with a different hat.

Some of the things I love about theatre is the overlapping edges of each specialty within the discipline mixed with the openness, or encouragement for experimentation amongst practitioners. Although some people do like to specialise in one particular role, by no means is this a universal quality. Most of the people I know involved with theatre would label themselves under the general umbrella of being a “theatre practitioner.” They dabble in set design, lighting design and stage management. They explore acting and directing and maybe costume design on the side.

Which is as they should; the pursuit of theatre needs to take many different parties into consideration whilst creating the product (the set designer, for example, must take the actors into consideration because they’ll be the ones playing on it, the lighting into consideration as to work together to achieve the effects desired, the play into consideration to create the most faithful interpretation of the script’s world, and the audience for visibility, sight lines, and overall impression, etc.). Every aspect forces us to think differently and to look at something through an alternative pair of eyes. I find this to be absolutely necessary practice in, not just the arts, but daily life; keeping your mind thinking on one channel for too long is bound to close it (think Rick Santorum on women’s liberties or Rob Ford on subways).

A friend of mine introduced me to the Six Thinking Hats philosophy by Edward de Bono, a philosophy designed for the critical examination of basically anything (she finds it useful as a tool to get students thinking about assignments in different ways) using a different coloured hat to represent different aspects of reasoning within the human brain (informative, creative, emotional, etc.). While the actual aspects of reasoning I won’t concern myself with here, I do enjoy the image of different hats representing different ways of thinking (as I’m sure most of us in theatre have heard someone say, “Let me put on my director’s hat for a minute”).

Being trained in collective creation, or devised theatre, I often find myself concerned with every aspect of a show at all times. What I’ve realised within the past year is that narrowing my focus to one specialised aspect is astonishingly freeing.

But in order to do this, I actually have to tell myself to put on another hat (or walk a mile in a different pair of shoes… or see the world through different eyes… whatever image gets this to work for you).

The most common hats I try on, in order or frequency, are playwright, performer, dramaturge and director. This last one is my least experienced one but also the entire reason I’m writing this.

Performer and dramaturge are ranked very close together for me. Neither of them would I say I excel at, but I will say that with them I hit my mark every so often - enough for me to want to keep practising them.
In all of these roles I am often asked to give my opinion. It is when this happens that I find it easy to lose sight of the exact specialty I’m supposed to be, or of which hat I should be wearing. Because no matter what I tell myself, I do love to talk about my thoughts (case in point: this blog).


IN PROGRESS

Specifically talking as a playwright, or about a play “in progress,” it’s easy to realise that people look at a work in progress as being easily mouldable and/or something they can help influence. Often during the reception of this push-to-help, the playwright can easily become defensive, dismissive or emotional, even if the help is offered in the most innocent of ways. Sometimes these interactions are confusing for both parties, yet it’s really unclear why. It seems like a simple relationship: you’ve asked someone for their input and they gave it to you. They are doing exactly what you’ve asked. It doesn’t seem logical to get angry at someone because they’ve followed orders.

But that’s not it, is it?

At this point you’ve opened yourself up. Writers are notorious for wearing their emotions on their sleeves and, I mean, why shouldn’t they? They just spent anywhere from a few months to a few years by themselves working on the next Governor General’s winning piece of theatre. Of course they want the first people they show it to after leaving their dank hole of an office (read: cafe / basement apartment) to shower them with praise. But it’s not that easy, is it? Not only is it not that easy, that would probably be detrimental to the development of any future work coming out of that particular author (READER: It’s perfect! WRITER: Oh no, am I at the peak of my career? How can I improve on PERFECT???).

This is probably the most challenging part in the development of a play (in my opinion) because now you are not just concerned with your play, you are also concerned with what other people think of your play. While it may not sound it, this is quite the dangerous situation to be in. It’s during this time that it is all to easy for the playwright to lose sight of their own intentions as they are continuously bombarded with thoughts, ideas and viewpoints they themselves had never had. It becomes all to easy to concern yourself with appeasing your new audience instead of appeasing yourself (I am aware of how masturbatory this sounds). Now, this is not to say “fuck what they want, I’ma do what I want.” That won’t get you any fans, friends or, really, anyone to care about you. A play isn’t a play without an audience, after all. What I’m saying is it’s important to realise what feedback from your target audience will actually, legitimately help you as opposed to what was subjective to just one person. And that’s where it gets tricky and dangerous. As it goes, we’ll all develop our own methods of dealing with this in the most effective way possible. I’m still having trouble finding my own. The only one I’ve found to work 100% of the time is by giving the whole process time itself, however I am aware that distancing by a factor of time won’t always be in the equation. So the search continues.


THE DIRECTOR’S HAT WOULD BE A… WHAT? A BASEBALL CAP?

I’ve been thinking about this because I’ve recently put on my director’s hat to re-read a play (VIC HARBOUR by Peter Counter) I’ll be directing for this year’s Toronto Fringe Festival. Last time I read it I used this hat as well, but underneath it I still had my dramaturge’s hat on (I picture that one as a beret). Which was important for me at the time because that read was still about feedback and questioning choices. Even with this knowledge, however, I feel I still fell into the trap of just saying things because I like the sound of my voice (this is why I’m not a professional dramaturge). I still felt, like many of us do when asked to give feedback to a piece of art, that this is still mouldable, and that nothing is set in stone.

I’m going to guess that these ways of thinking are only possible when you personally know the artist. Physical distance and anonymity quickly disperse these thoughts, waving them away like the smoke from a stranger’s cigarette. It’s amazing how differently I approach something my friends send me through email compared to a printed, bound book or published play that was written at the same time. Something that gets lost all to easily when thinking with those two thoughts in hand (‘this is still mouldable’ & ‘nothing is set in stone’) is subtlety. I believe I found the subtlety the last time I read Counter’s script.

…once you realise this artist is not just living and currently re-writing the script but has created a piece of art because he has made choices long before your eyes ever laid upon the words and that the reasons for those choices are to be found all throughout the play, then I believe you’ve written off most of your subjectivity and can fully appreciate the work of art in front of you…

So instead of asking the writer why he made certain choices, ask yourself why the characters are making those choices. Just because the writer is alive doesn’t mean you should defer to them every time you run into a problem (unless it is horribly obvious or just completely missing). It’s the same way you’d approach something by a dead author (no matter how often you write him, Shakespeare will not answer your questions). Writers are clever and they like (read: love) to leave clues for you (it’s actually kind of sick the amount of pleasure it gives them). Approach the work as if you don’t know the person holding the pen. Because in all honesty, the author’s done their work. Unless they demand to be there every step of the way (which is a whole other topic of conversation) when rehearsals begin, the director, the actors and everyone involved should consider the script set in stone. It is time to stop moulding. It is time to let the script mould you.

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. 

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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.

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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.

that poor, poor man. *UPDATED*

The conviction of the truly disillusioned is a frightening thing to witness. We’ve all had those moments watching reality television when someone truly atrocious is allowed to grace the panel of judges with their presence. This can’t be real, we think. They had to have set that up, let them through for comic relief because we believe no one is like this in real life, right? And as we watch the judges snicker and do everything they can to not hide the fact these contestants are being made fun of, the most important question passes through our minds: How can their loved ones allow them to make a fool of themselves like this in front of an international audience? Doesn’t anyone actually care about these people? And this gives us a sense of greatness: If it were one of my friends, I would never allow them to be subject to such ridicule.

But really:

How do we know when we’re stuck in the middle of it?

Sure, it’s easy enough to call attention to it when we’re watching through a television screen (it's like looking over the shoulder of someone using a computer - the onlooker always finds the links first). But what happens when we find ourselves in that position? Are we actually able to see how bad something is? I can’t edit a script until I’ve had time away from it. A new, devised piece of theatre can’t/shouldn’t/isn’t ready to be finished without the introduction of an “outside eye” in the rehearsal process (hopefully in the form of a director). All creative people know that when you’ve fallen too far into something you can’t see the forest for the trees.

This being said and in order to make sure you don’t end up being ridiculed in front of a brimming audience (unless that’s what you’re looking for – what do I know?) please, for the love of all that’s holy, take some time and ask yourself why you are doing this. Be truthful. It would also help by surrounding yourself with people that aren’t afraid to break your ego once in a while. These friends are probably the best friends a person can ever find.

The performing arts is full of the most deluded, egotistical, self-righteous people you will ever find. And, sadly enough, it has to be. The latter two of those three qualities are actually rather necessary for a person to succeed in this field (in the form of confidence – no one wins by being self-absorbed *coughSheencough*). But the first only and always remains an obstacle for every one of us to overcome.

Theatre is the heightened expression of emotions and daily struggles. If you have a hard time functioning in a mundane, day-to-day conversation I don’t think this is the right path for you. Theatre cannot and will not be a substitute for real life experiences. You actually have to go out and do those yourself. PLEASE GO OUT AND DO THOSE YOURSELF. Theatre is about society and community. It is about the present and why the present needs to express itself on stage. We cannot be deluged with our own greatness and expect audiences to shower us with roses. We need to actually interact with the world if we want the world to interact with us and in order to do this we need to learn how to listen. A conversation always has two parts. You can’t always talk.

Really, what I’m getting at is that too much of one thing is detrimental to the goal you’re trying to achieve. Please, take some time to refresh. Attack your passion from a different angle, with all new eyes. Theatre will always be here. Just because you don’t act or study for a few months - a year, who knows? - doesn’t mean you’re giving up your dream. If anything it will always be part of you and everything you’ve experienced in the interim will be sifted through unconsciously and stored in your mind into that file cabinet marked “Life Experiences” (or, as most people call it, “Memories”) to draw upon later. Honestly, it will only make you stronger and more self-assured.

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Addendum: "...to draw upon later..." this may sound like an endorsement of The Method. It is not. My advice in this column is with the intent to make a more well-rounded, and ultimately more comfortable actor. I am not giving advice to allow an actor the ability to preconceive how they may react to the extraordinary circumstances of a play but to awaken the actor to their body so they can listen to what their body, and the other actor, is telling them onstage.