, I hope you will continue to join me on this exploration. I also hope that there will be others who might not have read me before who will find me as a result of this re-orientation.

Happy New Year!

Memed

I have been tagged by Tom Loughlin at Poor Player with a meme aqpparently started by George Hunka. The structure:

Find the nearest book.

Turn to page 123.

Go to the fifth sentence on the page.

Copy out the next three sentences and post to your blog.

Name the book and the author, and tag three more folks.

The first book I grabbed, The Art of Living by Epictetus, didn't have 123 pages! So I moved one book down in the pile. The results (which I find particularly hilarious, given that I am from Wisconsin) are as follows:

"My impressions of the State of Wisconsin are, of course, selective, emotional, intuitive, and in any real sense, non-historical. I can see no overall trait that characterizes Wisconsin people, and my impressions are like short pieces of music each with its own temnpo and color. My search in Wisconsin (as always) has been for the flavor and variety of place, and what understanding I have of Wisconsin is based on these things."

I tag Brian and Jess and Jill.

Utile et Dulce; Utile et Non Utile

"Usefulness and pleasure" -- what Horace thought the purpose of theatre is; Aristotle did without the utile (although it is difficult to believe, given what he seems to appreciate most in the drama of his time). A lot of ink (and now electronic pixels) has been spilled over whether utile is necessary or even desireable (I'm trying to entertain Freeman as much as I can by repeatedly using utile in sentences -- Matt, this one's for you).

Utile and non utile -- Horace vs Wilde. Wilde and his cohorts argued for art for art's sake, art as an end in itself, art divorced from effect. The New Critics obliged by, when evaluating the work of art, removing it completely from it's historical context and connection to an individual artist.

Rob over at We Read Books discusses Rousseau's Discourse on the Moral Effects of Arts and Sciences and sets off a predictable, and understandable, chorus of harrumphs. To put art and morality in the same sentence today is to invite the chill wind of fundamentalist narrow-mindedness into the rehearsal space. However, I think it is important that we not follow the New Critics, but rather read Rousseau in his historical context. His article is written in 1750, when Europe was in the midst of a rejection of the aristocracy and the rise of the middle class. In literature, there was a strong rejection of the witty and morally decadent work of the English Restoration (thus, Rousseau's attack on the "effeminate and cowardly," "useless citizens," and his comment"“We do not ask whether a book is useful, but whether it is well-written. Rewards are lavished on wit and ingenuity, while virtue is left unhonoured.”), and the rise of sentimental comedy and domestic tragedy as theorized by Denis Diderot and embodied by plays such as George Lillo's The London Merchant (which, by the way, has an amazing speech by the villainous femme fatale, Millwood, that still sizzles today). Rousseau, like we in the blogosphere, is reacting to a specific time and place, and his comments, which at the time were seen as revolutionary, now within the context of the triumph of the Modernist rejection of morality, the Postmodernist embrace of irony and disbelief, and the rebirth of religious fundamentalism comes across as "conservative." No doubt, Rousseau the Revolutionary is spinning right now.

Rob feels that "Each artist much deal with Rousseau’s Discourse on the Moral Effects of the Arts and Sciences in his own way." Would that it were so -- that the contemplation of one's attitude toward the intersection between art and good behavior, and toward the artists' role as a member of a larger society was truly and deeply undertaken by every artist, as George does and Isaac does. While one can reject Rousseau's starting premise, it is nevertheless important that artists grapple with this question in more than a perfuctory way.

For my part, I think it is important that we not define "utile" to mean "commodification;" Roussea is more interested in the soul than the pocketbook.Usefulness, in this case, means useful for the improvement of humankind. Given the choice between improving humankind and worsening it, I suspect that there are few artists who would choose the latter. I think we all strive in some way to make the world a better place. This does not mean we are committed to directly solving the world's problems through our art (although art can be used in this project, and be valuable as such -- cf Rhodessa Jones and the Medea Project, for instance). But unless our focus is entirely onanistic, what most artists want to do is affect the spectators (else why go through the trouble of creating productions?), and to affect them for the better. This might be through the creation of things of beauty, or the prompting of critical thinking, or the strengthening of empathy. What we don't like, and what leads us to react negatively to Rousseau, is not morality but rather moralizing.

Art that moralizes oversimplifies life. It takes issues that are fraught with internal and external struggles and makes them seem easy and obvious. It sacrifices complexity for shallowness, profundity for naivete. Such art is an insult to those who deal each day with the labyrinths of life and living. Such art is the opposite of "utile."

Rousseau looks at a deadent society and he throws his intellectual weight on the other side of the fulcrum. If society is decadent, then morality must be found in its opposite. If decadent art is filled with empty wit and pointless flourishes, then moral art must be sincere and simple. The technique itself is useful. Perhaps, to be truly useful, artists should throw themselves on whatever is the opposite side of the current imbalance. If today's society is filled with crass commercialism and commodification, then perhaps art needs to emphasize opposing values; if the world is heartless and oppressive, perhaps art needs to be caring and open. Herxanthikles, responding to Rob, may have it right: "Things are bad enough on this earth that there’s no reason to make things worse by spreading nihilism, sadism, and meanness under the cover of artistic license, which, incidentally, is why I hate the movie of A Clockwork Orange." We can agree or disagree with the example, but the orientation is interesting: why jump on the side of the teeter-totter that is already weighted down by society?

To me, this is what utile means -- and what I think Rousseau was doing, if not exactly what he was saying.

An Interesting Letter -- Theatre Application?

http://sethgodin.typepad.com/seths_blog/2005/05/a_letter_from_k.html

The Role of the Director

A lively conversation over at Parabasis about the role of the director. I suggested that we might want to revisit the job description for the director, and decide whether it needed to be changed.

Historically, the rise of the director is fairly recent -- the Duke of Saxe-Meiningen, generally acknowledged as the "first director," doesn't come on the scene until the 1870s. The Duke was known for detailed crowd scenes and an insistence of ensemble acting. When he toured, the troupe was seen by all the major first generation directors (Brahm, Antoine, Stanislavski, etc.) Arguments could be made for others as the "first director," but I think it is significant that opinion has settled on the Duke, because in that case not only were the actors who worked for him his employees, but they were also his subjects. Thus, he had great power over them both professionally and personally. In addition, his actors were primarily amateurs, and he funded the theatre from his own coffers. In other words, his power was complete, and extended to all elements of the stage. This was the model that influenced the early directors.

Prior to that, plays were staged by the playwright or main actor according to generally accepted conventions of staging. Actors were largely expected to plan their performances on their own time, and they would come together for a few rehearsals to walk the blocking, not unlike, say, the musicians in an orchestra. In other words, interpretive power was dispersed among multiple artists.

But with the birth of the director, the interpretive act was centralized. The director was responsible for the "concept," and for the interpretation of the individual scenes and the play as a whole. This overarching concept was to serve as the organizing principle for all other aspects of the production: designs, performances, etc. The movement from a dispersed interpretive model to a centralized interpretive model was not simply a smooth evolution -- power was wrested from the other artists, especially the actors, who were no longer the sole interpreters of their role, but now were asked to create within the confines of the director's interpretation. How did that transfer of power occur?

Primarily, it came through acting theory. It is very interesting how many of the first generation of directors wrote acting theory, most notably Stanislavski, but also Meyerhold, Brahm, Antoine, Tairov, and Craig. (Sidenote: take a look at the book woefully mistitled Actors on Acting and figure out what percentage of the articles are by directors and playwrights! Hint: it's a large percentage.) What is significant about these acting theories is that most of them shifted the focus of the actor from the exterior to the interior. Whereas in the past, actors would rehearse alone while looking in a mirror, say, and consciously plan their performance moment to moment, now the acting process became a psycho-spiritual process that sought to minimize the actor's awareness that they were on a stage -- they were now to trick themselves into believing that they were the character.

Perhaps not surprisingly, this shift of the actor's focus to the subjective part of the equation strengthened the need for this new position of the director, who now was required in order to provide the objective part of the equation. The sheer difficulty of what the actor was being asked to do cemented the need for an outside eye to evaluate the actor's performance ("Did I do it?"), and to guide the interpretation. It is also significant that much of the initial acting theory was written as a dialogue between a wise old teacher director and youthful, impetuous actors (An Actor Prepares, for instance, of Boleslavsky's Acting: The First Six Lessons). In such instances, actors were infantilized, presented as naive children in need of a wise parental figure to guide them toward success.

This process was then cemented into place by the death of the repertory companies, in which actors developed powerful positions by working together over a series of years, and the rise of productions that brought the artists together for a only specific production. These productions were put together following the industrial model that was dominating the business world. Production lines, with workers whose jobs were totally focused on one small piece of the construction process with only the supervisors having a knowledge of the entire process, were being hailed for their efficiency and productivity. The theatre fell into step: directors became the theatrical equivalent of the supervisor who knew the entire process, while the actors and designers specialized and focused on their own small piece of the product. To this day, one of the primary defenses of the director having interpretive control is one of efficiency -- production "by committee" is too inefficient and time consuming.

The point I am trying to make is that the rise of the director was not some sort of "natural evolution" toward perfection, but rather a shift in power that was rooted in historical circumstances and ideology. An Actor Prepares is an ideological manifesto that suggests a certain division of labor and distribution of power. It is not only a "better way to act."

Given the historical and ideological nature of this arrangement, my suggestion is that we step back and consider whether the doxa (the given, the natural, the it-goes-without-saying, according to Roland Barthes) is really as obvious and natural as it is presented. Is centralized interpretation, for instance, what is best in all circumstances and at all times? If not, what other models are there? Can we look to Ariane Mnouchkine, say, or the working model of Joint Stock as possible alternatives? When a playwright is living and present, should the traditional model be altered in any way? Should we look back to the past, and the examples of Moliere or Shakespeare, each of whom staged their own work, for possible models? What would happen if the responsibilities of the director was redefined in such a way that he is an equal among equals? Perhaps the responsibility of reaching an interpretation was the result of discussion, and the director was responsible for physical staging alone, while the actors worked amongst themselves to develop each scene. The possible arrangements are endless, but not until we acknowledge that the director-as-Grand-Arbiter is not the only effective model, and might not even be the best model.

I am not suggesting that directors are superfluous. What I am suggesting is that their role was defined during a time when authoritarianism and industrial efficiency was paramount. We are now in a democratic and post-industrial age -- should the way we make theatre change as well? I'm just asking.

Wealth

I once read somewhere that real wealth is not about having money, but rather about having time and space. While I don't remember who said that, I'm pretty sure he or she wasn't talking specifically about the arts. In essence, it is what Virginia Woolf was saying in A Room of One's Own, except she mixed in the monetary: a room of one's own and 1000 pounds a year -- which, in essence, buys time. When I read the blogs of many of the theatre artists, this really comes home. Playwrights, directors, actors, designers all need the time to create, and a place to do it in.

It seems like a truism, really, and yet what happens to our idea of fundraising if we shift our focus just that little bit? If, instead of raising money, we went out to try to raise time and space. Many artists work day jobs in order to pay the rent, i.e., they make money to buy space. Artists, what if a patron or foundation offered you, not a grant, but a rent-free apartment for a year -- would this make any difference in your artistic life? What if a grocery chain offered to give you groceries for a year? Or the electric company paid your utilities for a year? How much real estate stands empty while someone seeks a buyer? What if they could get a tax right-off for renting it to you? What if empty warehouses could be leased for a penny a year to artists looking for a place to rehearse, or a place to put together a very basic performance space?

Of course, this is the world of bartering -- I am not having any particularly new and brilliant ideas. But it seems to me that the grantwriting scene has become so professionalized that another approach -- one involving smaller amounts of basic goods -- might lead to more time and space for artists.

So a question to the artists: would any of this make a significant difference to your artistic life?

Suzan-Lori Parks

On the recommendation of Brian, I have read Suzan-Lori Parks' essay "Elements of Style," which is published in The America Plays and Other Works. He was certainly right -- great stuff! I will pass it along to my students.

Some gems:

"As a writer my job is to write good plays; it's also to defend dramatic literature against becoming 'Theatre of Schmaltz.' For while there are several playwrights whose work I love love love, it also seems that in no other form of writing these days is the writing so awful -- so intended to produce some reaction of sorts, to discuss some issue: the play-as-wrapping-paper-version-of-hot-newspaper-headline, trying so hard to be hip; so uninterested in the craft of writing: the simple work of putting one word next to another onstage. Theatre seems mired in the interest of stating some point, or tugging some heartstring, or landing a laugh, or making a splash, or wagging a finger. In no other artform are the intentions so slim! As a playwright I try to do many things: explore the form, ask questions, make a good show, tell a good story, ask more questions, take nothing for granted."

.......................

"theatre
Jesus. Right from the jump, ask yourself: "Why does this thing I'm writing have to be a play?" The words 'why,' 'have' and 'play' are key. If you don't have an answer then get out of town. No joke. The last thing America needs is another lame play."

.......................

"Most playwrights who consider themselves avant-garde spend a lot of time badmouthing the more traditional forms. The naturalism of, say, Lorraine Hansberry is beautiful and should not be dismissed simply because it's naturalism. We should understand that realism, like other movements in other artforms, is a specific response to a certain historical climate. I don't explode the form because I find traditional plays 'boring' -- I don't really. It's just that those structures never could accomodate the figures which take up residence inside me."