a bad theatre experience during an otherwise beautiful night.

The theatre piece sputtered. The actor was afraid to look at the room he was struggling to control. People were around him, drinks in hand, wanting to enjoy themselves. The actor wanted attention, he wanted to be loved, he wanted the people listening to take his side and really trick themselves into thinking, “Yeah, this actor from Ottawa really gets the Blues because he’s telling us a story about this girl that he once thought he loved and how he suffered a not-quite-real heartbreak because of it. Yeah, I can dig this.” No one in that room, by the way, was foolish enough to trick themselves into thinking this. This was an event of musicians and real artists (not saying theatre is not real art, but this kind of performance did not belong at the event because there was no passion, no real understanding of the thing that was coming out of the performer’s mouth and being presented to the public, many of whom were also performing at some time that evening and many of whom were musicians). Instead of stepping up to the challenge, this thespian secluded himself from the wonderful event happening in the, how many?, five or more different rooms around him? Before his act, I spied him, script in hand, head down and buried beneath the words on his pages, sitting in the very space he was later to perform in. I think he moved to see one of the acts leading up to his. Or maybe he just looked up from where he was because another act was happening in the same room, I can’t be sure. But you know what the most aggravating thing of all was? His act was maybe halfway into the palette of programming arranged that night. And he left after he was done. He didn’t even stick around to see the act that the organizers of the event, the ones responsible for him being there, put on themselves. He didn’t stick around for the burlesque, or the headlining band. He disappeared after he lost the room. Rather: he actually disappeared as he was losing the room, because a musician who played earlier in the night stepped in to accompany him and totally took what little attention he held onto right out of his hands and into her saxophone.

I tell you this not because he is a Canadian star who, because of that, I guess, should have demanded respect, or something, but because it saddens me that the worst part of such an inspiring event was the sole piece of theatre. It saddens me because I call myself a theatre practitioner. It saddens me because the Canadian star claimed to have been developing this for years, through many workshops and, I believe, grants. It saddens me because this isn’t the only incident like this that I’ve experienced; time and time again, in an atmosphere where people are present, where there is no real distinction between the performers and the audience, where the people who are at the event are there, drinks in hand, just wanting to transcend, to party, when “theatre” is added to the programme it seems continuously unable to capture the attention and emotions of the room.

Why is independent theatre so often the most inaccessible of the fine arts? There are a couple reasons I think this happens. ONE, I think it’s because “theatre” naturally assumes attention will be given, that certain preconceptions will be met. So the traditional performer of plays doesn’t really have to fight to gain it right from the top, because the lights dim on the audience and everyone assumes they should be quiet now. Because these preconceptions are the standard for the majority of produced theatre as a result new, independent theatre generally caters to those who acknowledge them. Those who acknowledge them are, namely, theatre people. TWO, I think this happens because of bad curatorial practice. If the piece of theatre requires people to sit quietly, contemplate, and use their imagination when they shouldn’t have to (the actor in this instance was still on book and stumbled to find his place a couple times), then maybe it’s not the best idea to add them to the line-up of an event that is taking place across an entire floor of a loft and is labeled as BYOB, and was also, coincidentally, the organiser’s birthday.

When placed side by side, the other fine arts have immediate merits; they evoke something almost innocently, but clearly tailored from you, because they never forget that the crux of their art is to communicate with the audience.

When placed side by side at events with the other fine arts, it seems people just don’t know what to do with independent theatre (especially people who are not in theatre and, as a result, don’t care about appealing to its clique by staging theatre for theatre people). The same, I believe, can be said vice versa; theatre people generally don't know what to do at these kinds of events.

And I think it can all be summed up very easily by the following awkward exchange, that most of us will recognise, between a theatre practitioner and potential audience member:

“Hey, what do you do?”
“Oh, I act.”
“Wow, that’s great. Can you show me?”

 ...

The question then becomes, "Why can't we show them?"

no cockamamie ornamental fluff allowed.

I’ve been reading, and thoroughly enjoying David Mamet’s True and False – Heresy and Common Sense for the Actor. While some may find him harsh and arrogant there’s no denying the tone he sets in this book is no different than the tone Stephen King sets in his own memoirs, and guideline for aspiring and serious writers, On Writing. These two authors are talking common sense, Mamet going so far as to make it part of the title and King writing an foreword stating that basically all other writing books out there are full of BS. And while their common sense may dissolve into repetition frequently (in Mamet’s case, a little too frequently) both authors understand the most important thing they want to teach and are not afraid of using a power drill to teach it (even when you read the same sentence for the twentieth time in a slightly-over-one-hundred-page-book and you roll your eyes or instead read “yadda-yadda-yadda” you know that sentence’ll be the one you remember).

Both of these authors have realised there is no sense in sugar-coating the most important lessons. They have obviously become frustrated with the abundance of fluff and misguided, cryptic adjuncts attached to what could be helpful lessons. Mamet and King want to teach you in the simplest terms so as to require no deep, academic unpacking; they are writing of skill acquired through means of experience (honestly, what better teacher is there?). Now, some will have problems with this in-your-face attitude but you have to understand these authors are still people – not everything they say is perfect and not everything they say will work for you. This is what’s worked for them. Understand they aren’t afraid of insulting you (because really: they didn’t write this book for you. They wrote it for someone interested in writing and acting not for the emotional being that constitutes GIVEN NAME SURNAME).

With that being said, give both books a try. They come with my highest recommendation for anyone in either theatre or literature and I have every guarantee you’ll learn something.

thoughts on True and False:

Mamet’s talk about theatrical training in schools is somewhat misguided. He is correct when he states there is nothing a teacher anywhere in the world can teach you about “portraying emotions” because they are not you (I guess the exception here is if the teachers are actually abusing their students in some way or another... and if this’s the case I think there’s a bigger issue to deal with here). Emotion is something to be experienced first hand and unplanned. As Mamet states, emotion is a by-product of pursuing an objective; of taking an action. We don’t think about getting mad when someone hits us; it just happens. Emotion is completely uncontrollable. Any attempt to control it is false. And we don’t want to see false emotion.

Mamet does, however, miss the point of institutionalised studio-based training [I separate this from the academia of Theatre Studies as this course of education is not for the actor. It is, like Mamet says, for the English student. In True and False, however, he doesn’t even pretend there is worthiness to this stream of education. Academic studies in theatre are as necessary as academic studies in any field (maybe more so because one of the main functions of theatre is to provoke discussion)]. Institutionalised studio-based training is not designed to teach emotion but to make oneself aware of their bodies. It is not to stock up their mind with emotional reserves they can tap at a moments’ notice but to stock up their mind with the ability to relax and listen when suddenly told to perform in front of a roomful of prying eyes; to listen when something changes onstage. It is to make the actor familiar with the demon called “Stage Fright” so as to not force their actions in its presence. And that, to me, is so very important. Yes, I agree this can be achieved outside the classroom but the classroom focused on this task shouldn't in any way hinder an actors’ development.

Everyone has experienced that “feeling of being watched,” or actually has been watched before (by someone who maybe thinks you’re cute, for example). In this situation our bodies tense. We become aware of how we are acting so as not to do too much, or to acknowledge, or to try and heighten our attractiveness. ALL OF THIS HAPPENS BECAUSE WE NOTICED ONE PAIR OF EYES ON US. Imagine what would happen if there were one hundred pairs? Logically our bodies should freeze and become incapable of rational thought. This is fear (and Mamet speaks brilliantly about fear in True and False). In other terms, an institutionalised studio-based education should acquaint their students with situations of fear and, subsequently, bravery / courage and, to a lesser extent, this training may help naturally reclusive people with an interest in performance become more comfortable and extroverted in social situations. If a person can’t hold a mundane, day-to-day conversation there is no hope or luck that will allow them to act (if a socially reclusive person can hold a mundane, day-to-day conversation but chooses not to they are probably rather formidable actors because they are constantly listening to their surroundings unprovoked).

It’s interesting the very thing Mamet advocates for is, in my experience, the same thing most schools offer. Moreover, it seems he’s tailored his book to actors who have gone through or are currently going through the same kind of education he lambastes. In doing so, Mamet’s created a kind of retroactive, unintentional (? - benefit of the doubt given) hypocrisy in requiring a prerequisite in order to fully understand the heresy and common sense of acting. 

---

Maybe, however, institutionalised training needs more truth in it. It doesn’t help anyone (except maybe the board members) to be worried about money, numbers and success (there’ll be plenty of time for that after university/college). We need more people that speak and teach like Mamet and King: to tell it how it is and not be afraid to slap some sense into people. After all, the one thing the greater population of today lacks is common sense.

---

Addendum – My perception may be a bit askew as my experience comes from Canadian theatre schools and education in the mid- to late-2000s. I don’t know how they do it in the U.S nor what the focus of acting schools of the late-1990s (or earlier) were like.