"It's a mystery!"

That, of course, was the oft' repeated catch-phrase uttered by the long-suffering but phlegmatic Philip Henslowe, Shakespeare's theatre manager, as played by the superb Geoffrey Rush in the film Shakespeare in Love written, needless to say given its wit and intelligence, by Tom Stoppard.  I am provoked to this further essay on acting by my e-pal, 'Dearieme', who used the self-same phrase in a comment to my previous post.  I am ashamed to admit that on that occasion I allowed my grumpiness, produced by the silly luvvies in the TV documentary I had watched, to overcome what remains of my intelligence.  Ever since, I have been pondering more on the subject of acting and, indeed, it is a mystery!

First, it has to be stated that brilliant actors can be possessed of enormous intelligence - or they can be as thick as a sack of spanners.  It seems to make no difference because the end result is still brilliant.  So what is it in them that produces such marvellous performances?  I don't know - it's a mystery!  Happily for the mediocre rest of us, brilliant actors are in a tiny minority which means that we have to work at it.  So what is required to be done?

First, of course, you have to read the entire play.  This is a relatively modern concept because in Shakespeare's day when the cheapest means of reproducing a text was the quill pen, actors were only given their parts - hence the origin of the phrase (and its variations) - 'getting a part'.  Today it is necessary to read the play over and over in order to search for various clues.  You need to analyse what your character says about himself; then, and perhaps more important, what he actually does; finally, most carefully attend to what the other characters in the play say about your character.  For a very easy example, it is blindingly obvious to the audience that Iago is a double-dyed villain but an actor who plays him throughout as a sort of moustache-twirling, cloak-swishing, sinister rotter will have missed the fact that throughout the play everyone else constantly, repeatedly, refers to him as "good Iago", or variations of that phrase.  So it is necessary in many scenes to play him as an honest, 'hail-fellow-well-met' type possessed of Falstaffian good humour.

Second, and on the assumption that we are talking of a classic play, it is best to read every possible critique of the play you can lay your hands on.  You may not agree with many of the interpretations offered by various intellectual literati but it will, so to speak, force you to a reasoned rejection of their opinions and in doing that you learn more.  I have still not forgotten reading an essay on Measure for Measure by a lady I had hitherto written off as yet another tendentious American 'feminasti' but whose scholarship and insight into the relationships beteeen men and women in the Elizabethan era was so rigorous and exacting that it made me revise my entire approach to the play.

All of this is time-consuming and sometimes tedious but if you are a mediocrity it is essential.  Usually it provides the actor with too much information and forces on him the necessity of choosing, but at least he will choose on a rational basis rather than what so many of us (particularly amateurs like me) are prone to do - rely on gut instinct!  And all of this is preparatory, there is still the intense business of developing the character in the rehearsal room where your plots and plans clash against those of your fellow actors and, naturally, the director's.  It is this clash that produces the (usually) mythical 'blood on the rehearsal room walls'!  It is at this point that one's individual efforts, which are hopefully rational and well-thought out, merge with others to form a collective act - and this is precisely where and when the mystery begins.

I try not to use scientific metaphors because mathematical pedants like Dr. 'Teabag' are sure to leap in and point out the errors, but in this instance I think it is even scientifically true that detailed analysis of any collective human action is virtually impossible.  A sort of chaotic dynamic takes over which seems to have a will of its own, and causes and effects become too blurred for observation.  Anyway, I am sure that holds true for the process of putting on a play.  It's a mystery!

Comments

[dearieme]

Do enjoy this wonderful letter to the London Review of Books.

"Reading that in the ancient Roman play Octavia, ‘unusually, there are two chorus groups, one pro-Octavia and the other pro-Poppaea,’ I was immediately reminded of a remarkable broadcast I saw recently on Italian television (LRB, 26 February). I was in a hotel in Venice at the time, trawling through the 57 channels in search of some coverage of the Milan soccer derby. It transpired that Italian football, just like its English counterpart, has been sold down the river to Sky; since my hotel did not subscribe, live coverage was unavailable.

I did, however, stumble across a channel that was attempting to give the best possible live coverage without actually showing any of the action. They had a camera at the stadium, but it was trained away from the pitch, on two commentators who were describing the play. The point of it was that one man was an Inter fan, and the other supported AC; as each team gained possession of the ball, their man picked up the commentary (and the other was supposed to stop, though he rarely did). My first thought was that this had to be the lamest and most desperate attempt to cover the game imaginable. I was about to turn the thing off and head out into the night, but something stayed my finger. It turned out to be the best piece of entertainment I’ve seen for years. I realised later that it was drawing on an ancient Italian dramatic tradition. If the two choruses in Octavia came even close to the hilarious interplay the two commentators produced when AC Milan scored, only for the goal to be disallowed, then I think the play is definitely worth reviving.

Robert Heath
Bangkok"

[David Duff]

A farce in all senses of the word!