Elements of Style

Imagine a basketball player suddenly stopping mid-court, and drop kicking the ball over the basket. That would be incoherent--that is, such an act would make no sense in context of the game of basketball. But put the player in a rugby suit, on a rugby field in the middle of a scrum, and then the act is just. So it is with any style of any theatrical event. Style is simply the particular rules governing the game of the play--the boundaries and conditions that render actions coherent. But unlike a sport where the rules governing behavior are already known by most in the audience, a theatrical event’s rules unfold before an audience over time. There is usually, but not always, some understanding of the rules prior to the event. Typically, the audience will know it is in for a comedy, tragedy, melodrama, farce, or experimental work and orient itself accordingly. But each event is peculiar to itself and part of the pleasure of theatre is that no two shows or two nights of performance will be quite alike. And the primary players—directors, writers, designers and actors—take pleasure in playing games with the game, to the surprise and delight (it is hoped) of the audience.

Style admits some behaviors and not others. The question we must ask is how to discriminate between what is admitted and what is not in any particular theatrical event. The mandala above is an attempt to depict the way to go about identifying the boundaries and conditions for any theatrical event. Four useful elements of a theatrical event to analyze are the text, space, audience and conception—the basic What of the event. 

In addition, we must also consider When an event has or will take place—then and now.  (If an event is original, the only consideration is, of course, that the event takes place now. But many events have occurred in the past or deal with a time in the past within the imaginary world. As soon as an event has been performed even once, if it is to be subsequently performed, then becomes a matter of consideration in crafting your performance. So, it is useful to include this in our analysis).

Text

…determines the behaviors—scripted, rehearsed, and/or improvised-- that occur, as well as the underlying philosophy, Weltanschauung, the milieu of the piece. There are numerous resources to aid us in analyzing text, from critical reception to historical documents to literary tools. 

Then—understanding the meaning of the words, the idiomatic expressions, the patterns and conventions relative to the time at which it was written.  For example, in Elizabethan drama, the word “well” was shorthand for “all is well” and tended to end an idea or bit of dialogue, as in our contemporary understanding as “fine” or “good” or “OK”.

Ross:  Will you to Scone?

Macduff:  No, cousin, I’ll to Fife.

Ross:  Well, I will thither.

Macduff:  Well, may you see things well done there. Adieu. 

(Shakespeare, Shakespeare, & Castaldo, 2008)

We can see from this example from Act II, Scene IV that Shakespeare employs the word in two ways. First, as defined above, with Ross saying that it’s fine if Macduff wants to go to Fife, but he’s going to see Macbeth crowned at Scone.  Macduff counters with the same use of the word, but then uses it again with a different sense, meaning, “May the coronation of Macbeth be a really good thing for Scotland.” (Shakespeare & Castaldo, 2008)

Now— understanding the meaning of the words, the idiomatic expressions, the patterns and conventions relative to the current time at which it will be heard. In the example above, nowadays, obviously, “well” is used and understood in a different way.  So, we must help the audience travel through time from 1606 (when Macbeth was first, arguably, performed at the Globe Theatre) to the present day, so that moment is coherent. The intentions behind the utterances by the actors playing Ross and Macduff have to be clear, probably with added performance energy to overcome the disconnection between current and past meaning. This fact may  result in a slightly greater vocal emphasis in speaking “well,” perhaps gestures that amplify the meaning, as well as a heightened emotional content, given the imaginary circumstances surrounding that moment.  All this, in a single word!  That is why analysis is so important.

Conception

…determines the rules of playing within that world-- the frame within which the actions of the event are to be understood.  This is often established by the text and its genre and conventions. The conception is a combination of the textual requirements and the primary choice-making artist's notions about the event. It is an organizing principle that guides our choice-making. Analysis of this aspect of an event usually occurs prior to and in rehearsal, but also typically requires thinking at home about what has happened that day in rehearsal and what is planned for tomorrow. Our choice-making has to be tested against the conception, and this usually means that you get an idea and that you try it out in rehearsal. We must not only prepare the choice, but also think about why the choice is coherent within the boundaries and conditions of the play.

Then—understanding how an audience received the play at the time it was written, the conventions, generally accepted philosophy, understanding of the natural world, and the relevant social/political aspects operating in the play.

Macbeth was written at a time when there was still general belief in witches and the supernatural (James I actually wrote on the subject).  “The setting—Scotland—the characters—especially that of Banquo, James’ supposed ancestor—and the theme—control of both man and fate by the supernatural, an obsession with James—make clear that the original audience was indeed the King.”  (Castaldo, xv)  In addition, there was the continuing religious conflict between Protestant and Catholic, and civil unrest that would in a few decades depose the monarchy. There is no need to reiterate the immense body of scholarship regarding the play. The point is that all the creative artists involved in a production of Macbeth have to at least consider how the play was originally conceived in order to make coherent choices.

Now—determining the conventions, the underlying philosophy, etc. that operate in the play.  

A contemporary production of Macbeth has to confront the use of witches, the appearance of an imaginary dagger floating in the air (quite possible with current lighting technology), apparitions, as well as depictions of murder. Regardless of whether or not the production is “traditional” or avant garde, the audience seeing the play is a contemporary one. Any conception must bridge the gap, either bringing the modern audience back in time or bringing the play forward in time, so they may meet in the “now” of the performance. Your behavior has to occur in that “now,” too.  Your actions will be determined by the actual and imaginary conditions of the play, but if you are unclear about the boundaries within which your actions play, they will be incoherent—they audience won’t understand and won’t enter the world fully with you.  Worse, if you do not trust the conception, your actions will be less than fully committed and the audience cannot help but perceive the disconnect between what is intended and your playing. It is readily apparent when an actor does not trust the conception.  The audience can literally see the actor standing back from the action, as if to say, “it’s not my fault!” 

A very clear and useful (if dated) example of this is in the movie, The Goodbye Girl.  Richard Dreyfus plays an actor, Elliot Garfield, who is cast as Richard in an Off-Broadway production of Richard III. The director’s conception is that Richard is flamboyantly gay, and Elliot struggles to adapt his own conception of the character to the director’s.  In the scenes from rehearsal and performance we can see the actors struggling mightily to make sense of this hash, and failing miserably.  It literally drives the audience away. An interesting side note is that at the time of the movie (1977), the conception of Richard being gay is a meant to be a source of comedy, and the general audience response (as attested by the reviews and box office gross) was laughter.  But watching it today, Neil Simon’s caricature of a gay man is offensive.  In both the world of the movie, and our current conception of the world, we see a disconnect between what is intended and what is done—and our response (perhaps) is to withdraw. Whether a play is new or old, how it is conceived is perhaps the riskiest aspect of the choice-making for the artists.

Audience determines the degree of willingness to believe in the world of the event.  This is often a matter of investment.  The nature of the investment by a particular member of the audience is really a manifestation of their relationship to the event.  Acts acquire different meaning depending on the relationship and the coherence of the acts.

Then—understanding who went to the theater (in terms of class, education, ethnicity, etc.), the cost of going in terms of time and money (ticket prices, kind of theatre space—luxury or hole-in-the-wall, proximity to population), and the place of theatre-going in the culture.  In 1606 at The Globe, the audience was from all walks of life and stood or sat where they could afford to: a penny to stand in the pit with the “groundlings,” while gentry would pay up to five shillings to sit on a bench.  So, although all classes attended plays, they did not typically sit together. Macbeth would have been performed in the day time, as the Globe was an oval, open-air theater.  It was situated in a fairly central location in London.  Theater-going was common, open six days a week, often showing a new play.  There was homogeneity to the audience’s expectations and understandings of the theatre-going experience, and there was substantial investment in the experience, if not every play (Globe audiences were apparently quite boisterous in the communication of their approval or disapproval of a play or actor). 

Now—audiences today vary widely in all categories; theaters can be enormous edifices or tiny little kiosks with room for only one actor and one audience member. ^[i]  Events can last a few minutes to days long.  Costs range from free to hundreds of dollars.  Each event draws a distinct audience with a distinct set of understandings, so a lot of work goes into identifying the ideal audience member and preparing them for the event.  The actor is of course an integral part of all this and you will be better prepared by understanding who’s coming to see you play.  Sometimes there is a confluence and actor, audience and event merge together in communion.  Other times, there is a huge disconnect between audience’s expectations and the product.   Peter Brook wrote,

…never say to oneself that the audience is bad.  It is true that there are sometimes very bad audiences, but one must rigorously refuse to say so, for the simple reason that one can never expect an audience to be good.  There are only easy audiences and less easy ones, and our job is to make every audience good. (The Open Door, 43).

What makes audiences good is their investment in the event.  A middle school production of The Secret Garden was attended by parents and family involved in every aspect of the production one way or another. Regardless of the competency of the actors, the crowd was thrilled and it was thrilling to witness both the play and the audience’s reaction to it.  There was a deep, emotional investment in the play and all the participants.  It is not that people lost their critical faculties or somehow lowered their standards; it is simply that those faculties were completely irrelevant to understanding the coherence of the acts.  Missed lines, wrong notes—none of that mattered.  On the other hand, the skeptics lined up for the long-delayed opening of Spider-man: Turn Off the Dark on Broadway in 2011.  Many went to the theatre looking, if not hoping for, a disaster.  If you read the critics, it was a disaster.  Yet, the production managed to stay open and sell a lot of tickets, and developed a devoted fan base.  It has been said that there is no such thing as bad publicity, and in this example that may be true, for it fostered a desire in many people to seek out the show to prove the critics and skeptics wrong.  They came to the show already invested in its success, regardless of the quality of the dramaturgy, music or performances. 

Can we as actors organize our performances in such a way that the audience will invest in it?  We cannot change what audiences bring to the theatre, only what they experience at the theatre. 

Space

…determines all the physical relationships in the play, making some behaviors possible and even likely, while limiting or prohibiting others.  The set shapes the actor's relationship to her own role, the stage shapes the actors relationships to each other, and the theatre shapes the relationship between the actors and the audience. 

Then—understanding how original stage and staging shaped the performances and the relationships in the worlds of the play and theatre.  

As stated above, The Globe was an open-air theater, housing about 1500 spectators on the ground and ringed around a thrust-like stage.  That’s about as much as we know for certain.  The stage had (likely) two columns that held up (possibly) a roof, entrances on stage left and right, probably an inner stage (the “inner below”) and (maybe) upper stages with a set of stairs that led to the stage floor (it has been conjectured).^[ii]  Despite the uncertainties, there are several facts—audience was on nearly three-quarters around the stage, seated above and standing below the actors.  There was very little scenery. 

In Macbeth, Act 2, Scene 2 (see text of whole scene below), it has been suggested the actor playing Macbeth entered above in one of the upper stage areas, spoke his line, “Who’s there?  what hoa?” then went down the stairs to the inner below from which he emerges after Lady Macbeth’s line, Had he not resembled /My father as he slept, I had done’t. “ Previous to that Lady Macbeth has a speech alone on stage.  Many believe that the actors spoke directly to the audience (Tucker, 2002, p. 266), and addressed the left, right and center sections of the audience as they spoke.  So, a possible staging of the soliloquy might be:

La.
That which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold: [to house right]
 What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire. [to house left]
 Hearke, peace: it was the Owle that shriek'd, [to house center]
 The fatall Bell-man, which gives the stern'st good-night.

Is this possible?  We do not and cannot know. The point is that part of what determines our behavior must be a consideration of how it may have been staged, and that requires some historical research, guesswork, and a good stage sense—all of which may be acquired.

Now-- understanding how the current stage and staging shapes the performances and the relationships in the worlds of the play and theatre.  

As every trained actor knows, blocking is a way for directors to communicate intention and relationship to the actor and the audience. Where I am on stage, my proximity to other actors, to the off-stage areas, to the audience—all these (and more) are factors in determining my action.  Interestingly, what may function as an obstacle to a character (a locked door, a piece of furniture or other, blocking access to a person or exit or entrance, for example), is really an opportunity for the actor. Action is revealed in conflict. If an intention leads toward something, but that intention is deflected or inhibited by physical obstacles, then that will reveal the action. The stage and staging are our partners in playing and ought to be viewed as such. What can be challenging is managing those relationships as they emerge during rehearsals. It is natural to want to move easily and effortlessly and we must ultimately do so—within the world of the theatre. But each difficulty we encounter as we move from table work to performance is a gift because we must actually do something about it. The door that sticks, the costume that is too loose, the light that doesn’t turn on—all these can be annoying!  But if encountered as a gift, these occurrences may be a source of gratitude, because they reveal the character, the character of the actor (gracious or otherwise), and our connection to the audience. 

Years ago, I was working Off-Broadway, understudying a role in the musical comedy, Olympus on My Mind.  This is a loose and silly adaptation of the Amphitryon story via Von Kleist—how the god, Jupiter, came to earth, impersonated the general Amphitryon, made love to his wife, Alcmena, who gives birth to Hercules. One matinee, the day a new lead was taking over for Amphitryon/Jupiter, I got the call that he was going on as the general’s slave, Sosia. At the first entrance, Sosia is shoved on stage by Amphitryon and feigns unconsciousness—to arouse (maybe) pity in his master. (This is an old trope in theatre—and maybe not the laugh riot it used to be.)The Lamb’s Theatre, where the show was produced, at the time had a hollow stage, which resounded with a prodigious thud when fallen upon. Perhaps it was the excitement of opening day, but the new lead shoved me with extra force, and I landed on the stage, producing the aforementioned prodigious thud. Lying there, eyes closed, pretending to be unconscious, I heard a very audible gasp from the audience. It was clear that they were worried not about the character, but me! By either instinct or luck, I quickly raised my head a few inches, waved my left hand a few times, and whispered to the audience, “I’m fine, I’m fine” and then as suddenly returned to the pose of feigned unconsciousness. A big laugh ensued (very gratifying), the audience was reassured as to my well-being, and the play went on. 

Upon reflection, in that instant, I was taught nearly every aspect of the ideas put forth above, plus one more—the delicacy of the theatrical illusion. For a moment, the play stopped because the world at large impinged on the world of the theatre. The audience was worried--something outside the world of the play had occurred that had actual (potential) consequence. As a broad comedy, there was already established a direct connection to the audience that was inside the boundaries of the theatrical conditions. I, fortunately, intuited this and took an action that alleviated the audience’s concern and simultaneously brought them back into the world of the play.  It was a kind of harmonic convergence.

It is that which we seek as actors all the time—when text, concept, space and audience all converge with the actor as locus to evoke a whole and coherent imaginary world.

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^[i] Barron, James.  “Where Every Seat is Front Row Center.” New York Times.  13 May 2010.

^[ii] Saunders, J. W.  “Staging at the Globe, 1599-1613.  Shakespeare Quarterly, vol. 11, No. 4 (Autumn, 1960), pp. 401-425.  Folger Shakespeare Library with Geoarge Washington University.