Wednesday, July 21, 2004

 

Follow the Leader

Isaac's latest guest-blogger Abe Goldfarb at Parabasis has thrown down the gauntlet to every communal, give-and-take director who has ever turned to an actor and said, "What do you think the scene's about?" He declares himself master of all he surveys:

I'm of a reasonably old school when it comes to directing: that every inch of the production must be touched and guided by the director. Essentially, I ask all who work with me to do what I say, and then, by virtue of their undoubted talent and intelligence (why else would I cast/hire them?), make it better as only they can. The lighting should look the way I want it to. The sound should be exactly right for me, exactly as I said it should. No department should work independent of me for too long. The thing should be blocked in one or two nights, if possible. It should all be worked out beforehand. I hate nothing more than the idea of spending days and days "exploring" the blocking of a scene, doing little exercises to draw the meaning out as one would extract a delicious poison from a ripe, candied snakebite. The shape and purpose of every scene must be clear at the outset. We're not having a class, we're creating a show. I need to know how it all plays before I walk into the room.

This stems from his plans for his upcoming production:

I'm directing Titus Andronicus this fall, and my friend's comment is something that, at first subconsciously, informed my thinking about it. The common wisdom is that Titus is a travesty, a melodrama of such excess that it can't NOT be played for laughs. I've never seen a production that really thought about each act of violence in it as part of a cumulative tragedy. What we're watching, really, is the very slow demise of a man, mind, soul and body. Imagine a production that didn't invite the audience to laugh at the sheer proliferation of beheadings, dismemberments, murders, rapes, acts of cannibalism, etc. Imagine a production that took the textual humor at face value, likewise the horrors.

All well and good. All potentially interesting. But Abe's enlightened tyranny is greatly aided by Shakespeare being really most sincerely dead.

I, like Mac, admire Abe's fire in the belly. Still, I think his philosophy illustrates a core reason behind the conflict between playwrights and directors.

I don't know what Shakespeare was after with Titus, and neither do you. While this is less relevant when dealing with an older play, where the challenge primarily lies in finding what the essence of the drama is and how it speaks to a contemporary audience, the director would be wise to give it passing thought. When dealing with a new play, the playwright's intentions are (argued the playwright) paramount.

Abe doesn't go into this. He seems to be speaking strictly of revivals. Although revivals can get famously contentious too. Just try to stage a major production of Beckett that reinterprets Beckett's specific directions; you'll get a face-full of irate estate lawyers. But Abe's directorial philosophy illustrates why the sparks fly as soon as a breathing playwright enters the picture. The director has a vision, and everything would be copasetic, except that there's this annoying scrivener in the corner saying that the way she's playing Act II Scene iii is wrecking the whole thing!

That's why some directors implement a strict "no writers" rule in the rehearsal room. It's because that writer is the only person who can protest not just details but a whole concept with some degree of authority. In Abe's hierarchy of production, this can't stand. It's as Lenin said to Trotsky, or any Immortal Highlander will tell you, There can only be one.

Walk through a mental exercise with me. Say that Shakespeare was alive today. Furthermore, let's suppose that his intention with Titus was to bring to the stage "a cartoon [that] would be really funny and risky and modern," as Abe decried recent Titus's. Here's a recipe for sparks. Presumably Abe would turn down the job (if there's no pay) or hold his nose and do it Bill's way (pay). Now let's say that Shakespeare's vision is mostly aligned with Abe's, but there's some disagreement on one major issue. Bill believes that Lavinia's stump-armed carving of her rapists names into the dirt is a moment of comic relief, of a sort. He thinks the actress hsould put a little pratfall into it. Abe (I'm guessing) balks at this, preferring a painful exploration of what it's like to handlessly scratch out names with a stick in the dirt. This argument continues, right up to opening night. Now, you're the actress playing Lavinia. Setting aside your own aesthetics, whom do you heed?

I think I know what most answers will be, but I'd still love to hear them.

posted by Dan 1:50 PM
|