Things, arranged.

Yorgos Lanthimos Changes Everything in "The Favourite"

The way Lorgos Lanthimos envisions the nature of a dramatic scene is entirely unique and utterly connected to true life. Instead of the standard "rising action" model, where characters overtly escalate tension and conflict leading to a breaking point, Lanthimos has his characters withhold much of what is going on with them; sort of a very slow, almost imperceptible boil until at the last moment, one character almost nonchalantly sticks a knife in the other character. Sometimes literally and metaphorically. If you've ever seen a horrible scene unfold before you in real life, you know that very often things seem very under control until suddenly, things get out of control. Often this occurs without warning.

Lanthimos creates relationships and worlds filled with real stakes, to be sure. In The Lobster, characters must either begin a meaningful relationship or choose an animal to become for the rest of their lives. In his new film The Favourite, the characters played by Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone vie for the favor of Olivia Colman's Queen Anne with their futures at stake.

There is an intriguing social critique at work in both films that suggests the things we fight for or fight our way out of are far beyond our own control, and are the result of some strange cosmic absurdity on the scale of Samuel Beckett. Nevertheless, the characters in his films struggle, and struggle mightily. Yet the tone he sets is one of discomfort and impending doom, with an avoidance of revealing emotional indications on the part of the characters that we are so used to. This restraint makes Lanthimos' story structure astonishingly dramatic and tension filled in a completely unique manner.

Whimsy also plays a part in the worlds Lanthimos creates. Manners, behaviors and societal rituals are turned into hilarious, sometimes grotesque displays of human excess and vanity. This touch enhances the sense that the world we strive so hard in is often childish, clownish and even depraved. Watch the scene with the oranges and the naked man in The Favourite to experience this touch.

It takes a particularly disciplined actor to work in Lanthimos' worlds: one must find a way to carry the inner yearnings of the character while at the same time appearing to toss away any overt need. Weisz and Stone do this with great detail and depth, as the volatility of Coleman's Queen Anne puts both of them at risk at every moment. Playing it cool has never been this good.

Cinematically, Lanthimos' breaks new ground by employing extreme wide angle lenses that give the audience a literal "fish eyed" view of the world of The Favourite. The ornate palace rooms are captured as sprawling, distorted landscapes in which our characters to and fro in a strange, balletic manner. Lanthimos was involved in experimental and physical theatre early in his career, and his ability to choreograph actors bodies in space and time adds a deft layer of tension to the film as well. 

Without special effects or CGI / digital excess, Yorgos Lanthimos changes everything. He reminds us that the cinema is a young medium that is still evolving and ripe with possibility.

The Studio Seattle

After decades as a professional director of television and theatre and university professor of drama, I am now embarking on a new venture.

The Studio Seattle is a place where actors can go deeper, challenge themselves, explore more and improve their craft with a focus on getting actors ready for the real profession.

There is a vibrant and dynamic acting community in Seattle, but there is a dearth of instruction from teachers who have actually worked at a national level. I'm talking prime time television and nationally ranked professional theaters along with top-ranked MFA actor training programs.

I've been there. I know what it takes. 

If you are interested in taking your craft to the next level, check out The Studio Seattle's workshops and classes. And yes, I have a blog there about acting, too.

Because there is no substitute for real experience.

The Actors Guide to Human Nature

This may be off putting at the beginning, but bear with me...

Understand that all humans are inherently: Selfish, Stupid, Lazy.

Humans will always prefer to gain as much as possible while knowing the least and doing as little as possible.

Understand that the sources of all human desire are: Acquisition, Rivalry, Vanity, Power.

From philosopher Bertrand Russell: the need to have more, have more than another, be self-centered and seek leverage over others.

Understand that the hidden causes of human actions are: Fear, Guilt, Shame.

Humans are afraid of what they do not understand and will always be motivated to avoid or attack what they fear, or will pursue actions based on a fear of what others and their own consciences may judge them as. Humans carry guilt over who and what they have done, and endeavor to suppress it. Humans are ashamed of their own actions that are the result of their true nature and will try to dispel this.

Understand that the human circumstance is: Denial of all of the above.

Humans will always deny all of the above because it is simply too hard to face the truth of who and what they are.

Understand that the singular human capacity that counters this situation is:

LOVE.

From Jacques Derrida: after all is understood about humanity, there is hope because we have the capacity to love, which is the only human trait that can help a person rise above their condition.

None of these concepts are to be taken as cynical or pessimistic. They are simply attributes of a sentient being that is trying to find the “best” way to survive and thrive in the world. The capacity to love allows a human being to care more about something or someone outside of their experience, thereby raising the possibility of recognition, acceptance, examination and choice.

These choices then become human actions.

Love is Everywhere

The Edinburgh International Festival 2017

As Meow Meow careens through her cabaret re-fraction of Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid, she lays bare her broken-heeled down at heart seen too much / felt too deep train wreck life with wit, style and brutal self-awareness. She also takes us deep down into the depths of her psycho-sexual psyche with astounding virtousity in song, movement, effortless aerial work and deadly-sharp humor.

Meow Meow's little mermaid is longing for Love, but trying to define it, shape it, see it and say it becomes increasingly difficult as she attempts various stratagems to own it. The meta-feminist tropes are here, too: the problem of being objectified and wanting to be objectified, the need to be authentic and accommodating, the seemingly intractable problem of male unwokeness.

What makes Meow Meow's cabaret a shining jewel of a theatrical experience though, is the incredible presence, power, grace, style and vocal brilliance of Meow Meow herself. Her command of the room, the story, the music and the mode of performance are simply at a level akin to someone like Mick Jagger in a 75,000 seat stadium at the height of his powers. Rare, mysterious and to be reckoned with.

In deconstructing the idea of the classic cabaret chanteuse, Meow Meow informs her songs with the true-to-life flaws that are meant to be hidden beneath the polish and romance of the performer. The old school cabaret singer would drop a world-weary anecdote here, a witty bit of repartee there, but they would channel their true self-revelations into the song stylings. Meow Meow decides to expose the woman behind the persona and in doing so creates another layer of persona that creates a wonderfully complex experience for the audience: Meow Meow is a character created by the actress who is performing a cabaret, and her character is playing another character, and at the same time, she is pulling back the curtain to let us see woman inside of it all. It is a brilliant mirror ball game that ultimately reflects back to us our own flaws and hopes.

Meow Meow also employs a few just-for-fun surprises that play into this show on a show inside a show on top of a show concept. Is this a part of the show? Are we really supposed to do that? Wait. Okay. Is she really...? Who cares. We are in Meow Meow's firm, tickling grasp. Let's dive deep with her.

With Ad Infinitum, the heart is a Translunar Paradise

Jacques Lecoq created a startling physical vocabulary for actors that has become a recognized style throughout the world. Based in the rich and vast history of European clowning, Lecoq also brings the power and grace of the dance and ballet together with the natural, human centered movement attributes of the human body. Together, Lecoq allows an actor a wide range of specificity, complex characterization and stage presence that is unmistakable when articulated with virtousity.

Ad Infinitum theatre includes two Lecoq trained actors, Deborah Pugh and George Mann.  They are former students of my friend Jason Turner of l'ecole Lecoq in Paris, who taught me so much about what questions to ask about the human body in the theatrical space. Their show at this year's Edinburgh Fringe, Translunar Paradise, is a powerful and artfully rendered tale of life before and after loss.

Deborah and George play a simple couple from the early years of courtship and romance to the lonely and nostalgic final days of life. Their consumate command of Lecoq technique delivers detailed characterizations of the nuances of everyday living through the years: a meal, a walk, a disagreement, a heartbreaking loss and finally, death. All this while not a single word is ever uttered.

The accordian player and singer stands in as a sort of chorus, aiding the characters with a prop here or a helping hand there, all the while offering poignant and evocative vocalizations to enhance her languid accordian soundscape.

Theatre practitioners should always ponder the essential elements that are placed in the Time and Space of the Moment before an audience. What is necessary? What is the theatrical vocabulary being employed? What is extraneous? What is the central theatrical "gesture" of the piece? How does all this live in the realm of metaphor, which is the core identity of the theatrical impulse?

These days, more often than not, the stage is used and abused as a place for narcissistic identity politics, clumsy polemic, self-validation and trite, shallow observations masquerading as artistic profundity. It is the curse of the millenial theatre space, a place where the choir can be shouted at and the 'safe space' cuddle-need is indulged.

To see virtuousity of technique, universal human mysteries explored, questions asked without simple answers and the naked honesty of human frailty,  spend some time with Theatre Ad Infinitum's Translunar Paradise.  At the Pleasance Courtyard in Edinburgh.

 

Mise en place, mise en scene

In the kitchen, mise en place refers to the chef's process of preparing ingredients and setting them in an ordered arrangement for eventual inclusion in a given recipe.

The selection, preparation and arrangement of ingredients before the cooking phase allows a chef to quickly access the right ingredient at the right moment when the heat is on.

A director's work requires a similar approach: selection of the text, selection of the performance space, selection of the actors, selection of the designers, selection (determination) of certain themes, throughactions, dramatic questions, aesthetic gestures, form, dynamics, etc.

Most of the time some of these ingredients are selected for us: we are hired to direct a certain play at a certain theater. Sometimes we are given certain key elements to work with: a certain actor, a certain designer.

That being said, the director must still engage in a careful process of mise en place: a clear understanding of each element, its nature, its benefits, its drawbacks, its role in the project. Then, when how to bring each element into the process and to what degree.

Once the heat is on, there is little room for error. The rehearsal period is finite, the opening night is set. When is the right moment for this element or that influence? How much sway does one allow the element when it is included? What is happening during the "cooking"? Are the ingredients blending correctly? Is one element underused? Is one overused?

Great chefs do not need measuring cups nor need to be told when an ingredient should be included. They work from feel, taste, observance, aroma and most importantly, instinct.

Successful directors develop an intuition for this process as well. Is it the right time for that note to the actor? Is it the right note? How are the elements coming together today? How will they blend over time? When is the dish ready to be served? Does this coincide with the schedule?

Many inexperienced directors begin the "cooking" process in a state of hope. They believe things will work themselves out in the rehearsal process. They have an overestimation as to their own leadership and artistic clarity. They have not examined the ingredients deeply enough, nor anticipated the potential problems with certain ingredients they have either selected or been assigned. Rehearsals become a labor, and dish begins to become confused. Timing is thrown off. Ingredients are not blending well. Unforeseen obstacles start to dominate the process. Ultimately, the project / dish served is muddled and unsavory.

Because the nature of many of the elements directors need are difficult to determine, there is always the potential for disaster. However, a director should engage in a rigorous process of learning the nature of each element that will be used.

Who really is this actor? What makes them tick? What are their assets? Their shortcomings? What do you know about their personality? What impact will their personal issues have on the project? 

How does this designer really think? What are their values, their impulses, their limitations?

Who comes to this theater? Why? What is the relationship between the project and the audience? What will it mean to them? What is the nature of the dialectic between the work and the viewers? 

Are your assessments / determinations regarding the text accurate? How well do you understand the writer's work / aesthetic / style / form / language / purpose?

Finally, are you being clear and honest with yourself as to how you believe all these elements will come together to make the best work possible? Are you serving another agenda? For example:

"I want to work with this person." Why? Are they right for this project, or right for you?

"I want to work with these people." Why? Are they the best you can get, or are they the best at making you feel good about yourself?

"I want to do this kind of work." What for? What does this work do for others?

"I love this play." So? Go and hug it in the privacy of your own room. Why should we love it?

"I have something to say." Write a blog post. No one gives a shit what you have to say. (Sorry, that's a particular irritation of mine: art as a narcissistic podium for self-expression.)

This aspect of mise en place interrogates the director / chef's own role in the cooking. Am I the right person to make this dish at this time? What is the task at hand? Do I understand what is required? Is my technique up to the task?

All of this work is a kind of mise en place, a difficult process that can bring a kind of clarity to the work. Before you turn on the burner, be sure the right ingredients are each in their place, including yourself.

May all your dishes be remarkable.

The Power of Noh

 When form and the aesthetics of formal art are practised with great reverence for aproximately 600 continuous years, something transcendent occurs.

The Japanese Noh theatre is such an art form. On my recent stay in Tokyo, I went to the National Noh Theatre of Japan for an evening that was completely absorbing, mystifying and astonishing.

First, there is the space: the National Noh Theater of Japan space is configured in the classic Noh design. A long entrance on house left, the square stage supported by four distinct and named posts, an upstage area for attendants, a side stage area for the chorus, and a shortened doorway for entrances and exits. Audiences are seated around the space, with each section enjoying a distinct view of the drama.

Then there is the tempo. With absolutely still upper bodies, the Noh actors move their legs and feet in a highly disciplined pattern that most often resembles the tempo of a person moving with great deliberation while submerged under water. The long, measured entrances from the Mirror room to the stage area are completely mesmerizing. The combination of the actor's physical and mental rigor, the stillness of facial expression in the mask and the considered manner in which the fabric and weight of the elaborate costume all combine to create a surreal, dreamlike effect that seems to change the very nature of time and space.

Because Noh's aesthetic is so very concentrated and focused, I believe the idea of changing how we perceive time and space in the theater is connected to the heart of the form. All great theatre practices throughout history have attempted to wield some mastery over time and space. After all, these are the two fundamental elements all performative arts share in common.

The stories in Noh drama are often cautionary, moral and mysterious, owing much to their relationship to Japanese Buddhism. The narratives are far less important to the experience than the overall performance aesthetic. Rather than focus on Aristotelian dramatic devices or plot twists and deeply layered characterization to hold its audience, Noh focuses instead on the precision, focus, detail and immersive experience of the music, movement and style.

The form becomes a kind of vessel for the audience. We begin to suppose and instill emotion, depth of feeling and expressiveness in the still masks, smallest of gestures and distinct vocal tonalities of the actors and the chorus / musicians.

In the Noh, performance transcends itself and becomes pure ritual. The place of the performance takes on an almost sacred character. The overall effect is that one begins to understand much more about the incredible power of stillness, sound and gesture in time and space. 

The Note

 

Ravi Shankar was one of the greatest sitar players who ever lived. The sitar is a complex stringed instrument with up to 21 strings and an infinite range of tones. It is central to the sound of Hindustani and Indian music, dating back before the 15th century.

Ravi gained worldwide noteriety when he developed a friendship with Beatle George Harrison. It was not only Ravi's music, but his worldview and personal philosophy of living that eventually became the center of Harrison's life.

Martin Scorcese produced a fine and detailed documentary about Harrison entitled "Living in the Material World."

Many European and American guitar players, dazzled by the complex dexterity and virtuosity of Shankar's playing, tried to understand how he was able to command such a daunting instrument.

When asked for any advice he might give to aspiring guitar players, Shankar was quoted as saying:

"Well, be sure to play the note you are on, not the next one."

Here, in a simple and yet profound statement, is a great word of advice for the actor.

We talk about "being in the moment" as an aspirational goal, but what does it really mean? According to Shankar, it would mean that the moment you are in must be fully invested in as if it is the only moment that exists. Because it is. The future is unknown, and in fact cannot be expected with any certainty.

So, we work towards existing in each moment, each "Bead" as Stanislavsky might say, until we look back and realize we have strung these beads together into a strand of life.

The second part of Ravi's advice is also revelatory. It reminds us that some part of on stage will need to, want to, have to consider what is next: blocking, someone else's cues, props, etc. So, there is always part of us that is "playing the next note."

Perhaps we can take more from Ravi's advice if we put ourselves in the position of the guitar player: he is, of course, speaking to a player who knows every possible note combination that would work off a given musical phrase. Guitar players at the highest level not only know every note on the fretboard, but most likely know variations that would work based on what the previous note is.

This is virtuosity. Do actors know every word of the entire play, even if the words that are not their's? Perhaps this is not a fair comparison, for the guitar player surely doesn't know every riff the drummer might play. However, it is very common for me to quiz an actor about their own lines in terms if definitions of words, puncuation, grammar, syntax, etc. and get a blank stare in return.

How can you play the note you are on, when you don't really know what the note is, and how can you have the confidence to not worry about the next note as well?

Close text analysis is exhaustive, boring, repetitive, uninspiring. The lack of it is easy for me to see in students. If you don't really know what you are saying, why are making me watch your work?

I want you to play every note. Not the next one.

And I want you to know everything about that note, the one before it and the one after it as well.

Musicians call this work "Woodshedding." It evokes the image of a guitarist off in the woodshed, alone, for hours and hours, practicing scales, chords, riffs, patterns.

I wish more actors had woodsheds.

 

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Why is Sarah Kane?

 

This week, a student of mine is presenting Sarah Kane's 4.48 PSYCHOSIS as her directorial debut and in fulfillment of the senior capstone award she received through the School of Drama.

It has been years since I first encountered Sarah Kane's work, and I recall the confusion, thrill, hope and fear I experienced when the British "In Yer Face" theatre movement shook the theatre world in the mid and late 1990's.

I also remember sitting in a bar just after 9/11, the single most impactful "In Yer Face" moment America had ever experienced, talking with other artists about the possible prophetic connection between Sarah Kane's generation of playwrights in England and the global seizure of terrorism that was about to take us all prisoner.

Was it it coincidence? Happenstance? Or just artsy types trying to argue that theatre could still be a mirror of society? 

The legacy of the "In Yer Face" theatre movement is actually a recapitulation of the kind of katharsis Sophocles was working towards back in the day. Aristotle put that word, "Katharsis" front and center in his study of how tragedy works in The Poetics. It means "purging of pity and fear" in the audience.

In the audience.

That's the key. The Greeks were interested in making a theatre in their great tragedy that resulted in a visceral understanding in the audience. Something akin to the kinds of experiences folks had in religious and sporting events.

I am unsure about this legacy in the 21st century, especially in America. Katharsis still happens, but at sporting events, rock concerts, religious gatherings and some political gatherings.

But not in theatres.

Definitely not in theatres.

You could argue that this is because in America the theatre is a leisure activity club of the liberal elite (myself being a card carrying member of that club).

If you look closely at who makes theatre and who it is made for, you will find the thinnest of societal strata: the 'enlighented' choir singing to the equally 'savvy' choir as audience.

When "the profession" became an industry with the rise of the ubiquitous 'MFA', (circa 1975 - 20??) the theatre was by definition reshaped by those who were focused on the self-expression of their vocation, at the expense of a bona fide "raison d'etre." (Full disclosure: I have a very prestigious MFA...)

This leaves us in a curious state: In whose face? No, they won't like it. By whom? No, that's weird.

Better to wander in our agreed upon "safe zone." 

I really miss Sarah Kane.

The raw and the cooked

 

It takes ten years to become a true sushi master in Japan, if one goes the traditional route.

It takes about one minute to download a guide to making sushi from the internet, and about one day to get everything together and make some sushi.

At the end of the day, both paths end up working with the same few simple ingredients: rice, fish, soy sauce and wasabi.

How could something that can be learned and executed in a day take ten years to master?

How could something that takes ten years to master be learned in a day?

Unlike other arts or crafts, you are only dealing with essentially four simple elements: rice, fish, soy sauce, wasabi. The combination is set, the proportions defined, the form easily understood.

I find myself thinking of this conundrum when I am asked about the teaching and learning of the dramatic arts.

For the actor, it is always some combination of Given Circumstances and Objective / Action / Tactic / Obstacle at work. Simple.

How long does it take to master this?

There are some sushi chefs who go earlier than others to the fish market. They have cultivated relationships with the fishmongers based on trust, mutual respect and honor. These chefs can look at a hulking tuna carcass and sense something. Their eyes see beyond the surface.

When they make the rice, the have a feel for "doneness." They know how long the rice should be set aside until ready. They prepare their "paint" of soy sauce with the care and discipline of a French saucier. They mix their own wasabi like a painter mixes their blues and yellows and greens.

They bring the knife to the fish with the precision of a brain surgeon. As they cut, they silenty thank the fish for its life, for its life giving spirit. They deftly work the rice into just the right shape, place the fish on the rice, brush the sushi with soy, and serve it by hand.

The best of them also have that most elusive of qualities: talent. A gift for combining the simple ingredients into something that becomes more then the sum of its parts.

One cannot teach gifts.

One can teach methods, approaches, ways into the work, etc.

One cannot teach someone how to sense if the fish is the right fish.

Yet, I live in a culture where most people believe that they should be able to master something in a day, because the internet says they can.

I for one do not want to eat their sushi.

 

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