Contents

Preface
For the Educator: The View Inside . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Introduction
For Students, Teachers & Casual Readers: Using This Book........ 7

Part One - Basics: Getting Started . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

Chapter 1
A Beginning: Thoughts about the Theatre and Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Chapter 2
The Nature of the Theatre .. ............................... 17
Chapter 3
The Role of the Director: Where to Begin? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 2
Chapter 4
Finding the Dramatic Action . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 7
Part One Assignments
Two One-Page Plays ..................................... 33
Part One Summary
Basics: Getting Started . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 9

Part Two - Rehearsal: A Time for Experiencing . . . . . . . . . . . 41

Chapter 5
Rehearsal: Entering the World of the Play . ................... 43
Chapter 6
Mindset: The Key to Entry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 8
Chapter 7
Those Powerful Words ................................... 54
Chapter 8
These Things We Do . .................................... 64
Chapter 9
This Incredible Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
Chapter 10
Rehearsal Rhythm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 5
Part Two Assignments
Pinter Sketches ......................................... 79
 Part Two Summary
Rehearsal: A Time for Experiencing ......................... 85

Part Three - Analyzing the Script:

Blueprint for Rehearsal ................................. 89
Chapter 11
Analysis, Discovery and Images ........................... 91
Chapter 12
The Rehearsal Unit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 8
Chapter 13
Life's Rhythms and the Scoring of the Play ................... 1 0 8
Chapter 14
The Concept Statement ................................... 114
Part Three Assignments
Scenes from Waiting for Godot ........................... 11 9
Part Three Summary
Analyzing the Script: Blueprint for Rehearsal ................ .125

Part Four- Style and the Sharing of Viewpoints ......... .129

Chapter 15
An Introduction to Style ................................. 131
Chapter 16
Style and the Creative Process ............................. 135
Chapter 17
The Theatre and Style .................................... 14 0
Chapter 18
Ritual and the "Holy" Theatre ............................ .148
Chapter 19
The Deceptive Challenges of Comedy ........................ 15 5
Chapter 20
Comedy: Nuts and Bolts . ................................. 160
Chapter 21
Choosing Models over Labels .............................. 168
Part Four Assignments
Three Preliminary Exercises and Three Directing Scenes ........ 17 6
Part Four Summary
Style and the Sharing of Viewpoints ........................ 18 6
Part Five - Working with Your Collaborators ............ 191
Chapter 22
Communicating with Actors .............................. 1 9 3
Chapter 23
Memorization: The First of Five Golden Rings ................ 2 0 3
Chapter 24
Emotion, Gestation, Boarding and Function:
The Other Golden Rings ............................... 21 0
Chapter 25
Working with Playwrights, Designers and Others ............. 218
Part Five Assignments
Focus on Relationships and Emotion in Directing Scenes ....... 228
Part Five Summary
Working with Your Collaborators .......................... 2 3 9

Part Six- The Director and the Theatrical Space .......... 245
Chapter 26
Theatrical Space: A Meeting Place for Actor and Audience ...... 247
Chapter 27
The Director's Approach to Space .......................... 256
Chapter 28
Design in Space: Sharing Responsibilities .................... 2 6 2
Chapter 29
Guidelines for Blocking .................................. 2 6 9
Chapter 30
Blocking: Lenses for Viewing .............................. 2 7 7
Chapter 31
Blocking: The Bigger Picture .............................. 2 8 9
Part Six Assignments
Directing a Chosen Scene in a Found Theatrical Space ......... 2 9 6
Part Six Summary
The Director and the Theatrical Space ....................... 3 0 1

Part Seven- The Whole Picture ....................... .305

Chapter 32
From Scenes to Plays .................................... 3 0 7
 Chapter 33
Rehearsal Progression .................................... 317
Chapter 34
The Critic and the Director ............................... 326
Chapter 35
Miracles, Changes and Basics ............................. 332
Part Seven Assignments
The Complete Play ...................................... 338
Part Seven Summary
The Whole Picture ...................................... 342

Acknowledgments ...................................345

About the Author ....................................347

 Preface
For the Educator: The View Inside
That we live in a dramatic age is obvious everywhere, except in the theatre.
- Conor A. Farrington, Irish Playwright

This is a book for those who suspect theatre could make a

difference in our lives. For those who believe if we somehow enter
into their worlds, Oedipus, Hamlet, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth,
Willy Loman, Laura Wingfield, Gogo and Didi, Emily Webb all
those great figures from the great plays - have the possibility of
becoming more meaningful than our Uncle Charlie or the lady next
door. More helpful in developing our life insights than Physics 101
and, just maybe, more lasting than the lessons of Professor Flavin's
philosophy course.
The Director's Eye reflects a firm conviction that the theatre
belongs in our liberal arts colleges - and in any other institution
which purports to help us understand ourselves and the world
around us. That the best introduction to directing will hold up life's
experiences as the model whether we have dreams of becoming a
respected theatre artist or want to try-directing-on-for-size as we
head toward a position in the laboratory, the field or the front office.
The Director's Eye is dedicated to the proposition that the
director can make a difference. That if we are to have a more
meaningful theatre, one which helps rediscover the potential power
of the theatre as a tool for investigating and sharing life itself, we
must listen to what the foremost leaders in education and
commerce, iri science and social studies have come to realize: It is
not enough to develop our mechanical skills and organize and
reorganize our agendas. Human beings cannot be "crafted" into a
more satisfying and productive life. There is more to nurturing
human growth than following a formula. Careful coloring within
the lines will not get us there no matter how many dialect courses
we offer or fencing certificates we grant. The director stands at the
very crossroads of most theatres' creative efforts. His or her life
view counts. We are, it seems to me, in serious need of more voices
within the theatre who see greater possibilities. Possibilities that
connect the best theatre with life essentials.
For much of the twentieth century, Americans lamented the sad
state of the living theatre. "Broadway is shrinking" was the

1
The Director's Eye

repeated cry. First film, then television and, most recently,

computers were taking over. There were recurring infusions of
hope: The regional theatre revolution came and went - or at least
did its own shrinking; dinner theatres promised - at the very least
-employment to go with our chicken; the theme park tickled our
fancies and became . . . well, taken for granted. Meanwhile, a
revolution took place on college campuses. The drama club became
the University Theatre and classes moved from the occasional
offerings of the English Department to the Speech Department
complete with a theatre major and Ph.D. programs. Then, finally,
the long sought recognition was attained: Theatre departments
were established in colleges and universities across the country.
Theatre departments with concentrations in acting, design and
technical theatre and, occasionally, in directing and playwriting. We
developed BFA and MFA degrees with specialties including stage
management, stage properties and musical theatre performance.
Actor training programs, built around studio courses and a wide
range of movement and voice studies, multiplied.
My own academic career was part of that metamorphosis. We
sought validation as part of our evolution. We believed
"professional theatre" inherently better than "amateur theatre," and
we aimed at developing a climate in which the artist would be
respected as a significant contributor to a science-dominated
society. To better prepare theatre majors for the brave new world,
colleges all over the country hired "professionals" whose teaching
could include the insights gained from work "as artists." Perhaps
it's time for a little stock-taking of our own. If it seems to you as it
does to me, we have turned out far too many unemployed actors
with little improvement to the state of the theatre and the country's
culture, there are some questions which need to be answered.
Among them, "What's the nature of this theatre education we've
been offering? Who needs it and what's the payoff?"
Perhaps it's only part of the general skepticism directed toward
education that we have begun to hear cries from respected theatre
people calling for the dismantling of the hard-won actor training
programs. We have, after all, already eliminated most serious
playwriting and directing programs from our departmental
offerings. Perhaps it's that we accomplished our goal: We became
"professional." Too professional. However admirable our intent,
perhaps we came to teach those skills more easily demonstrated
than to nurture insight into the real power of theatre. Has our
"training," no matter how elaborately we cloak it with the jargon of

2
 Preface

"art," somehow reflected the very superficiality contributing to the

decline of the commercial theatre in America?
Perhaps we were influenced by a decreasing sensitivity and
insight at the very time we should have been contributing to a
growing sensitivity and insight. Perhaps our preoccupation with the
mantle of respectability- with "professionalism"- was our own
undoing.
Practically speaking, we've all known for decades that the jobs
aren't there. Compared with the newly graduated engineer, the
computer programmer, and the health care worker, the theatre
major enters the job market armed with a begging basket and a
willingness to pick up the scraps wherever they fall. If he or she is
lucky there will be an occasional job in the theatre - somewhere
and an endless round of resume preparations, 8 x 10 sittings and
searches. Searches for the right city, the right agent, the right
"break."
Yes, the film and television industries have become the
dominant popular theatre of our time. Yes, the living theatre is too
expensive. Yes, most Americans would choose a rock concert or a
football game over the theatre. But how meaningful is our theatre?
How meaningful is it to those who do attend, to those who do find
jobs acting, to those who somehow manage to earn a living in the
theatre or a theatre-related industry?
I believe the theatre can do better. Significantly better. We all
know the important things in life take a while to learn. Most of the
time they are not only difficult to teach, but we aren't sure we want
to learn them. I think theatre can be important. It usually isn't, but
it can be. It can be important because it is potentially one of the best
tools we humans have developed to help us understand ourselves,
one another and this journey we're on. Those who don't believe
that, one might argue, have no business in a college or university
theatre program, be they student or teacher. At its best, to immerse
yourself in the creation of powerful theatre restores the soul and
refreshes the spirit. It brings you in contact with others in a way few
experiences can match - through probing the very stories we seek
to tell and through the creation necessary to find ways of sharing
them.
This book took nearly thirty years to write. It came out of my
directing, my playwriting and my teaching. But most of all it came
out of living. It borrows from nearly everybody I have known. Some
of those lessons I could recite. Many I cannot. It is an attempt to set
down some of the things which have served me well. Served me in

3
The Director's Eye

what has now been a long career as a director and teacher. Served
me as, for twenty years, I led a - yes, "professional" -company in
the creation of plays from our historic past, and served me as I
attempted to write plays about the things which seemed most
important in my life.
I've spent a major part of my life thinking about the director
and his role in the theatre I knew and the theatre I worked to create.
I've had the luxury of spending whole semesters with advanced
MFA directing students examining topics treated here as a single
chapter. I have tried to puzzle out solutions for my own productions
ranging from Brecht and Beckett to Moliere and Neil Simon. For the
past decade, each semester I shared much of the material in this
work with an incredibly diverse group of undergraduate students
drawn from departments all over a university campus. Invariably,
they told me at semester's end, "I learned about the theatre and
about directing, but more importantly, I learned about life." I
considered that an accomplishment. I believe much of what is dealt
with in this book can be enriching even if the student never
participates in a theatre production after this study.
Does that mean this is a text for the small school with a single
directing course? Yes. Does it mean it is a text for the "sophisticated"
directing major in a large theatre program? Yes -yes, if the student
and the teacher are searching for ways to raise the contribution
expected of the directing student in developing a more meaningful
theatre.
The education of young directors seems to me to be
floundering. Whereas we now have what seems like hundreds of
"systems" for teaching acting and its perceived "parts," higher
theatre education seems to repeatedly ask, "Can directing be taught
at all?"
Most new texts which have addressed that issue seem to focus
on what, it is believed, can be taught most readily: staging and
organization. They offer exercises in developing actor manipulation
through blocking practices and schedule management to suit the
perceived needs in putting together the complex demands of the
most popular current theatre - musicals. They are careful to
remind us directing is a "craft." Put the pieces in the right place and
it happens. It runs.
As an undergraduate student in the early fifties, mine was the
first generation to grow up with Alexander Dean's Fundamentals of
Play Directing, the first widely used text to be devoted exclusively to
directing. His sections on "composition," "picturization," and

4
 Preface

"movement" as "fundamental elements of directing," influenced

most of the writers who followed and even today dominate much
of the teaching of directing. While I have an intense interest in the
visual elements of theatre and began my career studying the spatial
relationship between the actor and the audience, I have come to
reject the "traffic cop" as the defining role of the director.
Yes, it is one of the puzzle pieces for which the director has to
take responsibility. Yes, there are useful things to know about the
director's role in the visual process. But I am convinced it is all too
easy to substitute a modest skill in blocking for more demanding
tasks required of even the beginning director. Over the years, I have
seen young would-be directors consistently rush to shape the
picture seen by the audience when the cast had made little or no
progress in experiencing the play, when the play had not yet come
to life. It is my strong belief that we must first learn how to
discover the play for ourselves, learn how to enter into that play
and experience its action, and only then allow the sharing of the
play to become our primary concern. It is for this reason I have
placed "blocking" and related topics near the end of this book even
though the perceptive reader will recognize that basic ideas about
the use of space and physical action appear throughout the entire
work.
I am concerned here with the artist in each of us. This is an
attempt to tap that artist's impulses and insights. In doing so, it
consciously and doggedly attempts to set aside any tendency to
"paint by numbers." One of my specific biases is that too often
people settle for staging productions when they should be directing
the exploration of the world of a play and sharing the results. This
is not a book on how to put a play together in twenty-four hours, or
how to stage the local pageant, beauty or historical. It is not a book
telling you how to create theatre "just like real artists do." This is a
book seeking to awaken the creative in you.
For most, this book should suggest that learning to direct, that
is, to provide leadership in experiencing the world of the play and
sharing those experiences with an audience, is more complicated
than most beginners realize. It demands continuous learning about
ways to nurture the evolution of a collectively created world - in
short, sensitive, continuing discovery. The learning never ends.

5
Introduction
For Students, Teachers and Casual
Readers: Using This Book
Each of us makes sense of our world by synthesizing new experiences
into what we have previously come to understand.
-Jacqueline Grennon Brooks and Martin G. Brooks,
In Search of Understanding: The Case for Constructivistic Classrooms

The Director's Eye is intended, first, as a beginning text where the

student practices directing by working with short scenes. Divided
into seven sections, it attempts to select basics for first focus and
proceeds to more complex issues as the learner has an opportunity
to develop confidence in his own understanding. In each section, a
series of chapters readings if you will - offer springboards for
discussion. Assignments are provided at the end of each of the
seven major divisions of the text, but often those assignments can be
best used if introduced after one or two chapters in the section.
Further reading then becomes more immediate when the student is
in the midst of carrying through on the assignments. The
assignment progression is an important part of the learning design.
While every student and every class situation will be unique, the
progression implicit in these seven sections provides the student an
opportunity to become increasingly sensitive to the layers of
complex demands made of the would-be director.
For the student or teacher who holds to the common
assumption. that directing a full length play is an early first step
toward learning, it would be good to skip ahead and read Chapter
32, "From Scenes to Plays." Like most, my own education was quick
to push me into directing the rehearsal and performance of a
complete play. In retrospect, I am convinced that, even when we
have success there, it too easily obscures the real first learnings
necessary to become a director. Despite my own past skepticism
when provided with conventional textbook exercises I find myself
urging readers to take seriously the need to "do the work." Only if
the student experiences the difference will he be ready for the next
step in the learning challenge.
Accepting that few beginning class situations will offer enough
time to complete the progressions outlined here, The Director's Eye is

7
The Director's Eye

also intended as a guide for continued laboratory work by the

director. Perhaps that will come in one or more organized courses,
an independent study or the struggles of on-the-job self-education.
Whatever the formal organization of the study, it is vital that each
student have the opportunity to discover for him or herself what it
is to see and create more believable and more significant theatre.
What it feels like to experience the play and to share that experience
with an audience. What is gained by directing carefully selected
scenes, acting in them and seeing the work of others. What insights
are validated and sharpened by sharing with one another what you
have experienced and observed.
To be part of a group which creates a safe climate for discovery
and exchange under an insightful mentor is an opportunity for
learning no textbook can duplicate, no matter what the content.
However you come to this material, whatever your experience as a
director, student or teacher, your learning will depend on your
discovering new possibilities for seeing, experiencing the resulting
practices at work, and processing the results. To do that in a group
where you can see the work of others, compare it with your own
efforts, and hear the reactions of others to both, is a growth process
you need to develop whether organized classes provide it or not.
The Director's Eye offers guidelines for developing experiences
that tap the student's own insights and give him an opportunity to
"feel" the discovery of the world of a play. It nurtures a way of
evolving the production's style and describes exercises and scene
work which help create a harmony of choices - a style enabling an
audience to share the play the director and cast experience. It
reenforces the value of a nurturing partnership in the director's
own growth, while he develops the confidence to trust his own
insights, inevitably his best critic. And finally, it reminds the
student of the invaluable link between scene work and the
production of a complete play, the continuing learning necessary
to undertake directing in a changing world, and the challenge of
sustaining one's own and one's company's energy and commitment-
both to the theatre and the project at hand.
Some might call this a "holistic" approach to the teaching of
directing. There is more material here than can be absorbed in any
beginning course. Directing, unlike acting, is usually "taught" in
one, sometimes two, semesters on most campuses. It can't be
learned in that little time, of course. What is here is a book which the
teacher and student will have to fit to the time and experience
available. For some that may seem difficult, even impossible, at first

8
 Introduction

try. But to develop the director's viewpoint, one needs to see the
outline of the whole. It's all too easy to take the simple way out, to
believe you have addressed the essentials of directing when you
have just begun. Worse yet, when you have addressed only the
more superficial of its demands. If the theatre is to regain its power,
we need more directors who develop an understanding of the
potential in whatever materials and personnel can be brought to the
production- any production, anywhere. It has been all too easy to
seek refuge in the excuse of too little money and too few trained
performers. The real limitations are lack of insight and willingness
to commit time and energy to the discovery and creation.
I, personally, am committed to the progression implied in this
text's organizational outline. But even in my own classes, I do jump
ahead to pick up a later chapter occasionally as two or more ideas
are brought to focus by a particular project. For directing, like life, is
seldom a simple process. No matter how hard we try to take one
thing at a time, it always gets more complicated than that. We learn
as we need to know. Unfortunately, as we work on almost any great
play, we need to know nearly everything immediately. That, of
course, is overwhelming. So we start again, trying to sift what we
can use now from what we have internalized before. Along the way
we note what requires new answers and what can wait.
In my own work, students took a beginning course which
introduced nearly all the material presented here. During that time
no scene directed was ever more than eight minutes long, and most
were three to five minutes. In the second course, taken by those
continuing and repeated by the most interested students -
sometimes three or four times the student worked on even less:
three short scenes each semester. Those short scenes were rehearsed
for twelve hours each. The intentwas to make clear (1) how much
more there is to be done than we realize when we begin, and (2)
once we see what is possible, how much more efficiently we can use
the time we have available than we often think.
The premise in all this work is that we are quick to jump ahead
to directing a full length play when we are not yet ready, and that
we often are willing to show our material to an audience thinking
we are finished when we have only begun. The usual result is an
emphasis on external organization and a superficial production.
For teachers trying to match The Director's Eye with their own
agendas, I · would be delighted to hear from you and answer
questions about· fitting what may sometimes seem to be a new
round peg into a familiar and comfortable square hole.

9
The Director's Eye

It has been enormously satisfying to tie all this into what I hope
will seem a relatively neat package. But I did not come to these
conclusions so neatly and neither will the reader. My hope is that
fellow travelers will come to respect the record of a journey implied
here. If some of it doesn't fit the first time through, maybe you will
somehow sense my good intentions and try again when different
experiences dictate the search.
By seeing life as our primary resource, this work inevitably ties
directing and the theatre with more familiar experiences: parenting,
coaching, teaching - leadership in any organization where
creativity is valued. It is hoped that many readers will find the ideas
explored here resurfacing next week or next year no matter what
their position or vocation. Theatre and life are not so easily
separated, after all. Not if we are trying to make them both
experiences that count.

-John Ahart
email:
johnahart@eart
hlink.net

10
Part One
Basics:
Getting Started

uwe must remember that all directors sometimes lose

sight of the primacy of the dramatic action .
. . . Whatever the cause, suddenly it is clear the life
has dropped out of the play. What had great promise
is dead - lifeless! Like a writer who has forgotten
to save his word processing, the screen is blank
and we stare in disbelief.

ult's then we must work hardest to return to the key

action as the first and essential focus for the director.
. . . It must begin with your honestly asking the tough
questions: Why don't I believe it is happening and
why doesn't it seem significant?"
 Overleaf top, Queen and the Rebels by Ugo Betti;
right, Thieves Carnival by Jean Anouilh;
lower left, Man of La Mancha by Dale Wasserman
 Chapter 1
A Beginning: Thoughts
about the Theatre and Life
But on you will go
though the weather be foul.
On you will go
though your enemies prowl.
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
- Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You'll Go

Any journey worth taking has its share of surprises. In his final
book written at the age of 83, Theodor Geisel, Dr. Seuss, encourages
us to find the success that lies within us. Wherever you've been,
wherever you're going, it is very likely to have the makings of an
incredible story ...
The Library Within Us
Every now and then, on this extraordinary journey - for if we
look closely enough, there are hardly any "ordinary ones" - we sit
down. Or at least we pause. And when we do, there's seldom one of
us who isn't amazed by the things we know and the places we've
been. What have you experienced you never dreamed you might?
What new journey did you begin this week? And what have you
discovered already?
We admire people who discover. Those who create. Those who
invent. They become our heroes. Th~ airplanes we fly we attribute
to the Wright brothers. The music we enjoy we associate with the
Stones or the Beatles or maybe even Mozart. Shakespeare taught us
what poetry could be; Michael Jordan redefined the ultimate
basketball player. Bonnie Blair taught us how good a skater could
become.
But for each of us, the ultimate discoverer, the primary inventor
is not someone from the history books nor the day's newspaper ...
but ourselves. Our own discoveries make up our most intimate and
profound library. It's what we learn by living that makes the
difference as we undertake the next phase of the journey. It's what
we share from our discoveries that enriches our relationships. This is
a book about each of us. About our discovering, our experiencing-

13
The Director's Eye

and about our sharing. About our using our lives to create. This is a
book about you as a human being and what that can tell you about
being an artist. This is a book about learning the job of the director
in a theatre that counts.
Recording Our Experiences
No cameras. Suppose there was a wedding and no one took
pictures. All those people and the dresses and the cake and flowers
and no photos. And certainly no videotape. Getting married and
nothing to show your children or grandchildren.
Is there any one of us who hasn't wished for a camera to record
. . . that? "So beautiful I wish I had my Nikon." What would the
history of the twentieth century be like if there were no pictures of
the families, the presidents ... the stars ... the games ... the wars ...
the clothing . . . the cities. In fact, it is difficult to imagine a world
now without pictures. And for most of you, what was it like when
there was no video? Who remembers? Only the old ones.
We record to remember.
We write about it. We sing songs about it. We draw pictures of
it. We act it out. We feel so .... so awful as it gets dark and gray or
black or dim. We feel so great as the violins or the sky . . . or the
crowd ... Can you imagine a time when we didn't need to share our
memories? When we couldn't do any of those "arts" that help us
share?
A fundamental demand for the theatre comes from this
universal need to remember to celebrate, to share, to revisit our
experiences, our discoveries.
Born Poets
We were born poets. Proof of it is in the face of any child. For
most of us, no matter how nurturing our parents, our teachers, our
friends, our institutions, much of that awe, that wonder, that delight
gets lost. We become afraid to share. "They" already know. They're
too busy. They think differently. I should be doing important things.
Other things. I need to learn to be practical. To be productive. To be
responsible.
There often seems little reward for poets in our lives. And
certainly little reward - we may think- for the poetic in our own.
But rewards come in different packages. And that too, is life's
revelation: the discovery of new kinds of rewards.
So this is a book about discovery. Discovering the poet in
ourselves and ways of sharing it. Discovering ways the theatre can

14
 A Beginning: Thoughts about the Theatre and Life

serve that need. Discovering ways to create a world - a world

reflecting the life we see around us and in us.
The Inevitable Theatre
In the smaller sense, theatre is a very minor part of our lives. Off
in the peripher~ nearly lost. A tiny part of our culture, unseen by
most - dealing with fluff, the sentimental, the abstract. An escape
for children and the childish. A luxury fueled by pretension and
exclusivity.
But in a larger sense, theatre has never been more alive. Drama
-the theatrical- is shot through almost every act of our time. It is
so much a part of us, we can hardly distinguish theatre from life. No
day goes by without our becoming "actors," without our witnessing
staged events, without our responding to the dramas of
government and business, of religion and community.
No wonder we have to continually define and redefine the
theatre if we are to examine any part of it. Yes, this is a book about
directing. But it is first, and inevitably, a book about the nature of
theatre. It is about theatre as an Art. Never mind that all too often
people who speak of Art with that ominous capital "A" seem the
least insightful into Art's values. Never mind that all too frequently
they seek funds to support that which the rest of us can never find
satisfying. That too frequently they seem preoccupied with forms
which exclude. Forms which make difficult the understanding, the
enjoyment, the participation of most of us.
This is about another kind of theatre. This is about theatre
which is so close to life, so inevitably drawn from universal
experiences, that theatre and life are nearly inseparable. This is
about a theatre that is so intermingled with the other arts that to
succeed here .implies you might also become a great poet or
musician or painter. That to develop a better understanding here
means you may increase your theatrical insight in dozens of helpful
ways, whether on not you ever direct a major production.
Life at the Center
This is a book which begins with two basic premises: First -
There is an artist· born in us all. Yes, we were born poets. And
second- The theatre is, by its very nature, the most accessible of
all the arts. Why? The theatre uses the human being as its primary
tool. Life itself is at the very center.
Every child has felt the dramatic impulse- knows the theatre's
basic conventions, its values. Our job here is to reawaken that
awareness and build on it. To rediscover our past and put those

15
The Director's Eye

memories to use. To develop the courage and skills to share our

experiences.
In the next few chapters we'll look more carefully at the nature
of theatre and the role of the artist in the theatre. We'll outline some
useful beginning experiences to get us thinking about the basics for
the director as artist.
But first-
A Beginning Inventory
Try talking with your friends or classmates about some of
these ideas: What has happened for me this year that was
"dramatic?" That changed my life? What do I remember
·that was extremely painful? What have I done to try to
forget? When do I remember even when I am trying not
to? What was so wonderful I get excited every time I think
about it again?
If you're like most of us, some of the things you think
about you may not want to share. Ask yourself: "When
I've tried to share, what do I remember about a time when
sharing felt good? When it felt terrible? What makes it
difficult for me to share some significant events? What do
I need from my listeners to make it easier?"
"What support would I seek if I could call upon anyone or
any skill so others might feel some of the things I feel about
my experiences? Do I wish there was a documentary film?
That someone had written it all down? Do I wish I could
take you to the place where it happened? If I were the best
artist I can imagine how would I have captured some of
these experiences to share with you?
"As I think about my own experiences and the dramatic
events which have happened to me, what films or
television programs, or perhaps theatre productions come
to mind? What actors or writers remind me of important
people I've met on my own journey? What lives have
shaped my life? What are the stories that have guided
me?"

16
 Chapter 2
The Nature of the Theatre
The theatre is the dwelling place of wonder.
- Robert Sherwood

Perhaps it was always true, but in today' s culture it seems

especially important to "stay cool." The labels for it may change,
but all of us learn early, "Don't let on how surprised you are!" Our
willingness to share runs smack into this familiar reservation.
Vulnerability and Feelings
One of the signs of adulthood for most of us is our ability to
hide our feelings. Artists, on the other hand, can seldom create their
best work without making themselves extremely vulnerable. In fact,
one might say to be an artist is to be vulnerable.
It is one of the first things we have to confront in our study of
the theatre and directing. How willing are we to share? How
vulnerable are we willing to be? Speaking about the actor, Rex
Harrison said, "It's very exposed up here." If that is true for the
actor on the stage, it is also true for the writer, the director - in fact
for anyone whose art depends on his or her willingness to share
values and feelings.
As a director, I attend a lot of auditions. Often at those auditions
large numbers of actors are being seen by a group of directors. Not
surprisingly, we've named these events "cattle calls." As distasteful
as it sounds, it is possible for most of us to reject a particular actor
after no more· than 15 or 20 seconds of the allotted three-minute
audition. Most actors know this. How does it feel to be rejected after
15 or 20 seconds of your best performance? No wonder acting is a
stressful profession. Fifteen seconds and someone is willing to say,
"Next!"
To be an artist gets very personal. Perhaps that's why the naive
theatregoer believes acting is learning how to fake emotional
involvement. Or why the cynical reader assumes writers manufacture
intimate feelings. In our culture it is risky to let people know how
deeply you feel. In fact, if you hide it often enough, it is likely you
aren't sure what you feel yourself.
Art, especially the theatre, demands the opposite. It is probably
fair to say theatre can't happen unless we're willing to risk feeling.

17
The Director's Eye

"He doesn't do feelings," we say. "Then he isn't likely to produce

theatre," we might add. In fact, he isn't likely to respond to theatre
either.
To risk being vulnerable may be painful, but it is a risk the
theatre demands.
The Responsibility of Witnessing
There is another important quality the best artists must possess:
a willingness to testify, to bear witness. "I was there. I saw it
happen." At first that may seem a strange beginning for thinking
about directing or the theatre. But if we accept that theatre begins
with storytelling, then it may be a small jump to accepting the
responsibility for the "truth" of our tale. It is probably clearest when
we are telling the story of some real event or real person, but it is
also true of even fictitious drama. We need to believe in the
underlying "truth" of what we have to share. This concept gets at
the very essence of our response to theatre. We need to "believe"
what we are seeing if it is to be effective. "Was it believable?" is one
of the traditional questions we must ask to evaluate almost all
theatre works.
To return for a moment to our willingness to record: Have you
ever attended a major public event, a presidential inauguration,
for example? If you have, it was clear to you the day's proceedings
were being recorded. No significant event of today seems to go
unrecorded. We expect it. Pictures were being 'taken, stories written,
film would be developed. There would be numerous efforts to pass
along to others the essence of the event. Where were you during all
this? If you were like many of us, you may have taken your own
pictures, perhaps you even wrote a few lines about the experience
in your diary or notebook. And certainly you talked with someone,
maybe several, about being there.
But if you were there witnessing, it is also likely you knew
someone else had the better "record." It was clear to you your
equipment wasn't as good as it might have been. You were too far
away. You couldn't record the voices with all the traffic. In short,
you knew you weren't being counted on as a key witness. The
truthfulness of our understanding didn't depend on you.
Yes, we take pictures, but how often do they remain in the
developer's envelopes? We make videotapes, but do we even get
them labeled so we can find them? We take notes at lectures, but
when "cold" how often do we find they don't translate?
Is there any of us who hasn't witnessed an automobile accident,

18
 The Nature of the Theatre

but hoped he wouldn't have to testify in court? The truth is, we

seldom choose to be the key witness. Somehow, that role requires
more responsibility than we eagerly accept. Yet, for the artist, that is
the essential role. "I saw it and I must tell you." "At first, I couldn't
believe what I discovered and somehow you have to know too!"
Where do they originate? These songs that move us, these
poems, these plays? From people who say, "Yes."
"I went to the University of Illinois." Oh? What was that like?
When were you there? Were you there when the national guard was
on campus? When they burned the flag in front of the union? When
they trashed all the stores on Green Street? What in the world was
that like?
"Yes! Yes, I'll never forget it! Let me tell you ... "
How the Theatre Works
Words don't always provide the best definitions. Some things
have to be experienced to be understood. Theatre is one of them.
At its best, the theatre deals with universal experiences,
experiences so basic they occur in all cultures and to nearly every
human being. Jung called them Archetypal experiences.
More than twenty-five years ago I sat in an audience in a small
theatre converted from a tiny railway station. The play was The
Serpent. The original script had been developed by a collaborative
theatre group known as the Open Theatre. It contained a series of
simple stories drawn from explorations of the Bible and in its final
form Jean-Claude Van Hallie was credited with the playwriting. But
there are hardly any words specified in the text. Mostly it's physical
action. The story that moved me most, the one I still am haunted by,
was the familiar story of Cain and Abel.
Cain hits Abel. Abel falls to the ground. Abel doesn't move. It
had never happened quite like this before. Cain didn't know what
to think of it. He tries to get Abel up. But Abel doesn't move.
The actor who played Cain wasn't a great actor, but I haven't
forgotten it. Twenty-five years and I haven't forgotten. He got me.
"Get up." Abel doesn't move. Cain begins to beat on him. "Get up.
Get up!"
The awful cry; the pounding; the look on Cain's face. The
desperation to bring him to life again ... Ever been in an emergency
room? Ever ridden with someone in an ambulance? We know
people die. But the first time ...
"Get up!!!"
Cain didn't know what it was.

19
The Director's Eye

What is this? We're smart, we've read books. But the first time
... First time for Cain; first time for me; first time for you ...
So what are we talking about? We know this Abel isn't dead.
He's an actor. But it gets us. How is this possible? It depends partly
on Cain, of course; partly on Abel. But it also depends on us. What
do we bring to this? How does this work?
What happens when the phone rings at 3 a.m.? Scares me to
death. Why?
How much have we read about the Holocaust? And then a film
comes along- Schindler's List comes along- and look out! No
matter how much we think we know, it seems like we're hearing it,
feeling it for the first time!
How can we explain this?
Robert Edmund Jones, America's first great scene designer,
wrote a little book titled The Dramatic Imagination. In it he tells the
story of Ook. In some respects, it seems obvious. Maybe clumsy.
And yet it helps us see how this all works.
Jones says if we want to understand the beginning of the theatre
we should imagine a primitive tribe, a prehistoric people. Hungry.
A difficult winter. They take along a young man on his first hunt.
Ook. Ook on his first Lion hunt.
When they come home carrying the lion, the whole tribe turns
out for the feast. Firelight flickers on the walls of the cave as they
celebrate, filling their empty bellies. And when they have laughed
and eaten their fill, one of the old ones who didn't get to go, says,
"Tell us how it was. Tell us how you killed the lion!" They all join
in, only this time the leader says, "We'll show you. Ook can be the
lion and we'll show you."
"Pshaw, I can't be the lion." But Jones tells us they put the lion
skin on Ook and as the firelight casts the shadows of the dancing
hunters on the walls Ook did indeed become the lion.
The story is so simple and so familiar any of us could tell it ...
And suddenly Ook went ... , "Yooowwwwaaa!" And all around him
the watchers shook and clung to one another.
I am reminded of my children when they were small. They
went to see every production I directed and they would remember
every line. And somehow out of that came the "Yahahas." "Do the
Yahaha, Daddy." And I would. Filling the room with the sound,
"Yahahahahaha!" At first eyes were delighted, and then it became
too scary. "No more, Daddy! No more." So it was with Ook.
"YHooowwwaaa!" "Pshaw, a man can't be a lion." And yet, Jones
tells us, something happens to that man Ook. Somehow the lion's

20
 The Nature of the Theatre

spirit gets in him. Somehow Ook is Ook all right, but he is also the
man who can be a lion.
So what's the story here?
You can't be dead. This can't be pain. This can't be a lion. This
can't be the Yahahahas, but it is! So we can write our definitions of
theatre, but logic doesn't do it. Writing it down isn't enough.
That's the nature of theatre, you can't write it down. What is the
color of the sky to a blind person? What is the theatre to one who
has never lived? You can only experience it. You can't play this on
the piano. You can't paint it. You can only get it inside. You can only
get it mystically. You can only find out inside what it means to have
it happen.
All this floundering might leave us totally lost if it weren't for
one thing: We have all experienced it. We have experienced it by
watching. We have experienced it by telling, by showing. My
mother was never on stage, but she was always an actress. She
never told a story when she didn't play all the roles. You've been an
actor too. You may say you are too shy, too embarrassed, but
sometimes you let it out. Sometimes you say, "Come here, I'll show
you." For this art, you don't need a pencil. You don't need a piano.
You need human beings. Luckily you've got one. You have a brain
and a body. And you know others. So let's get a bunch of people and
do our theatre. We may not be able to do Harold's theatre, but we
can do ours. Too fat? Too squeaky voiced? Warts? Good! Let's make
a play from it!
On a bus, plane, train ... we find somebody. We really talk with
this person. "I can't believe you too ... You do! Is that possible? ... "
And we get off and they go their way and we go ours. And we're
sad. It's a loss. We're looking for people. We're looking for some
way not to have to go through this life alone. We're looking for a
way to share.
Certain things, being born and dying, pairing, whether we call
it marrying or have no word for it at all - universal things -
happen to us all. And when they happen they bring us alive.
Watching people be alive. That's the stuff of the theatre. We share by
creating events, actions where people are vividly filled with life.
Brimming over with joy, nearly devastated by sorrow, they remind
us what it is to be human. They remind us what it is to live.
How does it work? "Here, let me show you ... "

21
 Chapter 3
The Role of the Director: Where to Begin?
[Effective leaders' and managers'] strength is not in control alone,
but in other qualities - passion, sensitivity,
tenacity, patience, courage, firmness, enthusiasm, wonder.
- Richard Farson, Management of the Absurd

Models Affect Us Whether We Like It or Not

Just what is the primary role of the director in the theatre? Many
theatregoers who believe they have at least a rudimentary
understanding of the actor or playwright's function would admit
they are far less sure of the director's contribution. When we see a
production, it's not always clear what came from the director and
what from others. And yet, almost no one comes to the study of
directing without preconceptions. For most of you, those
preconceptions come from role models. Your experiences under a
good director, or even under a poor one, are likely to influence your
own work in countless ways. It's much like parenting. We repeat
much of what we experienced as children, whether we intend to or
not. As would-be directors we need to learn to make conscious
choices. We need to intentionally continue practices modeled for us
or we need to choose to let them go. The latter is often more difficult
than we recognize. Much of the "letting go" will not happen
quickly. Some of my own early directing practices continued for
several years simply because they were what I had known as a
young actor. To grow, however, we need to examine those early
imprints as we become aware of other options.
You Need Not Have All the Answers
In a sense, all of this book addresses the role of the director. But
what is basic? How do we start? First, think about your reason for
choosing to pursue directing. Too many people who are interested in
acting, but are seldom cast, turn instead to directing. It gives them a
chance to be in charge. Add to this the fact that most of us first
learned about directing from an older, more experienced theatre
person - usually a teacher - and one of the usual assumptions
about the person labeled "the director," is that he or she is supposed
to "know." The director is supposed to know "everything."
That's where we put undue pressure on ourselves. We often are

22
 The Role of the Director: Where to Begin?

reluctant to admit our limitations. Confronted by an actor's

question, it's easy to assume we should have the answer. How
many times have I observed a beginning director manufacture an
answer when there was little insight to support the choice?
Thousands! Oh, yes - and more. Frequently the actor was in a
much better position to know or find the answer than the director,
but having an answer became the badge of authority. Directors were
"supposed to know" and, to prove he was a director, he provided
an answer.
"Does the character want this or that?" "Should I be here or
there?" "Is it better faster or slower?" Whatever the actor needs to
know, the insecure director, all too often, feels pressured to provide.
Particularly in the beginning, it may be much more productive if
you see yourself as one who helps the company discover together. It
is often very useful to say, "I don't know. Let's see if we can find out
by ... " Frequently, it is much too early for anyone to know the
"right" answer to questions raised. To become the "authority" can
often rob the cast of the need to search for answers.
It is certainly true that a director can make the difference in a
production. Most would accept that. What is not so often
recognized is that directors make productions worse just as often as
they make them better. A cast with great initial enthusiasm for their
roles and the script will frequently lose that excitement by the
second week of rehearsal. Even directors who are liked and
respected by their casts may rob them of their creativity and take
from them the joy of discovery.
Like many tasks, the director's role keeps changing. It changes
not only because our view of theatre and the related performing arts
change, but because it is different with each new production. Each
cast, each script, each theatr1cal space, each evolution of a
production style will bring new roles for the director. He will need
to let go of some of his previous practices and develop new ones for
every effort he undertakes. Nevertheless, there are some
viewpoints, some investigations, some connecting efforts which
seem common to all the work. To get us started, here are two
essentials in developing the director's eye, whatever the
production's demands. They are borrowed from two giants of the
twentieth-century theatre, Max Reinhardt and Tyrone Guthrie.

23
The Director's Eye

Everyone Who Works in the Theatre Must Be an Actor

Max Reinhardt was one of the most prolific directors of all time.
During his career in the early part of the twentieth century, he
directed nearly 700 productions. He was one of the first directors to
recognize the possibilities of producing a given script in a wide
variety of styles. He understood the value of matching plays to the
performance spaces, not only directing in very different theatres,
but creating productions in extraordinary non-theatre environments.
He mounted Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice on the banks of the
Venetian canals and the medieval Everyman in front of the Salzburg
Cathedral with heavenly choirs atop the buildings circling the
square. But as intrigued as Reinhardt was with the possibilities of
environment and decoration, it was the actor who was always the
center of his work. "Everyone who works in the theatre must be an
actor," he declared. It's a simple, basic idea which will serve the
beginning director well.
What did Reinhardt mean by that? There is only one essential
role on the production side of the audience, and that is the actor. The
director can never quite know what the actor is experiencing, but
you can't direct unless you are willing to try to experience the play
as the actor experiences it.
There is no easy short cut. Watching, listening, feeling as best
you can, you too must experience the events of this story. They must
become wedded with your own experiences. If nothing else, you
must go home and in the quiet with the door closed, play all the
roles. You cannot lead the actors into a discovery of the action of the
play unless you go with them. You must know what it is to be part
of the play from the inside, from the place only the actor knows. Not
exactly as any actor knows it, of course, but you must be there all
the same. You must be inside the play with them whether or not you
ever set foot upon the stage. You must discover with them how hard
it is to enter into this world, how difficult it is to merge your being
with the playwright's vision, how easy it becomes when you
discover the essence of the action and the functions of the characters
in making the action happen. Without asking the actors to imitate
you, without excluding their own discoveries, you must see and
hear this world of the play from the inside just as all the actors must
see it.

24
 The Role of the Director: Where to Begin?

An Audience of One
On the other side of this sharing experience - on that side
opposite the actors - you must become an "Audience of One."
Tyrone Guthrie was the founding director of the Stratford Festival
Theatre in Ontario, Canada. Mid-twentieth century it became the
most celebrated resident theatre in North America and was the envy
of theatre people all over the world. He went on to create a theatre
which bears his name in Minneapolis. His productions and his
autobiography challenged many of the day's conventional ideas
about theatre. Certainly, many of his beliefs have affected my own
thinking and will be reflected in the later chapters of this book.
Speaking of the learning a young director must undertake, Guthrie
offered this common sense wisdom: You learn to direct by finding
actors foolish enough to let you direct them. He went on to say your
most important role as a director is to become an "Audience of
One." What did he mean?
Remind yourself how important it is, even now, that certain
people see your best work. You want it to be seen; you need your
efforts and accomplishments validated. As children, we called to
mom or dad to come see:

"Watch me jump down the stairs!

See! See what I can do!"
"Wonderful! Careful! Maybe just one step at a time."
"I can do it! Watch me do it again! See! See!"
"Yes, I do see! That's wonderful! Look at you!"
"See, I can jump all the way out to here!
Watch, watch me do it again!"
"Wow! You're a big jumper! I didn't know you could
do that! Let's go get your Mommy!"
"Yeah! Let's show Mommy! Hey, Mommy! Mommy,
come watch what I showed Daddy!"

The good parent watches praises. And the child knows he's
succeeded. It's worth saving. He can count on it. He adds it to his
accomplishments. He's getting there. He's been seen. It's real. He
can do it.
Even my little dog will seldom play with her ball without
someone watching. Sometimes she wants us to throw it and she
retrieves, but often she only wants to play with it herself. Someone
needs to be watching, however, or she tires immediately.

25
The Director's Eye

It's surprisingly true that in some of our best directing efforts,

we may need to say very little to the actors. We get them started,
setting up the ground rules for repetition or continuation. We watch
and listen and at the end we encourage and validate. We reenforce
the need for them to be able to repeat or continue to do that which
we see as their best work and perhaps we suggest they need to let a
few things go. Most of all we let them know we are taking it in.
If you are a good director, the actors will begin to trust that your
approval counts. You may not speak for all the potential viewers,
but you speak for the most important ones. You watch, you care,
you bring out their best efforts. You become their "audience of one."
Your Dual Role
To practice these two roles for the director puts you clearly on
both sides of the theatrical experience. You are one with the actor
and you are one with the audience. It can get more complicated, but
it cannot become more essential.

26
 Chapter 4
Finding the Dramatic Action
... a tragedy is impossible without action, but there may be one without Character.

. . . the first essential, the life and soul, so to speak, of Tragedy is the Plot ...
-Aristotle, Poetics

We're ready now to take our first look at the play itself. It's the
same whether we are looking at a script or at the production, at the
play as performed for an audience or as the play in rehearsal.
Above All Else
There is one absolute essential which stands above all else: You
must know what happens in the play. You must find its action, its
dramatic action.
The theatre has to do with knowing. Not with superficial
knowing, but with the most basic knowings. Theatre deals in the
knowing that comes through recognition. ''I've been there, I know
what that is." "I've seen that." "I understand what you mean." "I
know how that feels." "Yes! Yes! That's true!!! That's really true!"
Theatre is about life experiences. It is the sharing of experiences.
Sharing, not by telling - although there may be some of that, too -
but by doing. Aristotle said it: Tragedy is "the imitation of an
action." The same is true of all theatre.

"Die, die!!! Bang, bang, you're dead. You're dead!!!"

says the child, as his sister falls to the ground, closing
her eyes.

"What does it mean?" That's not the primary question. "What

are they doing?" That's the primary question. He shot her. That's
what happened. He shot her. She's dead. Only for a second,
perhaps. It may be amusing. Or repelling. Or annoying. But he shot
her. She's dead - for a moment.
It is an action.

They came into the room. She was only three years old.
He was five. "You're bad. You're ugly and bad and I hate
you/' he screamed as he grabbed his grandfather's

27
The Director's Eye

German Luger off the wall. It was only a half gun really.
Looking at it from the right side you could see where the
forms had been connected to the mold. But when he
sighted down the barrel his face contorted into such rage,
I was startled. "I wish you had never been born into this
house! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" "Bang!
Bang!" he screamed. "Die, you! Die! Die! Die!"

His little sister cried and begged, "No, no, no, no! Don't!
Please, don't!" "Yes, yes, I want you dead!!!" "Bang,
Bang! Bang!" She lay down panting. Sobbing. Her tear-
filled eyes closed as he stood over her.

Not a very pleasant piece of theatre, acted out by this five- and
three-year-old. Not intended for an audience. Not rehearsed. But
dramatic. Frightening for a moment. Provoking thought. What did
it mean? Well, it depends ...
What happened? He shot her. She is dead. For a moment she is
dead. For a moment he killed his little sister.
The Theatre's Essence
That's the first business of theatre, the first concern of the
director: to make it happen.
To make Macbeth kill his best friend and king. Before us. Here.
Now. Macbeth kills Duncan. It happened. We saw it. We felt it. It
happened.
Action
Above all else, action is that which distinguishes theatre from
the other arts. Action is the life-force of a play. To become a director
means you must learn to identify and make powerful the action of
the drama. Unless you understand how action works, unless you
relentlessly pursue the need to bring the action to life, all your other
efforts will be wasted. It's action that holds the audience's attention,
that keeps them wanting to find out, that moves them to laughter
and to tears. Books can be written without it, music can be played,
pictures composed, dances danced, but to have theatre - to make
theatre powerful, to send our audiences out into the night changed
by the impact of our dramas- you must play out a dramatic action.
It must happen! The action must happen and it must be clearly
significant!

28
 Finding the Dramatic Action

The Director's Primary Concern

The fundamental study for the directing student, then, is
dramatic action. How do I find it? How do I name it? How do I use
it? How do I make it central to my rehearsals? How does it become
significant?
First, it is important to recognize that dramatic action is not the
physical activity of a play. The physical activity may help carry out
the dramatic action, or help illustrate the dramatic action, but many
plays have dramatic action more clearly carried in the words than
in the obvious physical activity. In fact, the most obvious physical
activity of a scene or even the play may be in contradiction to the
dramatic action. Sometimes the characters may be trying to ignore
or deny what is happening. They may be working very hard to
conceal what is really happening. The action may appear to be a
confession, but is actually a concealment, or it may appear to be a
meal, but is actually a seduction.
Second, it is probably true that in every scene, in every play-
just as in each day or each month in our own lives there are many
things happening. One might justifiably say, there are lots of
dramatic actions in a play. In fact, some writers have suggested it is
important to find the action of each line, or of each small unit. In
short, they ask us to see what that character is really doing now -
at this moment. These are valuable searches. Repeatedly we will
need to carry out these more immediate investigations in order to
play the moment. We will profit from looking for these changing
actions or these overlapping actions or recurring actions as we
investigate any play in depth, as we rehearse any scene from a play.
But our search here is for something more lasting. We are looking
for actions which seem, more or less, to run throughout the play, or
at least for major sections of it. We are searching for the action that
ties it all together, the through-line, the spine, to use two terms that
are often found in the literature of the theatre. That brings us to our
final and most important effort to name dramatic actions.
Key Action
In all plays there is a key action - sometimes two or three -
which will be the central tool in understanding the relationships of
all the play's characters. It will be the essential springboard for
developing the events of the performed drama. All we do in our
analyses and rehearsals will come back to this key action.
And how do· we define them? Key actions are the essential,
life-filled, total actions which produce the major events of the play.

29
The Director's Eye

Remember there may be only one. These events are things done. At
the core of these events is a common universal act which calls for
the total concentration and commitment of the persons involved.
That universal act is the dramatic action of the play.
While definitions of dramatic action may quickly become
abstract, it is relatively easy to agree on names which identify
actions with the potential to commit us to total involvement. These
are the acts in our lives with the potential to count most. They
usually mark a serious change. We are never quite the same after
going through that action.
Remember, naming is important. Even the way we name our
actions is important. Here is my list of actions. It begins with "the
birth." Note that each of these names is derived from an act, from
something "done" by someone. They describe something that
"happens."
It is important to consider how such a list is developed. For each
of us, being born and dying are the two absolutely consistent
experiences we all have. In between we have some likely common
events. It is difficult to imagine a life without "struggle." Even an
infant who lives only a few seconds will struggle - struggle to stay
alive. Some actions will happen often and only occasionally be life-
changing, departures, for example. It seems we are always saying
"good-bye" to someone, to something.
Some may seem to happen to others but not us. We may never
be married, for example, but if you live very long, you will likely
have an important union with someone else. Even as children we
may have had a strong bond with a sister that affects the rest of our
lives. When and how did that action happen? If we were making a
documentary film, we could create a through line with that as the
key action. Yes, there would be other actions, probably many
concurrent actions, but the union of two sisters could be the basis of
a great film, it could be the key action. We can begin to find models
for it from our memories just by suggesting it.
So it will be with all these actions. We must find models that
remind us how each became a key action in a life we know
something about. These namings, then, serve to label the essential
truths of our life's actions, the essential truths from our library of
universal human experiences.
As you read through this list, stop now and then to think of
models. Let the labels suggest events in your own life which
changed who you were. Think of other people in your family whose
lives were altered by a judgment or a journey, think of your favorite

30
 Finding the Dramatic Action

characters from books or films who started again because of the

escape or the destruction, think of people from tonight's news
reports who will be forever different because they have had to say
"good-bye" as someone departed never to return.
Universal Dramatic Actions
• The birth (the discovery, the creation, the invention)
• The death (the killing, the loss, the destruction)
• The struggle (the argument, the fight, the battle, the war)
• The union (the marriage, the connection)
• The journey (the search, the visit)
• The arrival (the return)
• The departure (the withdrawal, the resignation)
• The change (the transformation, the rebirth, the reparation)
• The escape (the rescue, the emancipation, the release)
• The confession (the revelation)
• The seduction (the bribe, the entrapment)
• The exchange (the sacrifice, the purchase)
• The trial (the judgment, the punishment)
• The promotion (the coronation, the inauguration, the initiation)
• The consumption (the demotion)
• The concealment
• The game (the contest)
• The lesson
• The wait (the interruption, the delay)

Do not think of this as a perfect or absolute list. In fact, I

repeatedly add to it or shift one label to another place. You may well
want to add some or subtract some for yourself. What is important
about this list for me is that it represents a practical, meaningful
way to describe universal actions I know something about. These
labels suggest models from my own life and from the lives which
have somehow affected me, whether that was from something I
read or saw or otherwise experienced. It is clear to me any of these
actions can become life changing. It is clear to me these actions cut
across all cultures and times. You may start with this list, but
eventually your list must be meaningful to you. It must be your best
set of labels for identifying essential truths that name universal
experiences you've found important in life.

In my own work it was the use of these labels for dramatic

action that suddenly changed the concept of action from an

31
The Director's Eye

abstract one to a very practical tool. They became my most useful

reminder of the essence of the play. They have a remarkable ability
to keep me on track as I continue my work.
Connections from the Naming
For the director, then, the simple naming of the play's key
action(s) is the first step in analysis. Once the action is named, one
begins to search to understand:

1. How the characters are joined to the action.

2. How the world of the play is defined to make the
action possible.
3. How the language clarifies and advances the
action.
4. What subordinate actions take place while the
key action is in progress.
5. How the action is brought to its climax.

Note that these discoveries which relate to and grow out of the
action continue into rehearsal and even performance. They can
become terribly complex. In fact, that is our problem. What at first
seems obvious, can be lost in the confusion of detail. What keeps us
centered, establishes the essentials, is the naming of the key action.
When in doubt, return to it. Is it happening? Is it dramatic?
Your job is to see that the actors and all those who work on the
play understand and agree on the key actions of the drama. You
must see that every actor is able to play his/her role in that action
clearly and directly, one might even say easily and inevitably. That
every design element supports that action. That none of the
subordinate actions obscure the key action. In fact, you must see
that every direction you give to anyone who is a collaborator
helping build the world of the play or living in the world of the play
supports the key action.
Yes, it is that simple: Everything you offer to others must be
consistent with the need to make the action happen and have it
become significant. You must continually test all your work against
this absolute. To do this is to have the play occur. To fail to do this
is to fail to create a play which takes place here and now.
At the end of the production if you have named the key action
correctly, and if you can say, "Yes, it happened; and yes, it was
important, all of us there felt that," you will have carried out the
director's fundamental task.

32
 Part One Assignments
Two One-Page Plays
Like so many tasks, directing is learned primarily by doing. We
can talk about it, read about it, but doing it is quite a different
matter. Even very sophisticated and experienced theatre critics have
learned that the hard way. It may seem obvious how we would
handle various directorial tasks until we are faced with the reality.
Then we discover how complex directing even the simplest scene
can become.
The First Assignment
A way to begin that has proven useful in my own classes is for
each student to first write a short play. Then we read one another's
plays, select a few for production, divide up into acting
"companies," each with a director and a couple of actors, rehearse
the scripts for a class period, present the productions, and afterward
talk about the process.
The intent of these first assignments is to emphasize the
importance of udramatic action," and to see how quickly other
demands seem to beg for our attention no matter how determined
we are to make understanding dramatic action our primary focus.
Specifically, here's how to begin:

1. Each person writes a one-page play. Title this first effort

"The Confession." (Note that it's one of the titles for
"Universal Dramatic Actions" from Chapter 4.) Write the
play without stage directions. Have only two people on
stage with one person speaking for virtually the whole
time. Probably he I she is the confessor (although not
necessarily). Have the second person speak only once, at
the end. His/her reply to the "one-who-tells" should be
short, only a very few words, but they need to be strong
enough to justify ending the scene. They are the "curtain
lines."
As you write, look for models. What experiences, what
stories from the news, what events involving people you
know, have seemed important and dramatic to you and
seem to be - at their very core - based on someone' s
confession? As you write, think about the language that
startles us or helps us realize how extraordinary this event

33
The Director's Eye

is. "I never thought I'd hear him admit it," we say. "I
couldn't believe he told me!" "After all those years, she
finally was willing to talk about it." "He looked me right
in the eye and finally said he was the one we were after."
If these confessions really "happen," if they move us, they
will somehow be universal enough that they ring "true."
They will be consistent with what we already know. We
"believe" them. But they will also be unique. "Not quite
what I expected." "Not easy for him to say." "I felt sorry
for him." "I was furious."
Note that the second person becomes very important.
Who is this listener and what effect does the confession
have on that person? Why is the confessor telling it to him
- now? In these short plays we begin to experience that
most scripts are carried by language. Language to be
spoken. We use words as the blueprint for the actors'
fleshing out total human beings. Words can carry the
dramatic action.
Never mind that you have no intention of becoming a
writer. Never mind that writing is difficult. You can write
this brief play if you are willing to remember, if you are
willing to search for models, if you are willing to let
yourself imagine what it would be like to need somebody
to know.
Note what makes it a play: dramatic action. Dialog is not
enough. In fact, the alternation of speakers we often
assume to be at the core of plays is not even essential.
Complex physical action is not enough, it too is not
essential. Even extended character detail is not essential.
But we must believe a confession uhappened" and we
must see how important it is to someone. In short, the key
action is uthe confession" and in order for it to be
dramatic, it must become usignificant." A significant
confession becomes the dramatic action.
2. Play selection. As you read one another's plays, think
what makes some plays more attractive for you to direct
and others less so. Think about this audience and the
likelihood of their responding to the work if
performed. Think about who will be the actors. Some

34
 Two One-Page Plays

plays may seem too difficult to attempt. Some may seem

too obvious. Some may seem clever but not worth the
effort.
3. Rehearsal. Probably rehearsal here will be brief. It is
good to have at least two sessions with some time in
between. Once you have had the initial meeting/ rehearsal
become aware of the work that can be done while each of
you is alone. The most obvious is for lines to be
memorized, but what else? How can you and your actors
get ready to more effectively use the next rehearsal? Props
to be brought? Room to be arranged? What models/
experiences might be considered to help you think about
what is happening in this piece? When you are working,
what is up to the actors and what do we expect the
director to do? Are we waiting for the director to tell the
actors to begin? To repeat? To listen to one another? How
can he/ she really help the actors act? What can he/ she tell
them to build their confidence? To keep them focused? To
get them ready for this first showing? Who's in charge
here? What direction frees us to discover? What direction
makes us wait for someone else to supply the answers?
4. Evaluation. In these early scenes it's important to
remind ourselves we must learn to make use of
feedback. Too often criticism can be destructive. Most
theatre people have a very low opinion of reviewers and
critics. Too often they seem insensitive to the problems at
hand. Too often they fail to understand the intent. Too
often they seem excessively judgmental. As audience
members for one another, start by trying to share with the
director and performers what happened for you during
the scene. Did you listen? Did you care? Did you watch
the silent partner? Did you link this scene to your own
experiences? What do you think we'll remember about
the scene tomorrow? Did the action happen? Did anyone
really confess? Was it important?
In your audience it is likely some will listen and others will
not. Some will believe it happened and some will not. The
director's job is to take in these responses and compare
them with his /her own, discarding the ones which seem
unimportant and keeping those which seem valuable.

35
The Director's Eye

The Second Assignment.

Immediately after this first exercise, my own classes start with
a second one-page play. We use all the above ideas, except this time,
the script is essentially one of physical action. This time we are
emphasizing the rehearsal where there may be few words to
memorize, but where the actors must still invest in the play's action.
This time what is done may be more important than what is said.
Here are the details for this second effort:

1. Each person writes a one-page play using primarily

stage directions. Choose one of the other named
"dramatic actions" from the list in Chapter 4 and use it as
your title. Make that dramatic action nhappen" and make
it significant. This time use three characters on stage.
Think about their relationship to the action. In the obvious
action of "the killing," for example, one might
be the killer, one might be the victim, and the third might
be the witness. In "the rescue," one might be the
endangered, one the messenger and one the savior. Limit
the number of words to be spoken to ten. This helps us
think about the role of the director in clarifying and
making dramatic the physical action. It helps us focus on
the differences among plays.
2. Play Selection: Note that some of these plays may be
difficult to read. Sometimes you can't easily keep all three
characters in your imagined view of the play. Of course
this is true of even great plays. (Have you ever found
yourself reading the third act of a Shakespearean play and
suddenly you are unable to remember who the character
is who is speaking? You turn back to the list of characters
in the front to figure out if this is a "good guy" or a "bad
guy.") As you read be aware that some stage directions
may be helpful in your understanding the intent of the
writer and some may seem arbitrary. Ask yourself, "What
writing carries the essence of the play?"
Ask yourself how significant is the dramatic action of this
play? My own classes often choose powerful events for
the first set of language-based one-page plays and then,
despite my urgings, resort to trivial events for action-
based scripts. Did that happen with the ones you read?
Sometimes we reject plays with significant actions,

36
 Two One-Page Plays

fearing they will be difficult to bring to life, fearing they

will demand too much of our actors. Fearing they aren't
"cool." Be careful of discarding such plays too quickly. If
the script is trivial, it may be easier to realize, but hardly
worth the effort. If you choose to do what at first seems a
trivial script, can you see ways to raise the stakes?
3. Rehearsal: As soon as you get your "company"
together, get the play up on its feet by reading the script
and carrying out the action. Note your goal: to make the
play happen, to make it come out of these characters,
these actors, and not off the page. Even in this short
rehearsal time, you will profit from doing the play again
and again. Each time, try to make it your own. Try to find
ways for the actors to affect one another. One of the
director's jobs is to encourage the cast to experience the
play. "Try it again, this time ... " As we try it again and
again, our actors are encouraged to invest more and more,
to find ways to raise the stakes, to make themselves
vulnerable to the feelings these people might have if this
action happened and was so significant that it changed
their lives.
As a play which depends on physical action, it is probable
that at least some of these pieces will force us to consider
"conventions," that is, implicit agreements between the
audience and the performers that a stick can serve as a
sword, a slice of bread and a bowl of water for a full meal.
As you work, think of "conventions" which may serve the
actors and the play, discarding others which may distract.
To mime a chair, for example, may be interesting, but it
may call attention to the skill of the actor at the expense of
the "dramatic action." One of the director's jobs is to
figure out how to carry out actions which may, at first,
seem too difficult. If the script seemed potentially
dramatic in the reading, you must find a way to stage it
that captures the drama.
4. Evaluation: What physical actions helped us believe
the "dramatic action" happened, and what physical
actions seemed clumsy or contrived, dictated by script or
director rather than growing out of the action of the play?
Did they find conventions which made the playing of the

37
The Director's Eye

scene practical and at the same time believable? When the

action seemed simple were they able to make it
significant? Did you think the characters felt this
experience as intensely as they might if it really
happened? When the scene was completed did the actors
seem to have been affected by it? Was the audience? Were
you?
If they continued working, how could they continue to
raise the stakes?

38
 Part One Summary
Basics: Getting Started
We've considered theatre only to discover we must first look
not at stages nor scenery, not even scripts nor actors, but at
ourselves. That, in fact, our education as directors starts with a
willingness to revisit our own journey. We've acknowledged that
working in the theatre is a very human art. That we know
something about the theatre's core because we have lived. That life
experiences are our most valuable tools for creating theatrical art.
We begin by studying the face in the mirror to see what is ours
to bring to our work. Not as easy as it sounds, actually. Much
easier to pretend to see. To see what we want to be there. To refuse
to look. We must see life around us before we can see to create. We
begin, not by asking "How do we tell the story?" but "What is the
story we have to tell?"
We have said that it is important we tell our own truth. That
everything we create must come from our willingness to witness.
We must not run from our feelings. To be an artist is to make
ourselves vulnerable. "This is how life is," we say with our work.
"This is what we know to be true." Even when we are working with
a clearly fictitious script, we must make every effort to testify to its
validity and the believability of the world, the action and the
characters which grow out of it.
We've begun to experience the role of the director. We're willing
to admit that directors come in many forms, but no matter how they
work or who they are, two things should always be part of their
role: 1. The director must somehow see the play from the inside,
must somehow become a part of the play's world. He must
remember that everybody who works in the theatre must be an
actor. 2. The director must also learn to see with the eye of the
quintessential audience - see the work evolving as the production
is planned and rehearsed and performed. The director must become
the "Audience of One."
We remind ourselves that directors must be human. Not perfect
-human. They need not have all the answers to be good directors.
Often, a wonderfully simple starting place for the director,
beginning or experienced, is: "I don't know. Let's see if we can find
out together."
And finally, as we start, we've tried to put into practice the
knowledge that dramatic action is the absolute core of the theatre.

39
The Director's Eye

Dramatic action separates theatre from the rest of the arts. Action.
Dramatic action. By identifying and naming universal acts as
obvious as "the birth" and "the death," we're able to move
"dramatic action" from a theoretical idea to a practical tool. For the
director, its use is so essential that all directorial decisions can be
tested by comparing them with the named key action. If a decision
can help make the action happen, if it can raise the action's
significance, we know it must be carefully considered. If not, it must
be rejected.
Simple.
Yet, even the elementary assignments of writing, directing and
acting in one-page plays remind us how difficult it is to limit our
concerns to a few basic principles. With actors before us, script in
hand, it gets complicated quickly!
We must remember that all directors sometimes lose sight of the
primacy of the dramatic action. It can happen when things seem to
be going beautifully and we're lulled into a false sense of security. It
can happen when we think we're using every resource we have to
solve demanding, anxiety producing problems. Whatever the
cause, suddenly it's clear the life has dropped out of the play. What
had great promise is dead lifeless! Like a writer who has
forgotten to save his word processing, the screen is blank and we
stare in disbelief.
It's then we must work hardest to return to the key action as the
first and essential focus for the director. It will seldom be too late to
salvage the play, if you take the time to revisit the key action and its
relation to what is going on now. It may be necessary to find a new
way of stating that action; it may be necessary to abandon character
choices or blocking choices, to throw out props or costumes, or most
anything you hold dear. It must begin with your honestly asking the
tough questions: Why don't I believe it is happening and why
doesn't it seem significant?
Remember, to make the action happen and to make it
significant must always be your primary goal. It is an easy goal to
understand, but a deceptively difficult goal to keep in front of you
as you face the quickly multiplying challenges present in producing
any script.

40
Part Two
Rehearsal:
A Time for Experiencing

I.IWe learn best from experiencing. It involves the whole

being. Issues of sharing with an audience, as essential
as they are, should be given our primary attention only
after we are able to experience the play.

I./Much of the director's work is to provide the cast with

the opportunity for experiencing. You cannot give them the
experience. You can only set up conditions where it is
possible, even probable, that it will happen. The director's
primary work will inevitably be indirect."
Overleaf top, Skin of Our Teeth by Thornton Wilder;
right and lower left, Our Town by Thornton Wilder
 Chapter 5
Rehearsal: Entering
the World of the Play
"Curiouser and curiouser! cried Alice"
(she was so much surprised that for the moment
she quite forgot how to speak good English).
"Now I'm opening out like the largest telescope
that ever was! Good-bye feet!"
- Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

How do we make a script ours?

How do we get inside it?
How does the action of the play begin to come from the
actors and not from the abstract lines on a page?
How does it begin to have a life of its own?

Of course we can and do talk about the play together. We name

its action, and we search the script for clues. We see what the
playwright has to tell us about these characters and this world and
how they make the action happen. We try to find commcm models
and we share our experiences and understandings as words can
share them. We may even go together to see places or films or other
events which serve as models.
But very quickly, the actor, the director, everyone involved
learns that analysis is not enough. Even visualization is not enough.
We must experience the play. We can learn a good deal by standing
outside it, by talking about it, by matching it up with other similar
actions - other births or deaths or marriages or judgments, but the
bone deep discovery necessary for bringing it to life can only come
through experience. Just like Alice in Wonderland, you have to be
there to know. We have a simple name for that. The process where
we first learn to experience the play together is called "rehearsal."
Rehearsal: Experiencing and Sharing
We probably cannot say this too often: Too many directors
shortchange the "experiencing" function of rehearsal. Almost
everyone recognizes that rehearsals help us prepare for sharing
with an audience. What we often forget is that, while shaping the

43
The Director's Eye

production for the audience is necessary, first we must insure that

we have something of value to share. We must bring the play to life.
We must experience the play. Even in one-person plays where the
essential interaction is between a single character and the audience,
we must first build the memories the character brings to the event.
Even there, the actor must create a set of inner experiences to be
remembered. Even there, the experience of remembering comes
before sharing.
True, you cannot present even the simplest of scenes for the
most informal audience an audience such as one's classmates in
a directing class without giving attention to sharing. True, even
in scene work, decisions have to be made about simple matters that
will enhance the audience's likelihood of seeing and hearing what
we want them to take in. But our effort here is to put first things first
- and the first rehearsal concern of the beginning director should
be to help the cast enter into the play, to bring the play to life. To
help them experience the play.
Getting Past the Talk
Beginning directors tend to let casts talk too much before they
start acting. During the first several rehearsals, we often protect
ourselves. We're like reluctant would-be swimmers standing
around the pool, hands overhead, working up our courage for the
first dive ... Even if we make a few tentative wades into the shallow
end, we quickly jump back out to the safety of pool side. Tomorrow
- tomorrow we'll really begin.
Once we realize that experiencing is the first goal of rehearsal,
it becomes much clearer. We can only enter into the play by jumping
off the side of the pool and into the water.
Tools for Experiencing
When we start, what provides our entry into the play? Our first
task is to develop the mindset of the play's world. It is the prologue
for all else. What memories, ideas, ways of seeing must be in place
to allow us to live in this world? What simple, deep-rooted habits,
practices, ways of interacting betray us? What makes it clear we are
foreigners, estranged visitors only pretending to be part of the play?
In the chapters which follow, the first concern will be the
development of a mindset which allows each member of the cast to
feel at home in this new world. Without it, we may understand the
play's action, we may even be able to accomplish some of it, but the
discerning observer will recognize we do not belong here.

44
 Rehearsal: Entering the World of the Play

To sustain our involvement in the play, to connect us to the

play's action, whether we follow conservative, traditional practices
or attempt some version of the "latest theatrical exercise," there are
three basic sources for our experiencing:

1. Language
2. Physical action
3. And environment

As the director works, consciously or unconsciously, he

constantly chooses the language, the physical action and the
environment which he hopes will bring his cast into the drama's
world and sustain their discoveries there. Put another way, his basic
message to the actors in every rehearsal is inevitably, "Say these
words and you will be closer to the play. Do these things, and you
will be closer to the play. Be here, in this place, and you will be
closer to the play. In fact, if you say these words and do these things
and are in this place, it should seem difficult to escape the play."
Taking It In
"Difficult to escape the play" and yet it happens all the time.
Actors say words which have become meaningless or were never
meaningful. Actors carry out actions which have no apparent
impact. Actors stand or sit or run in this place, but fail to let
themselves experience being here.
Why? When acting is unbelievable, there are lots of possible
answers, but the one answer which overrides them all is this: What
the actor is doing is not a reaction to the immediate sights and
sounds around him. He is not taking in his environment and
speaking I doing what it makes him need to do. One might go so far
as to say, the best actors are usually the ones who listen and watch
best. The best actors are ones who "take in" what is going on around
them.
Why is this difficult? As essential as rehearsals are, as essential
as it is to memorize words, actions and what comes next, those
very acts can rob the play of its believability.
When actors do or say what they are "supposed to," because
they "have the next line," because "that is how we planned it,"
because "that is what the director wants," because "it is what you
are supposed to feel" - when they do those things, they are like the
artist who draws on the left side of the brain. They are cutting
themselves off from what is before them now by seeing only what

45
The Director's Eye

is supposed to be present. For the would-be artist who is trying to

draw hands, it becomes difficult to shut out what he thinks fingers
are supposed to look like long enough to see what is really present
before him.
If I can draw anything I see, I can also react to anything I take
in. My job becomes clear, I have to have my tools ready. Then I
watch and listen to see which ones are needed. As I watch and
listen, I must allow myself to process what I take in- to experience
it - and then I can begin to use those tools as my experience, my
processing, dictates. Then I can say the words and carry out the
action.
I begin to realize that all my words and physical actions will be
connected to the "now." No matter how many rehearsals, no
matter how much memorization, all must be connected to the
"now" by real listening, real seeing and real processing- now!
For each "now" there will be different states of alertness.
Sometimes we speak instantly when pinched, sometimes we hold
our breaths, walk slowly away and then speak. Sometimes we
remember the last time this happened before we respond,
sometimes we think about what we will do if it happens again
before speaking out, but always, always - quickly or slowly,
deeply or superficially, we take it in.
Reverberations
Once we have taken it in and have given our own response,
there are likely to be reverberations. Something that happens
minutes, maybe even hours or days later, will be different because
we took this in and because we said or did what we did in response.
Too often actors discard moments which can and should continue to
affect you for the next five minutes or even through to the end of the
play. If you took in the "now" and it affected you deeply, that
experience will affect your behavior well beyond the immediate
present. Too often actors start looking for what "else" they can do,
when they need only stay in touch with the aftershocks of what just
happened.
There is great power, then, in what you have the actors say,
what they do and where they are. In each rehearsal, to ask the actors
to say "this," or do "this" or be "here," is to ask them to keep
exploring until they make those words and deeds inevitable ... true
. . . believable . . . theirs! Until each "now" affects them deeply
enough to connect them with both that moment and the moments

46
 Rehearsal: Entering the World of the Play

that follow - be they in the following scene or at the end of the

play.
Rehearsal is the process by which the play finds its own unique
life with this cast, here and now. It is the process by which the play
stops being tied to the page or the playwright and becomes ours.
The Dark Side of Rehearsals
There is another side to rehearsals, however- a dark side.

Rehearsal can also be the process ...

by which the play becomes boring,
by which it is taken for granted,
by which it becomes predictable,
by which it becomes rote,
by which actors go on automatic pilot,
by which we become programmed to repeat our lines,
listening only for cues, our actions expecting only what
has been rehearsed to come next,
by which yesterday's plan robs us of the effects of being
here now.

If you are to avoid the pitfalls of destructive rehearsals, if you

are to connect the actors with the script, if you are to lead them in
experiencing the world of the plaYt you will need to develop skills
for nurturing each play's unique mindset, and you will need to
learn to use language, physical action and environment as tools for
discovery throughout the rehearsal process. Each of the next four
chapters is devoted to one of these tools.

47
 Chapter 6
Mindset: The Key to Entry
Only that day dawns to which we are awake.
-Henry David Thoreau

If an actor is to experience the play he must find its essence,

breathe its air. For the actor, the key to entering into the play's world
is his mindset, how he sees that world, the eyes through which he
looks around him.
The world changes as he perceives it anew.
The challenge is clear: He must enter into the mind of the
character who lives in the world of the play. How does he do that?
Seeing the World Anew
When my daughter was three we lived in a town small enough
that we had no public buildings with elevators. I suppose that fact
had escaped me, for when we traveled to a nearby city to shop, I
provided the usual parental admonitions as I held her hand while
we stepped over the crack separating the elevator's floor from the
rest. "Careful, watch your fingers." The doors closed behind us and
we turned to face them awaiting their reopening. As they slid apart
I felt my daughter freeze beside me. Looking down I saw her wide
eyes taking in this very different second floor and before I could
speak I heard an amazed, tiny voice say, "What happened to the
world, Daddy?" It was said with such absolute wonder I have never
forgotten that moment.
It's a good question. "What happens to the world?" It changes.
Magically. For those of us who know about elevators, we can
quickly explain it isn't so magical after all; we just step onto a
platform, doors close and we move up into the air some twenty feet
to a new level. If you have the mechanical equipment it's simple.
The actor's task is less obviously explained.
A few years ago, Robin Williams and Robert DeNiro starred in
a remarkable film named Awakenings. The story, based on the real
life experiences of a young psychiatrist, tells us about the
awakenings of comatose patients who had been thought
irretrievable. That same doctor, Oliver Saks, has written extensively
of the bizarre behavior of other patients he has known, including
the accounts in a book titled, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.

48
 Mindset: The Key to Entn;

It is filled with astounding stories of patients whose behavior was

normal in many respects but who, through some aberration of the
mind, consistently did things as extraordinary as - yes, actually
mistaking a wife's head for a hat. Reaching out, the husband had
tried to put his wife's head atop his own.
These deviations from normal human behavior remind us how
much we do not know about the workings of the mind. They also
remind us of the mind's possibilities. Like a computer operating on
new software, we can be programmed to see the world anew.
Sometimes it is involuntary - the body malfunctions. Sometimes it
results from "education," sometimes it results from trauma. The
change can be abrupt and startling. It can also involve maturation
over a significant length of time and may proceed nearly unnoticed,
even by ourselves. For all of us, these changes, these new ways of
viewing the world are familiar experiences. Even when we have
forgotten we didn't always see the world as we do now, it is clear
we repeatedly see the world anew.
For the actor, seeing the world anew is an essential part of his
job. For each new role, he must learn to change his fundamental
viewpoints, usually in three to six weeks of rehearsal. It is all too
easy for him to "play at" being in a new world. To "pretend" to
experience the action of the play. To let the views, thoughts, events
affect him at only the most superficial level. It is not enough. He
must see as the character might see. Letting it in until he is, quite
literally, experiencing the play.
He must be there.
He must be "at home" in the play's air, totally comfortable with
its relationships. The expectations of his character and the play's
world must become his expectations. If they change, if there are
violations, he too must ask, like my small daughter, "What
happened to the world?"
We live in the global village - a time when we have been
exposed to an incredible array of life styles and human events. By
far the majority of these exposures are vicarious, secondhand. In
short, we know too much to see anything as totally new or
unfamiliar. We "half forget" we haven't really been to Hong Kong
or haven't actually been involved in a bank holdup or ridden in a
submarine or looked out the window of a spacecraft to see the earth
floating beyond. When we do get there, to that remote country,
when we are suddenly part of that remote experience, we tend to
play out what we have come to assume it will be like, based almost
exclusively on the "instructions" learned via our intellect.

49
The Director's Eye

It is not enough.
Dramatic events invariably challenge the expected. They attack
our complacency. They throw us into a state of shock- sometimes
mild, often severe. They arouse our feelings. Continually. Those
feelings will not be present, in fact we can hardly guess at their
complexity, if we do not begin with a carefully developed mindset.
Only when we have found the right mindset will events have
the importance and urgency demanded by the play. In the play as
in life, it is mindset which can lead us to accept, expect, be
comfortable with, respond out of a collection of deep-rooted
relationships that are a part of our long-standing world. Once a
mindset is present, our bodies register shock when new elements of
significance are introduced into our familiar world. In this sense, we
are repeatedly naive. We live, not really expecting to have to deal
with losing our wallets or our keys or our best friend of a heart
attack. What makes it all the more complex is that we think we are
prepared.
Nothing Is as We Expect It to Be
In an earlier chapter we referred to an idea from Betty Edwards'
popular and influential book, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain.
Simply stated, the assertion here is that most of us draw not what
we see, but what we have been conditioned to see. Our intellect -
the left side of the brain, it suggests - tells us general truths, but to
be there, to actually see life from a single moment in time and space
does not deal in generic generalizations, but only with what
registers at that very heart-beating moment. To draw that,
including all its exceptions, its aberrations, its surprises, is to have
seen with the mind of an artist.
Acting is the same. We must see, feel, touch, the moment with
only what would be in that character's mind, shaped by that
character's world in operation. No forcing, dictating, controlling-
at least not until we can get a taste of the event actually happening
and learn for ourselves how it feels to be there.
Nothing- but nothing- ever feels exactly as we expect it to.
The key to truthfulness is to prepare the mindset, letting our bodies
be conditioned by it. Then the actor walks into the scene and finds
out what happens. To "know" in advance what happens is like
drawing what you expect to see and ignoring what you do see.
The theatre's task is actually much more difficult than the task
of the painter or the one who is drawing. The challenging part for
the actor is that his character's world isn't fully there to be seen at

50
 Mindset: The Key to Entry

any time. He didn't live the full forty-eight years of his character's
life. He's trying to condition his mind to see the world as that
character might, with only a few weeks of rehearsal. He is having to
adopt an incredible array of conditionings which, in real life, would
have built up through the slow, often painful, maturation of years.
The process is so complex, no wonder we often excuse ourselves for
giving up when we have made little headway.
Nonetheless, to perform a play demanding the characters are at
home in a world from the past, from another country, from another
culture, from another set of theatre conventions - in short, to be at
home in almost any play, we must, some place, some time during
the process, stop looking at it from the outside and begin to let
ourselves experience it. Only then can the real actor's work take
place: changing his mindset from his own to the character's.
Preparing the Mindset Essential to the Play
Once the director is sensitive to this process, once he accepts
that this process must be nurtured, he will find an endless array of
tools to encourage the actor. To get into this world, you must be
quick. To enter here, you must be strong. To survive here, you must
be open. Each play's world will have its demands. You can't survive
here unless you leave that baggage behind, unless you bring this
equipment with you, unless you are prepared to endure all this.
Some of the conditioning can be simple. Give the actor time to
do nothing but breathe, look, listen, with the other actors present.
Allow him to experience the touch of his fellow actress as if he is
feeling the touch of his mother. Allow him to hear his name being
spoken by her when he is lying on his back, eyes closed, smoking a
cigarette. Allow him to open the door and come home. To come
home.
Frequently the conditioning begins with simple actions selected
from the script. Sometimes it can begin with relationships, actions,
which the characters would have experienced in the play's world
but which precede the actual events of the script. Sometimes we
turn to actions and experiences of the play's time and place -
Elizabethan England, for example- not necessarily referred to in
the play, but clearly part of the life experience of both the
playwright and his initial audience.
Sometimes we work by elimination. We help the actors create
~indsets where television and computers and flight and even
mdoor plumbing are unheard of. Where baths are not taken
everyday. Where no one cares who is president or king, for kings

51
The Director's Eye

and presidents have no power here.

Sometimes it is enough to share images among the cast by
talking about them. Sometimes we profit from digging out the
picture books. Sometimes we improvise simple actions performed
collectively. Sometimes we choose a particular part of the play and
expand upon it, involve everyone in a parallel to it.
As simple as these tasks sound, a few of them done sensitively
with some quiet side coaching, knowing when to go on to
something else, when to give more time, can provide a surprising
leap into the mindset of the character. Started in the right direction,
these collective pieces open us up to the play's action.
Often, the cast's greatest enemy is the actor who is so certain of
the "truth" of his playing, he refuses to interact with what is
happening now. But act together they must, especially in these
crucial early stages. Should he be more "right" than the others it
will be necessary to stop, take time to puzzle out how to bring the
rest into his world and get it going again. Should he be excessively
conditioned by something outside the play, he can and must be
brought into their world by simply allowing himself to be there.
This may require that he allow his character to be confused and
uncertain, even simple-minded. Never mind that it is clear to all he
should not finish in that state. Getting there is the issue.
Who has not been awakened from a sound sleep, and fuzzy
headed, experienced the slow but certain process of the mind's
arming itself for the task ahead, plowing through shower and
orange juice, sharpening focus as we make our way down the street
to the crucial confrontation. The actor can do the same. Starting by
simply being here, his insight, his view of the world can sharpen as
he learns more about those things that shape him. Each time
through the scene, each "trip" into the world of the play, he
becomes more and more sure of his journey and the tools he needs
to carry it out.
When in doubt, the best base for building the play's experience
is to enter into the rehearsals as open and naive as we can become.
Like an uncertain child on wobbly legs, let each actor toddle into the
fray where his mind can be shaped by what the actors do together
under the influence of the play's words, of the physical action
necessary to accomplish the dramatic events, and of the
environment you provide for rehearsal.
If these influences are not sufficient or are misleading, as
director, stop, find a key element which can redirect the evolution
and start again. Remember, it will usually be enough to find one

52
 Mindset: The Key to Entry

new element. To have music playing quietly perhaps, or to move to

a different space; in fact, it may be enough to eliminate an element
from the rehearsal- something that is taking them out of the play.
The ability of actors to believably interact with one another is
central to our being affected by any play. We must find ways to
develop mindsets which reflect a common world. We must find
ways to "get them on the same page."
Once Ready, Let the Play Come to You
Always, your principal objective is to have the cast, together,
here and now, experience the dramatic action of the play. Nothing
more or nothing less. Whatever you have done to develop the
proper mindset is a prologue to that journey: experiencing the
action. As you proceed, to the degree that certain phrases carry the
action, they should be included. To the degree that certain physical
actions carry the action, they should be included; to the degree that
certain elements in the environment affect the action, they should be
included.
The success of the early rehearsals will probably depend on
your trying several different choices. Don't worry whether each is
the perfect choice so long as the dramatic action begins to catch fire.
Your job is to keep it burning. To see that it eventually occurs in a
sequence close to the script's sequence, that one part of the action
does lead to and affect the next and the next and so on. To get a feel
for the whole early in the rehearsal process can be invaluable. Parts
rehearsed later will be infused from these stored-up shared
memories. Experiencing the play, that's the goal.
Athletes speak of "letting the game come to you." Not forcing.
Not forcing your shots, if you are a basketball player. Not throwing
into a crowd .if you are a football quarterback. Taking what they
give you. Here, the task is to help the actors develop an open mind,
a receptive mind, a mind in harmony with the world of the play.
Then, bring on the words, introduce them to the physical acts, take
them to that special place - and watch. See what happens. No
forcing. See what they begin to experience. How it feels, how they
begin to feel about one another.
Trust that the play will come to you if you and your cast are
ready to enter into it.

53
 Chapter 7
Those Powerful Words
I have a dream that my four little children will one day
live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin
but by the content of their character.
-Martin Luther King, Jr.

George Bush won the presidential election of 1988, but it is not

George Bush's words I remember from that campaign. It's a quite
different speaker. What remains most vivid in my memory is the
night C-SPAN broadcast Jesse Jackson's speech before an eager
audience in a small, southern, Black church. Jackson, as most
readers may know, is a powerful speaker himself and this night was
no exception. His words voiced that audience's own deeply felt
passions and beliefs. He brought the evening to a rousing climax
and I sat there moved by the event I had just witnessed. As usual for
C-SPAN, the aftermath kept the cameras on but with little direction
as the audience mingled, many trying to reach the speaker. We
heard snatches of a number of spontaneous informal conferences as
it became clear there were several people prepared to take
advantage of the national broadcast time C-SPAN had apparently
allotted for the event. A choir stood ready, several local politicians
were clearly eager for the exposure and then, unexpectedly, the
minutes remaining were allotted by Jackson himself in what was
clearly an impromptu decision. He pulled a chair to the speaker's
stand, turned and beckoned. Upon the chair climbed a small
African-American boy who put both hands on the stand and bent
forward to the microphone.
I'm sure there was some brief introduction but whatever it was,
it did not prepare me for what followed. What followed was one of
the most amazing performances I've ever heard by anyone,
whatever the age. To hear this young Black man who appeared to
be only five or six years old deliver Martin Luther King's "I Have a
Dream" with such power, such insight, such sensitivity - I was
stunned. "I have a dream that one day ... " The words could have
been his. From the first to the last - the entire speech. Somehow,
despite his youth, he spoke with such conviction it was clear we
were hearing King's words made part of the very lifeline into the
next generation. How a child of so few years could have absorbed

54
 Those Powerful Words

the long, painful history necessary to bring such words alive, I can
not know. What I do know is what I thought - what I may even
have said aloud, though I was watching alone: "We'd never be the
same. If all over America a hundred young voices were speaking
those words with that kind of power and conviction, this country
would never be the same."
We are speaking here about the power of words. Words spoken
and words heard.
Words and Us
Words can be incredible tools for connection. We are led into the
world of the play, into the characters, into the mood of the play, into
the play's action, by the speaking of the words of the script, that is,
by each of us speaking and hearing the words spoken - speaking
and hearing, by others and by ourselves.
Most of us think first of words as something to be shaped - to
be colored. We know the actor in early rehearsals is reading words
without their being truthful and effective. We try to find ways to
help him make this reading more interesting or powerful. We tell
him how to say his words, we discuss what the words mean, we
wait for the actor's understanding to increase. Sometimes we use
physical exercises or improvised language in the hope of making
the words more effective.
We seldom appreciate that simply saying the words aloud and
listening to others say the words can be helpful in pulling all of us
into the play.

• One way of thinking: We need to shape words, color

them, give them meaning, give them intensity, give
them emphasis, rhythm.

• A more important way of thinking: Words can shape

us - color our performances, give what we are doing
meaning, give our thoughts emphasis or focus, help us
find meaningful rhythms. In short, words can help us
act.

Words can carry the very soul of the play. If we listen - if we

listen, words can transform us - they can become near magic.
Reading vs. Speaking
To appreciate this distinction, it is good to remind ourselves of

55
The Director's Eye

the very real differences between reading aloud and speaking. A

person who does not understand a foreign language can often read
it aloud. We even find that we can "read," at least silently, several
pages of most books, particularly "assigned" pages appropriately
turning each page, only to stop, realizing we don't remember a
thing we've read. Haven't we all said, "Yes, I read the assignment,
but I couldn't keep my mind on it." What in the world do we mean,
if we say ''we read it" and yet none of it was processed?
It is especially important that actors and directors are willing to
admit the ease with which we "read" while our conscious minds are
dealing with something else. Why? Because the actor's repeating
memorized lines can be a frighteningly similar act.
When we speak we do a great deal more than make abstract
sounds. We respond to something, not only with our voices, but
with our faces, our hands, our whole bodies. We reveal, or work to
conceal, how we feel. Speaking usually taps much more of our brain
than reading, usually uses much more of our body. With a few
exceptions, speaking, not reading, is one of the primary jobs of the
actor in performance.
How does the actor get from reading to speaking? The apparent
answer is "memorization." He apparently learns what he is to speak
by first reading it and somehow printing it in his memory, and then
he just "speaks" it. He apparently speaks it and with the director's
help he "doctors" the outcome so it will be "colored" dramatically.
Well, perhaps. While that may be what happens in many cases,
probably in most cases, it is worth examining that process carefully.
Really gifted actors usually make us forget that the words they
speak were first learned from a written page. They rid themselves
of that sense of verbalized written image and replace it with spoken
thoughts. Speaking becomes a part of their total involvement in the
action of the moment.
How can we make practical use of this distinction?
Here is the first question. When you hear words spoken and
words read aloud can you, as a potential director, tell the difference?
If you are to become a good director, you must learn to discriminate
and to use that discrimination. This discrimination must extend to
the difference between words which sound "memorized" and
words "spoken." In "real" life, when you suspect someone is only
parroting another's ideas, ideas which don't seem to ring true for
him, you have doubts. "Who told you to say that?" you might say
to him. You've become suspicious. As a director, you must learn to
stop your actors when their words show these same false signs,

56
 Those Powerful Words

signs that they are spoken because they were learned or planned,
not because they are the inevitable expression of thoughts and
needs.
Sensing the Power of Words
Here's a list of simple phrases. None of these words will be
difficult for you to pronounce or understand. If any of these were
part of a script, you would probably be able to memorize them
quickly and say them aloud "on cue:"

Shhhhhh! Listen! What's that noise?

I don't think I like this.
Is this yours?
Could you come here a minute?

Like much of the dialog in any play it's difficult to say these
words and make them meaningless. But one of the ways we can
reduce or betray their meaning is to concentrate excessively on
"how" we are saying them. In our effort to give them "colorations,"
to associate them with feelings we may not be experiencing, we can
rob words of their power.
For years, early in my rehearsals I have introduced my casts to
the power of connecting with words by asking them to select a
couple of short phrases from a section of the script at hand. If they
have selected phrases which really captured their attention, they
will have little difficulty remembering them. Then I "conduct" a
brief improvisation where each of them speaks one of these
phrases when I point to him or her and snap my fingers. I ask them
not to plan which phrase they will use. I suggest they need to listen
to one another and as they listen, they will learn more phrases
besides the one or two they knew when we started. I suggest the
silence is as important as the speaking.
A remarkable thing begins to happen. Meaning emerges! What
began as a technical exercise- given silence and an opportunity for
processing- finds meaning. The words search out connections. We
do listen to see what "that noise" is. We do look to see what might
be "yours;" we do begin to feel a dislike for the mechanical
pointing. Words spoken take on insistence, our whole beings
connect to one another. Something begins to happen now. There are
connections in the room and the words express those connections.
These seemingly random phrases begin to - dare we say it- make
sense!

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The Director's Eye

As I hear phrases offered, I move back and forth from one to the
other, often asking someone to speak the "line" a second time by
saying, "Again!" as I snap my fingers. Sometimes I return to the
same person several times, asking for more and more intensity by
the way I say, "Again!" Sometimes I increase the length of the
silence between requests so they will listen with me with more and
more interest in the silence and the processing of what just
happened or what is to come. Sometimes I will go from one person
to a second and back to the first, repeating this two person exchange
several times as we all react to an obvious dialog created from two
phrases which may have begun as separate offerings and which
may, in fact, be from two quite separate parts of the original script.
After an initial introduction to this concept, I stop my finger
snapping and allow them freedom to work in the same way on their
own. In most instances, within a day or so, it has become a familiar
rehearsal tool for exploring any section of the play we choose.
Initial Practice Conducting Phrase Improvisation:
Using the phrases from the list on the previous page, try
this exercise with some friends or classmates. One of you
can act as the director, the others as the actors. If you are
an actor, say aloud phrases from the list above when you
are called upon. Don't plan which one you are going to
use. Try to say it spontaneously. Don't worry about how
you say it. Let it be in direct response to something that
precedes you - the way the fingers are snapped, the line
preceding yours, the feeling you have as a result of what
happens in the silence between spoken phrases. Listen!
Respond to what you hear. Watch! Respond to what you
see. Don't be afraid of repeating the same phrase. As the
improvisation progresses and you hear others speak their
lines, add those words to your possible vocabulary. When
your cue comes again, let yourself speak any line you've
heard or any one of those you've memorized without
pausing to make it a conscious choice. See if you can let it
come out "instinctively" from how you feel at the
moment called upon. See if it does somehow "answer"
the line which precedes or does call for something from
someone else who sits among the group. Let words
connect you.
If you are the director and you hear a phrase that sounds
memorized, that lacks spontaneity, that doesn't seem to

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 Those Powerful Words

connect to the speaker or the surrounding things you hear

and see, try again. Keep coming back to the speaker in
different ways -with a longer pause, with more intensity
in your spoken "again," with more suddenness before he
has time to plan his response. Keep going until both you
and the actor can sense the significant change toward the
words "becoming his." Until it no longer sounds like
"memorized-reading-aloud."
As you work, note these essentials:
• How important it is that the actor knows the words
and no longer needs to look at the page. It can't be an
immediate direct response to your cue if he has to first
read from the page.
• How important it is that the phrases are short. To try
too quickly to use too much language means the actor will
have difficulty connecting the words with what he feels,
with his impulse.
• How important it is that there is no established
sequence. He doesn't have to say any one thing next. He
can say whatever he wants as long as it is from our
"dictionary," from our script.
• How important it is that he feels free to repeat the same
phrase until he is no longer self-conscious about "how"
he is saying it. Until he is focused on what he needs us to
hear or do. Think of this connecting with the words as the
equivalent of "batting practice." The speaker can keep
trying until he makes a solid connection between the words
and himself. No matter how many times we call upon him,
he may choose to continue working with the same phrase
until it feels "right," until he gets what he wants.
• How important it is that he uses the silence between
phrases to process what he has heard. As director, listen to
the silences. Sense the emergence of a rhythm in the
improvisation, in great part through your orchestration of
the silences. Note how the silences provide an
opportunity to give meaning to the interaction of phrases
we may have heard. How they allow us to get in touch
with our feelings aroused by new combinations and
sequences.

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The Director's Eye

The Value of Phrase Improvisation

To learn to effectively conduct phrase improvisation will give
you a tool which can be used in countless ways. It is related to the
way we learn language as children. It provides a way of encouraging
meaningful, repeated use of language until we make the words
ours. Unless you are working with consistent, top quality actors,
much of your frustration as a director will come from actors' giving
you colored readings committed to memory. Nearly all actors do it
occasionally, many actors do it often, some do it all the time. It will
have little to do with the "now" inhabited by the other actors and will
often seem in conflict with the actor's own non-verbal behavior.
Make no mistake about it, all scripts give the actors language that at
first seems foreign to their own innate way of expressing
themselves. Each actor must learn to speak in new rhythms, use
new vocabularies, new ways of expressing his relationship to others
and to the world around him. As familiar as he may be with the
archetypal actions, even the universal feelings suggested for the
characters, the words and their rhythms will not all be his innate
way of getting what he wants, his way of responding to this new
world's demands. He will need to make this new language his.
Integrating Phrase Improvisation into Rehearsal
As you begin your rehearsing of a script, here is a way to start
using phrase improvisation:

Define a section of the script from which the cast is to

choose lines. Encourage them to use short phrases which
somehow speak to them. As you work, pointing and
finger-snapping, listen to the play which unfolds. Hear
that this is the play for them at this point. Note that lines
can talk to one another out of sequence. Note that silence
becomes important. Note that the intensity with which
they speak changes as you move more quickly or more
slowly from one to another, as you demand repetitions, as
you have them speak to first one and then another in the
cast. Listen for connections and see if you can lead the cast
to hear the new "playlet" which unfolds.
As they pick up more vocabulary (always demand that
they use only the words from the script) and become
comfortable with the process, you can pull out of the
work and let them do it on their own. Let them repeat on
their own initiative, speaking when someone says

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 Those Powerful Words

something they choose to respond to. Encourage them to

continue to use the silences, not to be concerned if no one
speaks for a while, not be afraid of repetitions, not to be
concerned if two speak at once. Emphasize that they
profit from listening as much as by speaking. You will
hear them begin to make spontaneous connections.
Phrases from different parts of the play will suddenly be
discovered "to speak to one another" They will discover
meaning.
There is freedom in this process. Freedom from the tyranny of
cues. It is no longer necessary to fear not knowing what comes next.
Actors can easily work for a half hour or more using random
phrases from a given scene as they enjoy the opportunity to be here,
together, doing these things, without the urgency of moving on to
the next cue. They are free to use thoughts as they occur. To connect
them with this new vocabulary and to return to it as often as they
like to explore the feelings the words engender.
Used well, this process can be the basis for discovery of
relationships, moods, motivation - in fact, for much of what the
script has to offer. Used well, it can reenforce effective
memorization. Later, it will offer a means of reawakening interest
when the actors have become dulled to the script's surprises. As
actors begin to repeat short exchanges, it provides a means for
discovering rhythms and intensities which might otherwise be lost.
Of course the director must be sensitive to destructive repetitions.
Stop repetitions which seem only to fix mindless soundings. Go to
another variation when repetition seems to be taking you away
from the material instead of into it.
Remember to keep discussion to a minimum. Don't
intellectualize unnecessarily. Be cautious about resorting to your
own language substituted for the playwright's, cautious about
using gibberish or physical actions without words when the
obvious impulse is to speak. Though standard rehearsal devices,
too often gibberish and mime are tools we employ to tell us how to
speak the words of our script, when our real need is to take in the
power of the text.
Words written by the playwright will usually take us to the
drama's core if we let them. Say them and listen. Listen to the
silences. Listen to hear what comes next. Listen to hear how they
connect to one another. How they connect us to one another and to
the world around us.

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The Director's Eye

Extending Language Discoveries Throughout Rehearsals

The most obvious uses of phrase improvisation comes in the
early rehearsals, but it can help at any time. Here are some basic
extensions of the process:

• When working through a scene after lines are

memorized, quietly side coach the actors. When a /jalse
note" occurs, restart them, even if they've spoken only a
few phrases, going back to a pickup point perhaps five or
six times whatever it takes for them to achieve a new
sense of believability. Let the experiencing of the repeated
scene accumulate without comment except for your
cueing. As the scene begins to work for them, allow the
scene to continue through longer sections without
interruption. When you find a suitable stopping place
take them back to begin again to reenforce their success
and to discover a still higher quality of investment.
• When working with longer speeches, encourage the
actor to repeat phrases and short sentences of it at his
own pace. Encourage him to take as much time as he
needs and repeat the line as if in "batting practice" until
he "hits it solidly" before going on - until he connects.
Encourage him to discover the movement impulses
growing from the words becoming stronger forces in his
total action, allowing himself to invest more energy as his
language investment becomes more certain.
• To make the transition from the daily routine into the
rehearsal mode, try warm-ups which allow actors to
work with phrases at random. Have them relax while
they do it, stretching out comfortably in an environment
where they can sense one another's presence even if they
choose to lie with eyes closed. Provide them with
boundaries for the choice of phrases. If the entire script
has been memorized, ask them to use only lines from
specific acts or sections of the play, or ask them to use only
lines which deal with a particular part of the plotline-
whatever you sense they most need to get them started on
the night's work If your early drill work has been
effective they will instinctively choose phrases which
relate to how they feel at the moment. Encourage them
not to "act" (that is, not force some emotional level they

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 Those Powerful Words

believe the scene requires), but to speak out of where they

are "now." Actors who feel unready to begin will start
being drawn into the play by the words they hear and can
build on. Their own choice of words will come not from
what "must" be spoken next, but what they choose to
speak next. They discover they can come into the play
from wherever they are.

Summary
We must help the actor learn that the language of the play is
more than an obstacle: words to be looked up in the dictionary and
memorized. He must discover that language is a significant tool for
experiencing the play. As that begins to happen, as he finds the
playwright's words more and more usefuL he will make them
increasingly his own. His acting will become more believable for us
who watch and listen. Just as we can help a child learn that
language has great power, we must help the actor learn to trust his
discoveries.
Too often we underestimate the difficulty of the task. Children
need patience and time to learn. They need constructive repetitions
where they are free to discover for themselves. Where they are free
to follow their own impulses. Free to use words and take in the
changing responses. Actors need no less. Even experienced actors
will feel the pressure to do well in the company of other actors.
They too need a safe environment where it is acceptable to allow the
experiencing of feelings to grow as they enter into the play a step at
a time. No matter how much you enjoyed his work in auditions,
each actor needs, in one sense, to start again on the first day of
rehearsaL the first day working with the rest of the company. The
actor who is ·preoccupied with the "perfect" line reading on that
first day is an actor whose ego won't easily let him discover the play
that this cast is going to develop together.
Language is a powerful tool for connecting with the play and
with one another. To let language become rote, to keep it from
having immediate meaning, to speak it devoid of real feeling is a
recurring concern in every rehearsal. Finding ways to make
language productive is one of the primary jobs of the director.
Words are powerful. We must learn to speak them simply, speak
them out of whatever it is we feel now, and we must listen. We must
take them in.

63
 Chapter 8
These Things We Do
Loosen the pastry from the board, fold it in half,
lift it, lay the fold across the center of the pan and unfold it ...
You may cut a small square of dough, form it into a ball, dip
it in flour and use it to press the dough down to shape it
against the pan ... Trimmings can be given to the children for
play dough or baked up into bits for d'oeuvre or small pastries.
Ira S. Rombauer and Marion Rombauer Becker, Joy of Cooking

Language is usually the primary tool for beginning the

experiencing of a particular play. Words spoken are nearly always
the most consistent element in different productions of the same
play. We may not do the same things from one production to
another, but we say the same words. So readily do we accept this
dominance of the text, we even refer to Death of a Salesman or
Amadeus as a play whether we are referring to the script we read or
the production we saw in a theatre. We talk to one another about a
play as if we had a common reference when, in fact, one of us may
have almost no idea what it would look like if produced or what it
would feel like to be in an audience experiencing a production of it.
We don't so readily accept this dominance of "words-to-be-
spoken" when we consider the film. Although many film scripts are
available in published form, we seem to be much more deeply
aware that to "know" the film, it is not enough to read the script.
The fact is, our beginning blueprint for the creation of drama is
changing. An actor who is going to play a famous public figure in a
new production will often begin by watching documentary films of
that person. Such films are good reminders that to enter into the
world of the Roosevelts or the Kennedys we will have to learn to do
things which don't come automatically to us. We will need some
time to become comfortable with the physical behavior of that
world.
Physical Action and Our Total Experience
In fact, as important a key as words spoken provide for our
experiencing most plays, physical action can offer what is
sometimes an even more basic means of discovering the play. After
all, everyone who is part of the play's action will be doing

64
 These Things We Do

something if on stage. That something will not always include

speaking.
We have already acknowledged that the dramatic action of the
play is not synonymous with physical action. For example, a
person may be attacked by words spoken as much as by fists or
weapons. But physical actions often move us out of the intellectual,
we find the contradictions between what we say and what we feel.
Once our whole bodies become involved, we tend to get in touch
with a much greater range of experiencing. Today we often speak of
our listening to our hearts and our spirits as well as our minds.
Words can reach us at all these levels, of course, but physical actions
may bypass the intellect much more quickly, demanding that we
match the world of the play with memories of our experiences
which can hardly be articulated. We are reminded that the power of
the theatre lies in the incredible range of human feelings and
experiences we are somehow able to share.
The Training of Athletes as a Model
To begin, it may be helpful to think of the actor as akin to an
athlete. What can we have this actor/ athlete do which will better
prepare him or her for the events he must play out during the
course of the dramatic action? It is obvious that one trains
differently to perform in different sports. To prepare your body to
do well at tennis is not the same as preparing for football or boxing.
To prepare for a chess championship is different from preparing for
a white water raft trip.
Plays demand that the characters perform certain tasks: that
they breathe or walk or observe or defend or relate or push or dance
or hold - or whatever - in some special way. Any script can be
examined to .discover what demands it makes on the actors who
will play its action.
One of the plays I wrote and directed was set on the American
frontier. Each year when I brought new cast members to that script
one of my first goals was to replace their twentieth-century, college-
student aura with a presence suggesting they could handle, without
complaint, demanding physical labor, extremes of weather and
considerable discomfort. This was not a minor transformation for
young middle-class Americans who were accustomed to air
~onditioning and insect repellent. Even after numerous rehearsals
m the nearby woods handling demanding props, some actors were
only beginning to be acceptable as natives of that more rugged
culture. For them it sometimes took most of the ten week run of the

65
The Director's Eye

performances to become part of the play's world.

Stage directions often prescribe specific physical action for a
production. The spoken text will usually suggest more of what the
characters are to do. Barefoot in the Park takes place on the sixth floor
of an apartment building. No elevator. Find out how it feels. Try
walking up carrying loaded suitcases. Butterflies Are Free deals with
a blind person. Keep your eyes shut for a while. For an hour. For
three hours.
At the most elementary level, blocking the play provides us
with many of these actions, provided we use the physical actions
seriously, investing our energies in them to discover how they feel.
Meaningful repetition is the key. It is important not to
underestimate the value of repeatedly putting our bodies through
the tasks until we begin to sense the experience; until our intellects
are no longer telling us how we should feel, but our bodies are
telling us how we do feel.
Physical Action and a Deeper "Knowing"
In many plays, however, necessary physical actions which will
11
force us to feel" are not obvious. Actors will need help getting in
touch with the most effective operations of their bodies in order to
be part of a particular play's dramatic action. Sometimes we are
looking for actions which involve the whole company, helping
prepare them to work in the world of the entire play. Sometimes we
are looking for actions which help an actor experience a particular
scene or even a particular line. Sometimes we are looking for actions
to help an actor understand why his or her character is out of step
with all the others.

We are searching for physical actions which tell the actor:

1. How hard to work, how much energy to invest.
2. How alert he must be.
3. What tools or burdens he must make part of
himself.
4. How he is tied to or free from or dependent on
someone else.
5. How slowly or rapidly he can change courses or
actions.
6. How repetitions affect him.

11
Life tells us that we do not really know" the energy demanded

66
 These Things We Do

of the successful athlete or the migrant worker until we try it. It's
one thing to see others or even more removed, read of others or
see pictures of others it's quite different to be the one in the ring,
or bending again and again in the hot sun. You have to do it to
know.
The director must find actions which help the actor "know." At
their best, these experiences will lead simply and directly into the
actor's role in carrying out the dramatic action of the play, into his
using the language and the staging in a way which would have
been foreign to him or her without the experiences you have
provided.
Combining Physical Action and Language
How do you insure the work will transfer to the final staging of
the play itself? Your most valuable tool is to use the language of the
play while you are carrying out these physical tasks. Particularly, if
you and your cast have become adept at using the play's language
without regard to sequence, allowing for silences and meaningful
repetitions, you will almost always profit from combining physical
tasks with words from the play.
We must be careful of "theatre exercises" as ends in themselves.
Many actors are rightfully wary of "exercise work" which can be
pleasant or stimulating at the time, but seems to have little effect on
the play when we return to a more conventional rehearsal.

If the tasks are well selected and you insist on an

appropriate investment of energy and concentration, the
actor will discover that the work:
1. Takes its own toll or creates its own joy or leads
to ·its own conflicts and
2. Those fatigues or joys or angers affect the whole
person,
3. And the way he or she says lines
and thinks
and see others
and performs the dramatic action.

In short, we almost always seek a more invested experience. We

seek to raise the stakes. We want the action to become a significant
event. We want the actors to discover that to "do" these things
changes the lives of the characters. They can "feel" that. They can

67
The Director's Eye

come to "know" that. They can believe what they are saying is
"true" and important.
The Director as Monitor
As a director it is your job to watch the actor carefull:Yt
evaluating what effect the task is having on him or her. Keep it
going as long as it is productive, change it to bring it more directly
to bear on the script, stop it when it appears to be losing its value.
As you watch you are constantly comparing the action to your
vision of the script. Do these actors become more like the people in
the script as they work or not? Do they seem more prepared to do
the job? To carry out the play's actions? To listen or think as the
characters would think? Does the action become more moving?
Clearer? More significant? More urgent?
Starting with an Appropriate Scale
Often the concept of scale is extremely important. In the
beginning we can alter the scale of the action to make it more
directly affecting. Characters invading one another's space, for
example, may need only to enter the room to achieve a believable
violation in the final production. Here, in the early stages of
rehearsal, we may use physical action to substitute for what may
eventually be a far more subtle psychological action. The simple
task of doing everything excessively close to one another may get at
the irritation and discomfort exchanged between the two figures
more quickly than any actor's effort to suggest the anger or
resentment. Speaking two inches from the other's mouth or ear,
speaking too loudly for comfort, always being a bit above the other
person, always touching or pushing the other person when
speaking or making a point may get the two actors directly
involved in their relationship to one another with an intensity
which sparks the dramatic action of the play.
Repetition is especially valuable in developing long-standing
relationships. Age is often suggested more by how many times we
sense a person has heard these same arguments or performed these
same tasks than by physical appearance. One of the essential
experiences for the actor is to find some way of making the body
perform the task as if it has been done over and over again- except
that on this day in this play it is somehow different. How many
repetitions will it take? There is no one answer to that. However,
you will be surprised by the impact of repetitions of behavior that
carry the weight of a continually evolving relationship. To give five
minutes in every rehearsal of Glass Menagerie to Amanda's trying to

68
 These Things We Do

get Tom up and on his way to work may have a substantial impact
on the believability of both actors' performances.

Continuing the Work Throughout Rehearsals

Efforts to make physical action primary can be used at many
stages in the rehearsal. Sometimes they can be helpful on the first
day of working. Even after weeks of rehearsal, when a scene is not
meaningful or seems too intellectual, bringing it down to
exhausting or effort-filled physical action can suddenly clarify the
forces at work or the energy demanded.
In the midst of difficult technical or dress rehearsals, to run the
play without any blocking, sitting simply on the floor where you
can easily see one another, watching one another's reactions, can get
you back to the play. You have allowed the actor to concentrate on
what's really happening among the characters instead of worrying
about costumes that don't yet feel familiar or sets that aren't quite
what was expected or physical tasks which seem so difficult they
demand more attention than the character would give them.
We are speaking, then, of actions which will be useful at one
stage in rehearsal, but may give way to something quite different as
you move to other concerns. You may change the scale, reduce the
repetitions, look for a totally different kind of action, add another
element to the same action - or any of hundreds of possible
permutations to keep the actors discovering, to keep their
experiencing of the world of the play growing.

These physical actions have at least three different ways

of relating to the total play:
1. They help bring the characters of the script and the
actors together. We begin to see the actor transformed into
the character of the play because he/ she is the person
who does "this." The actor begins to have the character's
power or insight or anger or needs. The tasks performed
have helped the actor experience that, realize that,
discover that.

2. They help bring events of the play to life by connecting

the actors to that which must happen. We begin to see
who is in charge, who initiates it, who keeps it going, who
is the witness and how each feels about it.

69
The Director's Eye

3. They help the actors get a feeling for the play as a

progression. As the actions of the play take us from the
beginning, through the middle, to the end, the actor goes
through these changes. Physical actions help us
experience that "passing through" with our whole bodies.
We get closer to the changes that occur in real life when
we recognize we have just come through a significant
passage.

The Director's Role

Don't overlook the fact that the director plays a key role in this
entire process. He I she is the one who must watch to see that the
connection is being made. Choosing the actions for work is a
creative act depending on your understanding of the script and
your actors. Determining how long to continue the action and when
and how to modify it depends on your observation of the actors as
they work. Poorly selected actions can take the actors away from the
play. Extending unprofitable actions can waste time. The process
demands constant evaluation and adjustment. Expect some of your
efforts to fail. Don't worry about it. Get on with the next idea.
Remember, even if you don't consciously choose to use this
concept, you will be determining what your actors do at any given
time in any rehearsal. To "run" the show is to choose a physical
action. To "sit and read it" is to choose a physical action. To "use our
props" is to choose a physical action.
Summary
What does a director do? Part of the answer: He tells the actors
what words to use now and how to use them. Another part of the
answer: He also tells the actors what to do now. And then he
watches and listens carefully, knowing there is a wide range of
modifications available to keep the discovery going. But he also
knows that to leave the actors alone once the discovery starts may
be the most effective directorial option of all.

70
 Chapter 9
This Incredible Place
Look around you.
Take hold of the things that are here.
Let them talk to you.
- George Washington Carver

We've introduced two of the three basic links between the play
and the actor - language and physical action. In the first case we
suggested if the actor only says "these" words and allows them to
affect him, he will move toward a stronger connection with the play.
Then we added that he will move toward a deeper experience of the
play if he will do these things. Most of the time we can intentionally
use these two tools simultaneously as we seek to make rehearsals a
time of discovery. There is one more basic tool. We can shape the
actor's rehearsal environment so that his involvement in the play,
even his understanding of the play, will increase if he allows himself
to be here in this place at this time.
When we say this we are recognizing we feel different when we
walk in the rain than we do when we walk in the sunshine. We
behave differently when our mother is in the room than when our
best friend is in the room. Even if we want to accomplish the same
task, we go about it differently when we are being watched by a
crowd of strangers than when we are alone. Soft lighting, a small
room, a noisy radio, a speeding car, an uncomfortable chair, the
odor of stale cigarettes in an ashtray - an endless array of details
can and ofteri do make a difference in how we feel and what we do.
As we work with this tool, we are aware the scene designer may
make a significant contribution to the action of the play by creating
a world which effectively works on both the performers and the
audience. But we are interested in using environment as a tool
throughout the rehearsal process. Using it as a tool for discovery.
Even if we had the final setting at the first rehearsal - and we
seldom do - it might not be the only significant environment for
the actors' experiencing of the play.
Environmental Differences
What are the major factors about the environment which affect
us? Of course there are many ways we could examine the play's

71
The Director's Eye

world. Let's look at three as a way of beginning our thinking:

1. Its familiarity
2. Its density
3. Its attractiveness

How New Is It?

First, we are often affected by the newness versus the
familiarity of a particular place. All of us have wished to live in a
particular house or a particular city. We've wanted to live by the sea
or on a mountain top. Sometimes we've had the unexpected
opportunity to fulfill one of those dreams. The new environment
can make us excited or cautious. It can overwhelm us or disgust us.
But its newness will very likely demand our attention. Once there
we slowly discover familiarity can make us comfortable, or make us
bored. It can be enormously satisfying or lead us to fantasizing
about someplace else. Often we find ourselves wishing to return
home - to the comfort we have known most of our lives.
Every day we have reminders of our changing views as we
think about the new and the familiar. These are not fixed
relationships. A speeding car driven on a strange road at night
when the fog is thick demands an enormous amount of alertness.
Drive that same road repeatedly in the daytime in the same car, at
the same speed and you may get there without even remembering
what other cars or people or stores or fields you passed along the
way. So it is with actors and rehearsal places. In fact, we may wear
out the "newness" of an actor's environment just when his
character needs it.
As you rehearse, be sensitive to the impact of your environment
not just for the characters, but on the actors themselves. Does it
become familiar and comforting? Does it need newness to be
stimulating? Is it preparing them for the world the characters will
inhabit during the action of the play? What can I do to make it feel
as new, as intriguing, as mysterious as the world of the drama
would be to the characters? If it is new to the characters, how can I
help the actors see it for the first time? What can I do to make it feel
like "home" if that is what it represents to these characters? How
can the actors learn to "own" this space? Can I move our rehearsal
to a space that provides a key link with the work we need to do
tonight? What can going outside into a park bring us? What
happens if we feel the air, the sunshine, can see the stars in the night
sky? Can I modify our familiar rehearsal space? What if I bring

72
 This Incredible Place

lamps and a rug, if I have our crews improvise props?

How Dense Is It?
A second environmental factor is density. How many things are
present which may attract my attention? Note your response will be
affected by how familiar they are. Your room may be full of
fascinating detail to the stranger who enters, but these papers,
books, lamps, bottles - these thousand and one things collected,
may be old hat to you. Ask yourself, "How may I begin to introduce
these elements into the actor's experiences allowing him to become
familiar with those the character takes for granted and keeping
fresh the ones which the character sees as new and novel?"
As your rehearsals progress, ask yourself, "Where can I take my
cast that they will have enough privacy to work and, at the same
time, be surrounded by people or machinery or the sounds of
children or whatever might affect the characters in the world of the
play? What place can they share which will make such an imprint
on all of them that they will remember the feel of it each time they
perform?"

How Attractive Is This Place?

Finally, we tend to react to our environments by either wanting
to be here or wanting to get away. Sometimes one new element can
change an environment from a pleasant, exciting one to one we can
hardly tolerate: the sound of jackhammers tearing up the street
outside, the noise of new neighbors who seem never to sleep, a
sudden thunderstorm and pouring rain on a day when we had
looked forward to attending the game. Any environment can bore
you or make you feel alert and excited. It can give you pleasure,
making you feel joyful and happy, or make you unsatisfied and
discontented: It can help you feel strong and in control or at the
mercy of someone or something else.
The good news is that we can change it - at least most of the
time. Even to turn out the lights and work sitting near one another
with candles burning may produce an exceptionally valuable
evening. To play soft music in the background, to create your own
subtle house of horrors with simple distant sounds and dim
lighting, to visit a stream and sit on the bank together, to go to a
stark, barren room - even if none of these environments are
present in the final performance - may well have a powerful
impact on the actors, all the more so because they have shared the
experience of that evocative place.

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The Director's Eye

Two Sets of Needs

Remember, in rehearsal we always have two sets of needs. We
need an environment which makes the actor want to work, and we
need an environment which prompts the emotional state of the
characters. If we can meet both these needs, believable acting
consistent with the world of the play becomes infinitely easier to
achieve.
Keep reminding yourself one of the easiest things for you to
change is where you rehearse. Don't assume it is always best to be
on stage or on set or using all the props called for in the play. What
they really need is a careful selection of the characteristics of the
play's world which helps them make the action as believable and
effective as it can be- now. Just as the actor can be overwhelmed
in the beginning by having too many words or too many things to
do, his environment can be filled with more than he can use now. If
it demands too much attention be paid to secondary concerns, if it
is too familiar, if it is uncomfortable or dull or frightening or sterile
or overwhelming, this cast may not be able to create the play -
even their current best version of the play- here and now precisely
because the environment is affecting them and it's a destructive
environment. Change it.
Later, Part Six of the text will explore the director's use of space
in considerable detail. For now it is probably enough to remember
that actors will learn to let the environment help them if you
exercise effective choices. It all begins with your discovery of what
environmental elements make it easier to be here- here in the play.

74
 Chapter 10
Rehearsal Rhythm
For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:

A time to keep and a time to cast away ...

-Ecclesiastics 3:1, 6 KJV

One of the early problems discovered by most scene directors is

an inability to use all the time available. We tend to want to wait
until "next" time to start working: after we have learned all the
lines, after we have studied the characters more, after we have
blocked the scene, after we have read more background. Then, we
will really be able to act.
Harold Clurman was one of our most successful twentieth-
century American theatre directors. His popular textbook on
directing suggests the value of multiple cast readings seated around
a table before beginning to act the play. For the experienced
professional actor, that may be a valuable tool for creating the
background necessary to play the action of the script- in short, for
creating the mindset of the play. For most of today' s young actors,
use it with caution.
My experience is that most actors are energized when they
discover they can bring even a small part of the script to life; when
even a few lines begin to seem "believable;" when they see the
actors opposite them behaving and speaking like the character.
How do you get the actors to act now? Today?
Script Competition
In the early rehearsals, to get the scripts out of their hands is
extremely important. By controlling how much script they focus on
at a time, you can help keep their attention on each other and on the
images in their minds rather than on the page before them. You can
keep them hearing and seeing rather than reading. You can keep
them processing and feeling rather than showing and "performing."
Actors are often afraid to put down the scripts, but very little
quality acting can be carried out with scripts in the actors' hands.
The best line memorization happens when the actors are able to
take in one another and the environment around them at the same

75
The Director's Eye

time they are learning to speak the lines. To identify a short section
of the script to be worked on, to take away the scripts, to work the
section over and over, may do more than allow them to learn the
words. It may allow them to begin learning to interact with one
another.
The Rhythm of Choice
Part of the director's search is for a rehearsal rhythm. When to
read through a scene, when to work on only a part of it, when to
take the books out of actors' hands, when to take the lines out of
sequence, when to run the scene, when to have actors lie on their
backs with eyes closed waiting for a need to speak, when to have
them up and aggressively playing out physical actions. As a
director, you control that rehearsal choice. You establish its rhythm.
You will need to determine the best choices depending on what
you see your actors doing versus what is possible and needed. You
will constantly evaluate where they are, versus where they might
go. You will need to change to guard against boredom; you will
need to sustain to allow for increasingly intense investment. You
will need to change or maintain focus so that at any time you are
working on what is most important in the play's growth now.
You will need to establish a rehearsal rhythm.
A Simple Beginning
Consider this simple alternative: Use your rehearsal time as an
opportunity to have the actors alternate their working alone with
their working together. When working with larger casts you can
often work with one group, then turn your attention to another as
the first continues on their own. In short, at any given point, if it
seems useful, you can have actors study the script, add new lines to
their vocabulary, become comfortable with new props or places, try
on a face, experiment with a voice- work alone. Don't be afraid to
ask them. Often to say, "Work on just those few lines for five
minutes and then we'll get back together," will make a major
difference in the scene.
Rehearsals are often a time to test where we are. Once you
discover that, you can give them an opportunity to work together to
make new discoveries, or to work alone to make new discoveries.
Then you can run the scene or act again to see what happens.
Taking It Apart and Putting It Back Together
One of the most helpful generalities about a play's preparation
is that we are seldom simply "running" the play from beginning to

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 Rehearsal Rhythm

end. Instead, early in rehearsals, we run larger sections (including

the whole play at times) to discover which one of the smaller parts
needs our attention. Once we have worked on smaller units, we run
an act or the whole play to see how the units can come together to
make a whole.
Most directors could profit from using more sustained,
increasingly intense repetitions of shorter scenes. "From the top," is
the familiar simple request a good director gives his cast. Often no
discussion is necessary, just a simple opportunity to try it again.
Each time through the short section of the same material and same
problems there is a building demand for confidence and certainty.
Like the batter during batting practice, the opportunity to adjust the
"feel" of it gradually turns foul balls into hits over the fence -
consistent hits over the fence.
To repeat short, difficult scenes eight, ten or even more times
with almost no discussion will often produce results so dramatic
some will wonder why it is not done with every scene. The simple
answers are one, there probably isn't time, and two, not every scene
will require such intense repetitions, for as a key scene grows into
this tighter, more intense, more truthful action, it has the possibility
of significantly affecting other scenes which precede or follow.
Knowing which scenes to give this "batting practice," becomes part
of the director's learned skills - learned through experience.
Time is precious. And actors come with expectations. So you
may have difficulty gaining trust from everyone if you aren't
working on what some think they need to be doing at a given time.
In any large cast those differences in expectations mean you won't
always meet everyone's assumed needs. All the more reason why
most directors could probably profit from more frequently
changing the rehearsal task.
The Special Challenge of the Text
As you begin your work, don't overlook the obvious: Scripts are
made up largely of words which the actors must memorize. Actors
all know this. They also will be willing to admit they need to know
what the words mean. But neither memorization nor dictionary
definitions insure that the language becomes the actors' own best
way of expressing what the characters want. Don't underestimate
the time it takes to make the play's language the actors' own.
Remember our discussions from Chapter 7: The language itself
will help you if you listen. Be careful of feigned emotional
investment. Stop it early. Encourage them to act out of what they

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The Director's Eye

feel now. Encourage actors to speak and listen. Use repetition, use
brief periods of study and then return to their speaking without the
scripts in front of them. Almost always, actors will need to be
encouraged to let the silences work for them.
Frequently, the best tool for making silences work in the early
rehearsals is to ask them to use only the language from a short
section, ignoring sequence and using a line as often and as many
times as they wish. Encouraging them to be unafraid of the silence
can make possible their beginning to think as the character might in
this place with these fellow characters. It can help break the
preoccupation with listening for cues and worrying about "my next
line." It can help them begin to own the play.
Summary
As you carry out your early rehearsals remind yourself you are
constantly choosing whether to have actors work together or alone,
whether to run sustained scenes or repeat short sections, whether to
work with one set of physical actions or shift to new demands,
whether to work in a fixed environment or change the place,
whether to use the language of the play without regard for sequence
or emphasize its progression.
With all these choices seldom should we be the victims of
boredom. As part of your work observe the results from both
sustaining and changing your rehearsal activities.Your development
as a director will depend, in great part, on your becoming
increasingly sensitive to the right time to exercise change and
refocus the cast's experience and the right time to sustain and
increase the investment.

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 Part Two Assignments
Pinter Sketches
Preliminary Exercise: Portrait Drawing
Early in our work, it should be clear we don't all see things
alike. The basic truth of that will remain no matter what we do. But
there is a change that many of us can make in how we try to see. The
idea of that change is implied in Betty Edwards' popular book,
Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. We can begin to see things as
our senses tell us they are, rather than confusing them with what we
have been taught they will be.

To help us appreciate this, pair up with a partner (in a

large group such as my own class, there will be several
teams). Start by one of the pair being the model and the
other the artist. Take three minutes to quickly sketch the
face of the person. Put the artist's name at the bottom and
the model's name at the top.
Switch roles and observing another three minute time
limit, have the "new" artist draw the second portrait.
When you finish give the pictures to the subjects and for
a few minutes produce a "Walking Gallery" by moving
about the room with the pictures held to the chests of the
subjects so that everyone has an opportunity to compare
the real faces with the drawings held below.
When you have finished, consider these questions:
• How well have you drawn?
• How have your drawing skills changed since you
were in the second or third grade?
• Why can't we draw better?
• Is it because we have difficulty holding the
pencil or pen?

Our educational systems have placed great emphasis on our

reading and writing deficiencies. We are quick to admit our
collective shortcomings in mathematics and science. I hear very
~ittle talk among the general public about our inability to see. Isn't
It possible this is a quite serious shortcoming if our drawings - our

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The Director's Eye

seeing- haven't significantly improved since we were seven or

eight?
Betty Edwards' book reminds us we are constantly at war. We
repeatedly match what our senses tell us is present against what is
supposed to be present - against what we have been taught to see.
It takes enormous effort to set aside what we "know" and replace it
with what we see now. Egyptian art reminds us it is much easier to
draw a face in profile but to place the front view of the eye
alongside the profile of a nose. It is very difficult to draw a pointing
finger viewed head on - easy to draw one from the side. Drawing
faces, most of us quickly surrender our right to see and instead
draw our stored "knowing." We come up with the "easy" answers.
Then we are surprised and annoyed that the drawings have little
resemblance to the person we see before us.
For the artist with a pencil, a change in the "seeing habits" can
have amazing results. Illustrations from Betty Edwards' book show
dramatic improvement from her drawing students in only a few
weeks. It's so remarkable, in fact, it is difficult to imagine why any of
us would not want to invest the few hours necessary to see better.

Questions:
What is the parallel for the actor?
In the theatre do we often see performers playing "how
we are supposed to react" instead of responding to the
events and characters around them now?
Do we see actors playing how the characters are
"supposed to feel," rather than trusting the honest
feelings which result from taking in the world of the play?

"The key to learning to draw ... is to set up conditions

that cause you to make a mental shift to a different mode
of information processing - the slightly altered state of
consciousness - that enables you to see well."
Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain

Directing/Acting Assignment - Pinter Sketches

As you work on the following theatrical assignment, remember
the director's job is to see and to help the actors see. As director,
help them develop mindsets necessary to live in the world of the

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 Pinter Sketches

play. Watch to see that actors respond to the words, the physical
action and the environment that is present - that they respond to
the "here and now." As a director, it is your job to see that they
"draw" what is before them. Keep working with the language, the
physical action and the environment until they let in those elements
which can believably shape the world of the play.

Script Choice
Start your explorations of the rehearsal process, by
working with simple, but complete plays. An excellent
possibility is the Pinter Sketch. Harold Pinter is a major
British playwright who began as an actor. Early in his
writing career he produced a number of short plays which
have been published as Pinter Sketches. Each is only
about four pages long. Written originally as acting
exercises, they provide quality, early directing challenges.
Well done, a group of them can be presented for the
public with excellent responses. Two that I have used with
classes are Black and White and The Last To Go. Each has a
cast of two people and with minor changes can be played
by either gender.

My own practice is to have the entire class divided into

production units of three, each with a director and two actors.
Usually we will have three different presentations of each of the two
plays. I find there are advantages in students' being able to see
others' efforts to produce the same script.
These plays are about street people. Start by recognizing that
we all have had some exposure to people who have no place they
must go. No one is expecting them. They may not have a home. At
first it may seem like very little is happening in these scenes, but
perhaps the needs are greater than is obvious. Under what
circumstances might these simple actions become significant? How
can we raise the stakes for these characters without changing the
action? Do you have experiences from your memories where
actions such as these were so important you remember them still?
Think about possible ways to name the dramatic action.
In Black and White we have two women with a lot of spare time.
They talk about the all night bus. What's the title, "Black and White"
about? The women are clearly competitive. Models? Ever run into
someone who can't resist telling you, "You're in the wrong line, you

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The Director's Eye

should be waiting over there"? How would you name the action in
this scene? What does your naming imply for the language, the
action and the environment?
Has anything like The Last to Go ever happened to you? Ever
had a party where people won't go home? Ever want to say, "Get
out of here, I have to get some work done yet tonight"? If it is about
that, how might you state the action? Remember, what you tell the
actors, how you use the space, what props or costumes you use,
must somehow make that action more believable, more honest,
more significant.

A Special Note: Always when we begin our directing

work, it is tempting to set aside the action implicit in the
play and substitute our own. We sometimes do that to be
clever, sometimes to show we think the original boring or
unrelated to our own or the audience's interests. While
these are valid artist's viewpoints, resist the changing of
action here. When you begin work as a director it is
important to learn to find a strong dramatic action
statement for proven plays, then, to become proficient at
making that action effective. Once you are confident you
can make the action happen and make it significant, you
can move on to decide when you need to create your own
version of a given scene.
Rehearsal
Words are very important to Pinter. These scenes should
give you an opportunity to comfortably practice phrase
improvisation. To rehearse the language without being
excessively concerned with sequence and with cues. In
fact, many of these lines can be spoken more than once
and the scene will still be believable. As you rehearse, try
letting the actors eat their soup or sip their tea and be
there. Let them talk when they need to, be silent when
that feels best, repeat their lines as often as they choose.
Remember it takes time to make the words and language
ours.
Note that silence becomes as important as the words.
Silence isn't necessarily dull. Pinter's writing is famous
for its use of the "pause." Don't let these pauses be
mechanical dictates by the director. Help the actors find

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 Pinter Sketches

the rhythm of the scene. Help them discover that pauses

are inevitable parts of the scene's progression.
Get the scripts out of your actors' hands early by focusing
on only a small portion of the scene at a time. Alternate
your running from the beginning to the end of the scene
with a block of time when you let the actors repeat lines
as many times as they want. See if you can make use of
changes in the rehearsal to set up a productive rehearsal
rhythm.
Provide the scene with props and costumes that make it
easier to be in the play. Use your experiences to find
models that will guide you.
Organize your space. Create an environment which helps
the actors discover. As you approach time for showing
your work to the class, select viewpoints for the audience
which will help them not only see and hear well, but feel
more emotionally connected to the scene. Should they sit
on the floor? Should they surround the action?
Of Special Importance: Much of this early scene work will
profit from the scene's being presented in simple spaces
that are not theatres. Avoiding conventional stages and
auditoriums will help keep the focus on our watching the
actors experience the play. The viewpoints made familiar
to us by the camera's eye may be useful in protecting us
from excessive concern with actor-audience conventions
as we concentrate on trying to bring the characters and
the play's action to life.
Evaluation
Even with limited rehearsal of only three or four hours,
these scenes can become believable. Watch for the
characters' interaction. Which scenes were most effective
in the actors' listening and reacting to one another?
Which actors were most effective in making the words
seem to come from the characters? When did the silences
seem to add to the scene? Did the physical action in some
of the scenes seem as important as the words? Did it
remind you of people you've seen? Were you moved by
any of the images you saw or heard? Will you remember
any of these performances next week?

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The Director's Eye

If your scenes are successful it will help you learn to trust that
believable people doing simple things can be interesting. Learn to
work out of your experiences. Learn how to make words yours.
Learn to trust that the good script will lead you into the world of the
play ifyou do it simply and with commitment. Learn that physical
action can help focus the whole person. Learn to take in what is
present around you.
For much of this work, the best directors will guide the actors
by selecting what they do, then get out of the way. They will watch
as the actors work, ask them to do it again or go on. They will
reenforce the actors' best efforts and briefly call to their attention
places where they need to work harder to see or hear what is really
there, really part of the scene.
How successful was your group in making the rehearsal a time
for experiencing the play? Did it seem to pay off in performing
results when you saw the final product? What would you continue
to work on if rehearsals were to resume?

84
 Part Two Summary
Rehearsal: A Time for Experiencing
The six chapters making up Part Two return repeatedly to a
simple concept, the first function of rehearsals is to help the actors
experience the play. The importance of this idea is suggested in the
questions we asked at the Part's beginning:

How do we make a script ours?

How do we get inside it?
How does the action of the play begin to come from the
actors and not from the abstract lines on a page?
How does it begin to have a life of its own?

The answers to all those questions come from rehearsals.

Creatively conducted, such rehearsals help us make the script ours,
help the actors get inside its world, help make it possible for the
action to come from the actors. Through rehearsal the play begins to
have this life of its own this unique life with this cast, taking
place here - now.
In this Part Two we were reminded that our most profound
knowing comes from invested experiences. It is one thing to have
discussed the play, to have thought about or imagined how the play
comes alive, it is something quite different to play the actions,
commit to the characters, speak their words, carry out their acts,
and live in their world.
Even with the most brilliant cast, the director must learn it is not
enough to decide how to do the play. He must appreciate that time
and maturation are necessary for a cast to discover and experience
the subtleties of action, the depth of emotions and the complexity of
relationships of a play. Even if all the actors are highly skilled and
imaginative, they must have the opportunity to share the play's
experience together. They must be given the opportunity to
discover the unique interactions which can only develop from
working with one another.
The director's job is to constantly monitor this new world being
experienced in the recreation before him comparing that world with
the script's potential. He must validate and encourage those actions
which become believable and significant and discourage those

85
The Director's Eye

which do not.
It is easy to underestimate the difficulty of the task. Why?
Because repetition, the very act which makes us familiar with and
comfortable in the world of the play, can also become our enemy.
Too often actors listen for cues rather than take in the sights and
sounds which surround them. Too often they are in touch with what
they are programmed to say, long before the characters have a need
to say it. Too often they withhold their most sensitive interactions,
relying on habits developed in yesterday's rehearsal.
Each cast member must be led in developing a mindset suited
to the world of the play. He must not only learn the specifics which
may be part of the play's world, part of his character's knowledge
and history, but he must find ways to escape from those personal
habits and practices inappropriate to the character and the play.
Most of the director's best work will be indirect. Consciously or
unconsciously, he will have a significant effect upon the actor's
ability to discover and experience by the way he leads the actor to
use language, physical action and environment. Even if he
unthinkingly follows only the most obvious rehearsal models, in
every rehearsal he will choose again and again which words will be
used, what physical action the cast will carry out, and the
environment in which it all happens.
We are reminded that too often directors and casts enjoy
"exercise work" only to find the "real rehearsals" profit little from
the time we've taken to work away from the script. Instead, we've
urged the director to see the possibility for an endless variety of
ways he may have the cast use language, physical action and
environment as an integral part of the script's rehearsal. He is
reminded that one choice will seldom bring the results needed, but
he must see and modify, see and modify until the desired
believability and significance begin to emerge.
Over and over again we apply these principles to our rehearsal
work:

1. We learn best from experience. It involves the whole

being. Issues of sharing with an audience, as essential as
they are, should be given our primary attention only after
we are able to experience the play.
2. Much of the director's work is to provide the cast with
the opportunity for experiencing. You cannot give them
the experience. You can only set up conditions where it is

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 Rehearsal: A Time for Experiencing

possible, even probable, that it will happen. The director's

primary work will inevitably be indirect.
3. In the effort to explore, destructive repetition can be a
threat at any time. Learning to develop rehearsal rhythm
is one of the keys to success. Giving them an opportunity
to work alone alternated with time together, to work on
short scenes alternated with longer ones, to emphasize
words alternated with emphasizing actions, to emphasize
continuity alternated with open time and little
preoccupation with what comes next.
4. We must remember there is no substitute for seeing: We
watch, we see - see what is in the script, see what the
actors are doing before us and see where we want to go.
We start our work, see what is happening, and then we
modify. We tinker to see if it gets us where we want to be.
Simple. And yet as logical as much of this appears, the short
plays we attempted as rehearsal exercises probably had mixed
results. There, in our own efforts and the efforts of others, it was
easy to see the obvious paradox: For many, the more acting
experience they've had, the more difficult it was to follow these
simple ideas. There is unlearning most of us must do. It will not be
easy.
For some it will be difficult to get the scripts out of their hands.
For some it will be difficult to work on lines without being
preoccupied with cues. For some it will be difficult to use physical
actions and environments which will not be present in the final
performance. Fear has been at work for many experienced actors.
Fear of forgetting lines. Fear of audience's response. Fear we won't
feel it enough. Fear we won't get it right today.
Those fears often lead to ways of working which produce
mindless habits. If we are secure in our habits, our automatic pilots,
we think we can forget those fears. We develop habits to protect
ourselves. We think we no longer need thoughtful reflection and
deep feeling.
The challenges issued here will continue to confront the young
director in the work which follows. You are engaged in a process
which challenges habits, which asks for a more mindful
exploration, a deeper experiencing, a richer discovery of the play
than many actors will have previously undertaken. As you and
your fellow workers experience more believable and significant

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The Director's Eye

moments, mark them well. You will need these reminders of felt
truth to spur your continuing exploration of the directing process.
Ultimately, you must see and feel the difference and so must your
cast. The only way they will know if what you ask of them is worth
the investment is to experience the difference. Each time you go into
rehearsal, that is your challenge.

88
Part Three
Analyzing the Script:
Blueprint for Rehearsal

"In the beginning ... images are the play. Incomplete or

not, intended or not, they are where we start. More
importantly, they lead to connections. They demand
exploration and organization. They lead us to the creation of
blueprints. Maps for discovering.

"To keep you in touch with the play's progression,

to help you remember the sequence of events, to aid
in your initial understanding of the play's score, a Unit
Breakdown Sheet is invaluable. It becomes a reference tool
throughout the rehearsal period, providing support as you
deal with both the practical issues of scheduling and the
aesthetic issues of understanding and shaping."
Overleaf: Photos of Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett
Chapter 11
Analysis, Discovery and Images
What is demanded of man is not,
as some existential philosophers teach,
to endure the meaninglessness of life;
but rather to bear his incapacity to grasp its unconditional
meaningfulness in rational terms.
-Victor Frankie, Man's Search for Meaning

Analysis. What are the questions we need to ask? Of course

there are the obvious ones: What's in here? What gives it meaning?
How does it work? But more specifically, as directors about to begin
rehearsal, we ask, "What do we need to know to become part of this
play's world? What's in the script we can use to bring the
production to life? What's in here that will help us make the
experience significant, first for our actors and ultimately for our
audience?"
As you develop new tools for understanding plays, remember
to value what you bring to the process. Here's an absolute worth
remembering: A play's analysis is meaningful only to the degree
that it reflects you and your cast's understanding of life.
No one can give that insight to you.
Plays reflect life and life is not always logical. Many plays are
successful because they don't advance in the most obvious linear
way. They don't seem to be controlled by logic. Instinct plays a
dominant role. Chance and accident abound.
In our role as "good theatre students" we sometimes learn stock
questions which we assume are relevant to all scripts. We do our
homework. We develop answers. We make choices - sometimes
arbitrary choices. When we know the answer we're looking for,
that's the answer we'll probably find. But have we discovered the
play's innermost secrets?
We must be careful.
Unlike mathematics, there are few wrong answers in our
search- but there certainly can be answers which aren't helpful,
at least for now.
Too often we find answers which distract us from the more
essential. We find answers which keep us from searching further.
Such work doesn't offer us the strongest connections with one

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The Director's Eye

another, actor to script, actor to actor, actor to audience. Such

answers lull us into a false sense of security. We believe we have
done all we can. Too often we find solutions for our current effort,
but when examined closely they contradict what happens in the
play's beginning or in actions which follow.
How many hundreds of times have I walked into a rehearsal
and watched a director exhaust his cast by insisting they use an idea
which simply wasn't helping? It was the only answer he had- or
at least was willing to consider. Never mind that it was draining the
life out of the actors, somehow it had become an absolute.
In our exploration of tactics for analysis it's important to
remember the need for patience and consistency - there are few
quick answers. Whatever works in scene three must also be
meaningful in scene seven. Much of analysis is like a detective
novel. You'll be engaged in a continuing process of discovery. The
best answers aren't going to be clear until you finish. The best
analysis, like the best creation, evolves.
Basic Analysis
As we start to question, the most practical advice is "Keep it
basic." Start with essentials and go back to essentials. Go back to
essentials again and again. What are they? You remember. We
started with dramatic action:

... the simple naming of the play's key dramatic

action(s) is the first step in analysis.

And, of course, our first effort to name it will seldom be our

most productive effort. So, we must examine that naming again and
again until we see that it produces believable and significant action
when we play it. Until we see the effects before us. Until we begin
to see meaningful and productive answers to all these questions:

1. How are the characters joined to that action? In

each scene why is each character there?
2. How is the world of the play defined to make the
action possible? How are the moods supporting
the changing action developed?
3. How does the language clarify and advance the
action? What do the characters really say and
why do they say it like that?
4. What subordinate actions take place while the

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 Analysis, Discovery and Images

key action is in progress? How do they affect the

key action?
5. How is the action brought to its climax? What
makes it urgent?

There is a lot of detective work to be done as we explore these

questions. If you can't connect all the characters to the action, for
example, you probably haven't found the best statement of the
action. If a subordinate action doesn't contribute to the changing
mood supporting the key action, maybe we need to see that
subordinate action differently. Maybe it's much more comic than we
thought. And what about the "world of the play"? Not all kitchens
are alike. What makes this particular "kitchen" so supportive of the
action?
The fact is, even simple basics become complex as we tackle any
well written play. Why? Because many of the most useful
discoveries are far from obvious on first reading. In fact, much of
what you need to know is almost impossible to see until your cast
begins to play it out before you.
A Map for Discovery
Despite this complexity, despite the need for patience, your best
guesses about these basics do play a vital role in your conduct of
rehearsals. You do need to undertake a pre-rehearsal analysis, as
incomplete and subject to change as it will inevitably be. Think of it
as preparing for a treasure hunt. The amount of time you plan to
spend on various parts of the play, the kinds of rehearsals you hold,
the members of the cast you bring together at a given time - all the
decisions you make about the conduct of your rehearsals - will be
based on your best guesses about where to look and how to work to
uncover the riches of the play.
This is a curious map we are creating. One of the recurring
sources of insight will be the rehearsal struggles of the cast where
their failures can cause the director to see important elements
in the script he had given little attention before. Some of our
understanding will change as we go. Some of it will never be
written down.
It should not be surprising that what directors consider a "basic
pre-rehearsal analysis" will differ. In my own case, it differs from
production to production. Yet, there are certain things I believe so
fundamental I can no longer imagine beginning any work without
carrying them out as carefully as time and circumstances allow.

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The Director's Eye

Image Building is the starting place, coming even before we begin

our search for dramatic action. We'll look at it as we continue this
chapter. The Rehearsal Unit, Scoring, and developing the Concept
Statement will be discussed in the chapters which follow.
Remember, we are creating the blueprint which will help us
conduct productive, valuable rehearsals with our cast and
meaningful, provocative interactions with our designers and
support staff. We are not interested in writing analyses for their own
sake. We are only interested in what works. What do we need to do
to help us connect the script with our collaborators?
Discovering, Not Analyzing
As you begin your work on a longer play, be patient. Scripts are
more difficult to read than you may think. When we see a painting
hanging in a museum we may miss some of it, but at least it's all
before us. Scripts are different.
Unlike the short plays we have been working with until now,
your first contacts with most plays will inevitably be fragmentary. It
is difficult to see the whole as we read its pages. Imagine cutting a
full length script apart and taping all the pages on the walls around
you. Where could you stand where you could see it all well enough
to read any words you chose? Where you could instantly see how
any part of it relates to the entire play? When you read a script, you
will turn all the pages but much of that "reading" will be superficial
at best. When you finish there is a great deal you won't have given
your focused attention and you won't remember much about. It
takes a lot of return visits to be familiar with all the "hidden pages"
in a play.
In this early exploration of a script, it's probably more useful to
11
speak of discovering" rather than "analyzing." True, others may
need you to carry out a certain amount of reliable counting and
sorting: How many characters are there in the kitchen scene, and
what physical props are called for in the text? When does the
telephone first ring, and do we see who's at the door before it opens
or don't we? These lists cannot be overlooked and the designers and
crew heads will want to know if your count is the same as theirs and
if you really are, in fact, going to have the actors carve a twenty
pound turkey every night. Some of these seemingly routine facts
will lead to other, more important discoveries and some will not.
The point to remember is that a play has a lot of layers just as real
people and real events do. Even relatively simple scripts have these
layers, because they are symbols - poetic symbols if you will -

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 Analysis, Discoven; and Images

connecting the more obvious to an almost endless maze of roots

hidden beneath the surface.
Remind yourself as you begin, your primary job is to be open to
the experience, even while reading. To be too preoccupied with
counting or searching for climaxes is a little like visiting an exotic
city and taking in only the street signs because you fear getting lost.
You will have been to Budapest but have no sense of what is really
there.
The Subjectivity of Our Discoveries
As you approach this "discovery process," think of your real-
life practices in getting to know people. How long did it take you to
discover what your roommate or teacher or uncle was really like
and how many times did that change radically just when you
thought you knew all there was to discover?
The best directors are probably the most perceptive in
understanding people wherever they meet them, in the theatre or
out. Don't be too smug nor too severe with yourself as you carry out
this process. You are engaged in a search based on your experience.
You will read and reread the text. You will watch your actors
working with words and actions. You will suddenly connect the
play to what happened in your childhood or to the lady with the
two babies and a dog in the slow moving Toyota changing lanes in
front of you. You will wake up in the middle of the night, grab a
pencil and jot down a connection suddenly clear to you, knowing it
must somehow be understood at tori:wrrow' s rehearsal if the lead is
ever to make the final line of the act work.
The fact is, there are no routine and obvious plays. At least there
are no good ones that are routine and obvious. If you aren't
challenged each time you go at it, it probably isn't worth doing. No
one, but no one, will ever have dealt with the play exactly as you
and your cast are doing. It is highly personal work.
To bring the play to life in a significant way, you will have to
take very seriously the need to attend. For all our education we are
still pretty primitive in understanding how we come to sense what
we believe. We often come to love someone despite, not because of
all the things we "have learned" about them. Probably this is
because we have an array of tools for experiencing life that is so
complex we can hardly speak of them. Much of what we "know"
and what we "feel" we can't write down. Yet, we have come to
recognize that these strong loves, or hates, or this strong sense of
wonderful joy or absurd tragedy is exactly what we remember best

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The Director's Eye

and value most about life. These insights, these discoveries are just
that: loves or inventions that come upon us in their own due time.
We can only lay the groundwork and make ourselves vulnerable to
experiencing the play.
Collecting Images
Well - how does one begin creating this blueprint for
discovery? First, trust your instincts. Read the play and reread it. As
you read, use a marker to highlight the most interesting phrases.
Each time through make the simplest of notes. Things that jump out
at you as you read. When you finish and close your book, again note
what you remember. Don't be too organized about it in the
beginning. Know that sometimes we remember little things because
they catch our imagination, not because they fit neatly into some
logical system. Don't be afraid to admit that after the first reading
the thing you remember best about Skin of Our Teeth is, "Sabina, you
let the fire go out!"
In short, collect your first impressions. Use the play's language
as often as you can. Your own words and ideas will be important
but don't underestimate the power of selected images from the
script itself - a phrase, a simple sentence which reverberates like
the images from a poem. Trust them. (Remember our use of
language as a tool for rehearsal in Part Two?)
Organization will come as you listen and watch how these
images - gathered in a notebook, spoken by you, repeated by your
cast comment on one another. These short phrases, these bits of
stage directions, these "dramatic words" are the "sound bites" of
your play. Your preferences will change as you continue your
investigation. New combinations will emerge. New orders of
importance. New moods. But like the video clips on the evening
news, these images are noted now, noted first, because they get you
involved. They stop you. They demand your attention. They bring
the play, no matter how small the fragment, off the page and into
the here and now.
Accept that in the beginning, for you and your cast, recognized
or not, intended or not, scattered images will be the play. Oh, we
can make pronouncements about it. We can think we know. But in
that effort to get inside the world of the play we connect where we
can. We see when we are awake to see. We hear what is strong
enough to bring us in.

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 Analysis, DiscovenJ and Images

Images Lead to Connections

Images. That will be it. Incomplete. Not very logical. But as you
begin the work, these fragments are all there is. If the images are
vivid, if they are filled, if they arouse our feelings - if we use them,
they will lead us in our search for connections. We will demand to
know how they go with one another, what else will flesh them out.
There is an important general rule implied here. Instead of
reading to discover the theme, instead of reading to choose things
which might be on the test, instead of laying a template over the
script and filling in the blanks, let the play begin to tell you how to
organize your discoveries.
It begins with images.
As scattered and incomplete as your early images may be, they
are your first blocks for building. They will have a surprising ability
to pull you into the play. Like a child who is just learning to talk, one
of your jobs is to find what can be accomplished with this early
handful of powerful images. They can be useful in leading you to a
more complete, more thorough analysis of the play's structure.
They can be invaluable in helping the cast make their initial bid for
ownership, allowing the play to become their own.
Like life, the discovery of the most helpful answers to the basics
may be slow in coming. You will have to test them by experiencing
and then by experiencing them again as you find more answers and
check them against other discoveries. Your answers will change as
you see what happens, what really happens in other parts of the
play. Each new discovery, each new moment of insight, each new
action will suggest the possibility of revamping what carne before to
better prepare for that moment. Each new discovery will raise the
possibility that all which follows will be different.
It's an extraordinary process. Just like life.

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Chapter 12
The Rehearsal Unit
To see the way a machine works,
you can take the covers off and look inside.
But to understand what goes on,
you need to get to know the principles that govern its actions.
David Macaulay, The New Way Things Work

Most plays are divided into acts. Today the two act play is a
common format. Usually this means the performance will run about
two hours and have one intermission dividing the experience into
two sessions. Not long ago the three act play was the most common
"full-length" or two-hour structure. Many young people begin their
theatre experience by acting in a one-act play, often about thirty
minutes in length. If you've read many scripts you're familiar with
episodic plays which may be organized into as many as fifteen or
twenty scenes leaving the director with the need to decide when the
play will profit from or tolerate an intermission. You may also be
aware that Shakespeare wrote longer plays which are often divided
into five acts with several scenes in each. Musicals too, usually are
organized into acts divided into scenes. And, of course, television
has introduced us to plays which turn into series and can run for an
almost unlimited number of episodes. Some stretch over two or
three long evenings in a "mini-series" and some fall into the
familiar once-a-week half-hour or hour format and last for several
years. At the opposite end of the continuum we now have a number
of plays being written which are about ten minutes in length.
Frequently several of these are put together to make an evening of
theatre.
So how long is a play? The current answer would seem to be,
"almost any length you want." Assuming, of course, you can find
an audience willing to share it. Granted, there are things to learn
about each of the formats above. A person who has never directed a
play longer than twenty or thirty minutes, for example, will
probably struggle to organize and sustain the preparation of a two-
or three-hour play. In fact, it would seem an overwhelming task to
learn to handle all these different forms.
There is a surprisingly productive shortcut, however. It's
contained in the answer to this question: Is there a basic module for

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 The Rehearsal Unit

rehearsing a play whatever the length? The answer is yes. That

module is the rehearsal unit. Some plays will have more rehearsal
units than others, perhaps many more, but whatever the length of
the script, it can and should be divided into rehearsal units as the
manageable length for experience and discovery. To see the
rehearsal unit as the fundamental module for rehearsal is so
potentially helpful it is difficult to imagine how some directors
manage without understanding and using a version of this idea. In
fact, one is tempted to suggest all successful directors do, even if it
is only an unconscious use they apply to the format they've become
most skilled in handling.
This chapter is about the need to take every script apart - no
matter what its length - so we can work on it better. So we can see
which parts need the most attention. So we can see how the parts
are connected to make the play come alive. It is about our learning
to create and consciously use rehearsal units.
Structure and the Manageable Task
When I was a child, my grandmother taught me how to put
together a jigsaw puzzle. I learned to sort through the pile of
confusing pieces to find all those with straight edges. Referring to
the picture on the box we put the four corners in place and
examining the edge pieces again and again, we soon completed the
frame for our puzzle. She showed me how to separate the rest into
the obvious groups. The blues were put on one part of the table to
become the sk)" the greens and browns were clearly the trees and
forest, the reds and blacks and other distinct colors and lines were
brought together to make the barns or houses or people or ships or
whatever made up the emphasized foreground.
It became clear we could assemble the best defined images most
quickly. The sky and other less well articulated parts of the whole
were more difficult. We saved them until last when there were
fewer unplaced pieces to examine. We worked from the easiest, or
what seemed to us the most essentiat to the least essential. We let
the shapes of the more vital parts, once they were in place, tell us
what the shape of the more obscure parts would be.
My grandmother had taught me about structure. She had
taught me how to use that understanding to organize my time and
my energies. She made it possible for me to sense my progress; to
see that the task wasn't overwhelming. She made it fun.
Both puzzles and plays have lots of pieces. To rehearse a play,
to explore a pla)" to develop a production, it is essential you find a

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The Director's Eye

way to break the script up into useful parts. Almost everything we

undertake to examine requires this separation into parts: the human
anatomy, an automobile, a computer, a city, a pie. We look to see
how it is made, how it comes together, what gives it life, what
ingredients make the parts stronger and longer lasting, or better
tasting, or cheaper or fuzzier or more fuel efficient or less fattening.
In most plays there are thousands of words to be sorted through
as we search to see what makes up the useful parts. There is also a
"picture on the box." We see it in the title, the synopsis of the plot,
the few characters who are most vivid to us after our first or fifth
reading, and probably we see it most often in someone else's
production of the play.
As a director, you need to develop a system for taking scripts
apart so you can better understand what brings each part to life and
how each part contributes to the whole. You need to value the
importance of working on separate units until you find their core.
You need to start with more manageable units, putting these
together with other units to make larger divisions. You need to
know what is foreground and what is background and which units
bring the acts and the play to their climaxes.
You will never learn how a script works, will never be able to
bring it fully to life, if your only understanding of its structure
comes from beginning at page one and going sequentially through
to the final page. You need to sort out the frame, the sky, the
foreground, the background, the tree trunks and the ducks on the
pond. You need to learn to advance your understanding where you
can. The progress you make will depend to a great degree on where
you invest your time and energy in each rehearsal. That will come
from your understanding of the potential for dividing the script into
useful rehearsal experiences, for putting the puzzle together section
by section, for seeing what each tells you about the rest.
Identifying a Rehearsal Unit
The idea of dividing the play into rehearsal units is not new.
Some writers have called the units "beats." One writer who wrote a
popular directing text many years ago called them "motivational"
units. Though writers may give somewhat different definitions to
their "units" the basic function for most is the same, to come up
with a piece of script, longer than a line, shorter than an act, which
has its own unity, allowing it to be:

1. Understood and rehearsed independently;

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 The Rehearsal Unit

2. Combined with other units to rehearse larger

scenes or acts of the play when that is, in turn,
useful.

A primary consideration is to keep the units manageable. When

actors are playing a specific line or moment, the unit should be short
enough so they can sense "where they are." They should sense the
unit's beginning and end. At the same time, the unit needs to be
long enough that they sense the move to "another place" when they
finish. They feel the play's progression.
Here are two basic models for using the rehearsal unit to
structure our experiences of the play. First, as we are starting our
work on an act or larger scene:

• We play through the first unit in that scene several

times. Each time through we give the actors an
opportunity to incorporate what they have learned
from the previous playing. We try to keep our
comments to a minimum so they can build on the mood
they've developed in the previous playing. If they are
still uncertain of their lines we may give them a few
moments to look at their scripts before starting again.
• After three or four times through, we go on to the
second unit. Now, after running this next unit three or
four times, we go back and pick up unit one, running
one and two together. To develop the progression, we
repeat this units-one-and-two sequence.
• Then we move on to unit three. After repeating it alone,
we co'mbine it with one and two and again repeat the
sequence.
• As we progress, depending on the unit's difficulty, we
vary the number of individual repetitions and number
of other units we combine with, sometimes going back
to pick up only one or two previous units and
sometimes going all the way back to the top of the scene
or act. In each case, we give the actor an opportunity to
focus on a manageable piece of material, repeat it using
his discoveries from his immediate past playing, and
then integrate it with other units to sense the
progression.

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The Director's Eye

An equally fundamental model for the rehearsalunit's use is to

play or read through an act, sometimes the entire play, watching to
identify those units where improved believability or significance
would seem to have the most potential for affecting the whole act or
play.

• We then give these units detailed attention, usually

working our way through each one several times.
• After we have given the actors a chance to focus on each
of these key units, we put the act or play back together
and run the entire progression to see the result.
By now it should be clear that rehearsal units become the basic
blocks of the world you are building. They help you by combining
words, moments, individual efforts into a part with a beginning and
an end. We begin to sense where each of these pieces belongs in a
unit. And each unit combines with other parts or units to create acts
and whole plays.
Dividing the Play into Rehearsal Units
How do we know where to divide the script? You should start
a new rehearsal unit when it seems to you the play undergoes a
significant change in the dramatic action. Sometimes a new
character becomes dominant, sometimes we see a change in the
dominant motivation; sometimes we experience a marked change
in the play's atmosphere and sometimes we move to a very
different action. Whatever the change, when it feels significant it
should usher in a new unit.
You'll note that this definition is very different from the uFrench
scene," a traditional means of dividing a play marked by the
entrance or exit of a character. It should be clear that the French
scene is sometimes a significant change in the action, and
sometimes not. There are full-length plays in which the same
characters are on stage throughout; in other plays characters often
come and go with little change in the significant action. The French
scene, then, is not necessarily useful as a determinant of length for
the rehearsal unit.
Note that rehearsal unit divisions are not absolute. Their
identity depends on the style of the writing and on your current
perception of the script and the work ahead. At some moments in
the play the divisions will be very clear, in others, less so. In fact,

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 The Rehearsal Unit

some playwrights will write whole plays where the unit structure is
so clear almost anyone dividing it would come up with the same
units you will identify. Other playwrights will create a much more
obscure structure where the play moves from one unit to another
without your being quite aware it has happened - and yet,
suddenly, here you are: in a different place. You might divide an act
into twenty units the first time you direct a play, and returning to
that same play in another season, you might divide it into twenty-
two or twenty-five units. You have new insights now - some from
having directed the play previously and some from more living
experience - and you recognize changes undetected before.
With some plays it will become clear there are lots of changes in
the action and we must be careful not to divide the work excessively
or we'll have so many pieces they are difficult to juggle. In other
plays there seem to be few significant changes and we must search
to make sure we are giving adequate attention to the changes that
are possible.
In a given rehearsal we may discover we have left the unit too
long, too complex for the cast to easily experience what we once
thought were subtle changes. It's then that we look for differences
and divide unit five- or whatever unit it is into unit 5A, unit 5B
and unit 5C. Working on each of these parts separately can often
turn a laborious, minimally productive rehearsal into a successful
one. The reverse is also true. Sometimes we recognize we have
divided units unnecessarily and so we begin to rehearse units six
and seven as if they were one unit. The cast is able to sense the
wholeness of that section better when we treat the two units as one.
How many units is enough or too many? It has been interesting
to discover that in the majority of plays I have directed, without
planning any specific number, I ended with about forty-five units.
Why that happened is probably simple: although units will vary in
length, the average amount of material the cast can manage and the
time it takes for a play to undergo what feels like a significant
change is probably about two to two and a half minutes. There will
be exceptions, but it is probably good to question your divisions if
you have fewer than thirty-five or more than fifty-five units in a
full-length play.
Interrupted and Transitional Units
Some plays are much more complex than others. Some actions
are interrupted only to be returned to later. A script like that made
popular in LA Law or NYPD Blue, makes repeated cuts from one

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The Director's Eye

scene to another where units might be usefully identified as lA, 2A,

lB, 3A, 2B, lC and so on. Here the letters "B" and "C" indicate you
are returning to an interrupted action. This becomes particularly
important when you have units which seldom give your cast a feel
of closure. Rehearsing units lA, lB and lC in sequence may help
bring continuity even though they are separated by other units in
the play's normal progression.
When you find it particularly difficult to identify the beginning
or ending of a unit you may have a short passage which is indeed a
transition and not really part of the larger unit which precedes it,
nor part of the unit following. It is useful to give these transitional
sections their own separate number. I usually label them Tl etc.,
acknowledging them as transitions.
Naming the Units
Once the script is divided into parts there is, of course, a great
deal of detailed analysis one can carry out on most units by
returning to the basic questions about dramatic action and the
relationship of characters, subordinate actions and the changing
world of the play. Some of this analysis may be formal and written,
most of it will probably be informal and carried out at various times
during the rehearsal period. In the pre-rehearsal analysis there is
only one search I always undertake with all units: the search for a
unit title.
It is possible and sometimes more immediately meaningful to
supply your own names for the units. These titles may be
functional, describing in your own words how the unit relates to the
whole, or they may be clever: your own language translating your
summary of the essence of the unit into a metaphor which will
immediately remind you of that unit's core. There is value in both.
However, the longer I worked as a director the more I came to
appreciate the best labeling comes from using a phrase from the text
for the title. It has several advantages:

• It requires a repeated reading of the text to find the line

which best stands for the entire unit.
• It demands you give attention to which character best
expresses the essence of the scene and whether he is, in
fact, the dominant character in the unit.
• You will often discover the dominant mood of the unit
by choosing one of several lines which may be clustered

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 The Rehearsal Unit

around a single moment. Any one of these lines could

describe the unit, but by choosing one you realize the
possibility of that line's mood having greater weight in
the scene.
• By choosing a line you have a tool for testing whether
you have made the best choices for the unit's beginning
and end. Often, the name itself will make clear the scene
should have begun earlier or should end later.
In short, to distill the extended text of the unit to a single title
taken from that text is an excellent way of insuring you have
examined the script carefully. It forces you to combine intuition and
logic to arrive at the best distillation you can make. The key here is
the word distillation. Titles taken from the text may not always
squarely hit the mark, but they are still of the text. They are not
imposed. They help keep you focused on the script. Even when it
seems impossible to come up with a single phrase for a title, you can
put together a composite of two or even three phrases from
scattered sections of the unit. To arrive at such a title can be a useful
way of reminding you of important layers within the section.
Remember the word "distillation." When you name the unit are you
satisfied you have distilled the text to find its essence? If you are,
have confidence you are on the right path.
Which do you find first, titles or divisions? Some sections of
most scripts can quickly be divided into units with clear opening
and closing lines, but with no obvious title from the text. In other
parts of the play, you may have a title that clearly identifies the unit,
but it is difficult to decide just when the unit begins or ends. You
will need to start with whichever is easier, the title or the division
between units. Expect to read portions of the play several times
before you complete the work. Occasionally, it seems useful to wait
until you see the actors working with the script before making your
final divisions or titling. You may also find you want to change the
divisions or titles after working with the actors during part of the
rehearsal period. Like much of your work in rehearsals, this list of
units may change somewhat as you make new discoveries. If you
have done your pre-rehearsal work carefully, however, you will
usually find the divisions and titles serve you well and require few
revisions. When you do need to make changes, both you and your
cast will likely see the value of meaningful titles and divisions and
so a revision can spur you to more productive efforts.

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The Director's Eye

The Unit Breakdown

The basic work we've described up until now can be written
into the margins of your script and shared with the cast to be added
to their own scripts. If you schedule a rehearsal for Unit 7, everyone
can see where it starts, where it ends and which line is its title. That
title will, at the very least, provide an image as a focus for getting
everyone "on the same page."
Now one last tool: It's extremely valuable to create a concise list
of these units and titles. Taken together, they provide a distillation
of the entire play. No, you can't usefully paste an entire script on the
walls around you, but you can see the entire play outlined on a two-
page unit breakdown.
To keep you in touch with the play's progression, to help you
remember the sequence of events, to aid in your initial
understanding of the play's score, a Unit Breakdown Sheet is
invaluable. It becomes a reference tool throughout the rehearsal
period, providing support as you deal with both the practical issues
of scheduling and the aesthetic issues of understanding and
shaping.
Here is a sample beginning:

DEATH OF A SALESMAN / Unit Breakdown

Act One

Unit No. Title Characters

1. I came back. Willy, Linda

2. I think he's still lost. Willy, Linda

I think he's very lost.

3. More people - that's what's Willy, Linda

ruining this country.

4. The windshields don't open on Willy, Linda, Hap, Biff

the new cars - Isn't that a
remarkable thing?

5. Dad mocks me all the time. Hap, Biff

6. I'm 34 years old -and, my Hap, Biff

God, I'm not getting anywhere.

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 The Rehearsal Unit

Working with this list of unit titles can be incredibly helpful in

tracking the play's changes in rhythm and tempo and in identifying
the play's climaxes. Referring to this list is essential to planning
your rehearsals as you sense which sections need to be rehearsed
together and which are better separated and given individual focus.
The unit list can also provide the obvious means of plotting
character appearances and the use of props, costumes and set pieces
in the complex play.
Attaching this to your promptbook or script, you'll find you use
it almost as often as the script itself. Often students ask me if I
distribute these sheets to the cast. The answer is an emphatic "yes!"
You can't be certain when, nor how often, your actors will make use
of the outline any more than you can be certain of their return to the
script once lines are learned. But if you make the Rehearsal Unit and
a Rehearsal Breakdown integral to your own work, they will
become essential to the work of your cast whether your cast takes
them for granted or gives them conscious attention.

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Chapter 13
Life's Rhythms and the
Scoring of the Play
It is Spring,
moonless night in the small town,
starless and bible-black,
the cobblestreets silent and the hunched,
courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible
down to the sloeback, slow, black, crowblack,
fishingboat-bobbing sea.
- Dylan Thomas, Under Milk Wood

Even naive playgoers will say it: "Too slow. The thing was just
too slow. It took too long." What are they trying to tell us? What
does that mean? Essentially, they're saying the production didn't
keep them connected. They grew impatient. Their minds wandered.
Their attention spans were violated.
Attending to the Rhythms of Life
As simple as the observation is, it's a useful reminder of the
power of the rhythm of life. The beat of life is inside us and
surrounding us at every moment of our existence: Our own hearts,
our breathing, the breathing of another, the coming and going of
footsteps, the surge of the waves on the beach, the background of
voices - constantly changing rhythms that signal the season, the
time of day, the companionship of others, the threat of violation, the
comfort of support. Rhythms that soothe, that arouse, that dig into
our subconscious putting us on the alert, that excite us, that bore us,
that delight us.
Life's rhythms- they're in the music of our favorite artists, in
the songs of nature, in the changing landscape speeding past as we
drive through our lives.
A few years ago one of my students mounted a very successful
production in our theatre complex. I had not seen the whole effort
until closing night and even then I watched it from a perch above
the audience. From my seat near the master electrician I heard the
final lines and, not at all to my credit, I remained dry-eyed and
logical. I had been too preoccupied, perhaps. Too concerned with
other things.

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 Life's Rhythms and the Scoring of the Play

But it was not over. For the play's last words were followed by
a beautiful, simple, final music cue and three seconds into it, the
dam burst. Tears flowed down my cheeks and for the first time I
found myself deeply touched by the weight of the play's message.
There had been no logic to that emotional response. Something far
beyond my control brought it all home. My deeper self's ilmate
understanding of the play was released by the life in the final music.
Rhythm. Tempo. They reach us at a deep and profound level.
They hold our attention; keep us going; trigger our emotions. And
so it should be obvious, no good director can ignore the scoring of
his production. No less than if it were written by a master composer,
you must listen to the play's music.
Make no mistake about it, we've stored up hundreds of
thousands of feelings associated with the rhythms and tempos of
life. Our bodies instinctively know what will be inciting or
restorative or calming. As artists we can use that knowledge
whether we are working with sound or sight, with touch or taste.
And maybe even smell!
How do I know, you ask? We need only stop and get in touch
with our experiences.
When was the last time you had a really great meal? Chances
are, it was not only what you ate, but how you ate it that made it
extraordinary. To have a great meal, even our consumption of food
is orchestrated. Just the right appetizer, followed by just the right
salad. Not too much of either, no matter how good, or the entree is
spoiled. Our bodies talk to us, "A bite of potato, a bite of broccoli,
another bite of potato, oh, quick, a bite of that incredible Beef
Wellington!" ... We're scoring our meal. Eating- one of dozens,
perhaps hundreds, of tasks we orchestrate every day.
Urgency and Its Special Demands
Plays, of course, are about much more complex events. In fact,
they are almost always about urgent events. He must get there before
she reads the letter ... They must return the file before its absence is
discovered ... Urgency. It's a part of every production. Seldom is a
play dramatic if the action remains "on its heels."
Around these urgent events will be an elaborate set of patterns,
often happening at a furious pace. And here is one of the paradoxes
of the director's work: As we start the rehearsals, we will need to
give actors more time to take in the complex layers of relationships
and events leading up to and surrounding these furious scenes. We
need to remind them again and again to " ... take time." "Use the

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The Director's Eye

silences."
Then, after carefully developing these layers, we will need to
speed up these same moments, requiring the actors to become more
and more alert, more and more skilled at pulling behavior from the
characters' storehouses. In fact, many dramas reach their climax
when the reactions become so frantic events go out of control. Farce
and melodrama are made of just such stuff. But it is more universal
than that. Suspense, climax - all the dramatic moments of the
theatre depend on effective use of rhythm and tempo.
Repetition, Rhythm and Tempo
All consciously or unconsciously familiar, you may suggest, but
for those of us without music backgrounds, may be a little scary.
And if we do have a music background, maybe our thinking jumps
to conventional notations and that gets a little abstract. Let's see if
we can agree on some simple definitions which may help bring us
to a common understanding. Suppose we begin by recognizing that
a more or less regular repetition is essential for both rhythm and
tempo. Try clapping your hands until you begin to recognize what
seems to you to have rhythm and tempo. Look around to see if you
can identify something in your environment that has rhythm and
tempo. Maybe it is in the motion of something you see. Or perhaps
it is the occurrences of windowpanes in a room or boards in a floor.
We have two words we use referring to these repetitions:
rhythm and tempo. What separates the two? Suppose we suggested
that rhythm is determined by the shape of the pattern, and that
tempo has to do with the frequency of repetition.
Let's agree that rhythm may occur in space or time but it will
always be the result of a more or less regular repetition of a pattern.
It is clearly present in the repeated shape from the brush strokes in
a Van Gogh landscape, in the clicking wheels of a train's passing, in
the flutter of a flock of gulls arising from the sand. We can hear it or
see it- we can, in fact, take it in with any one of the senses. We
count on it. When our heartbeat suddenly has an irregular spasm,
we grab our chests. Even though we seldom register its regular beat,
a significant change in rhythm and we instantly attend.
Tempo also has to do with that repetition. But let's use tempo
when we sense measurement against time and within space. There
is a feeling of leisure or urgency in this tempo. We speak of certain
wallpaper patterns as "busy," of certain pieces of music as
"soothing." Let's say tempo is determined by the frequency of
repetition, how often the pattern recurs in a given space or within a

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 Life's Rhythms and the Scoring of the Play

given time.
The Effect of Viewpoint
But note how our viewpoint affects the feel of the rhythm and
tempo. To be on the streets of a large city at rush hour - horns
blaring, stalled traffic, people rushing past is a frantic, perhaps
stressful experience. To the viewer high atop a skyscraper, however,
that same scene suddenly becomes almost pastoral. What has
changed? Only our view. For now we see a much larger pattern and
movement is measured on a very different scale.
Not long ago, we knew the earth was round, but no one had
ever been far enough out in space to photograph it. Now we all can
see the pictures of this floating planet in the enormous empty space.
What a different feel the earth has when seen from that great
distance. And so it is with all rhythm and tempo. The patterns
change as our vantage point changes. In the film we know the
power of the long shot and the close up. In the theatre we must seek
to discover their counterpart. To bring the audience in for the
"close-ups," and to take them away for the "long shots" it's all
part of the scoring.
Our Inner Clocks and Absolute Time
Let's think too about the passing of time. Not time as measured
by the regular tick of the clock, but time as measured by our inner
selves. Our personal experiencing of time is not absolute. None of
us has escaped harrowing events where time seemed to stop.
Memories of the dentist's chair or a car out of control sliding on ice
will remind you of such times. In television and film production, the
use of slow motion or stop action, of speeded up car chases and
quick cuts have all become so familiar we accept that they truthfully
represent t:lme as we experience it. Our memories remind us we
have stored up some experiences frame by frame and others
passing in a blur.
There is, in fact, a near infinite range of tempos and rhythms to
be discovered in most good plays. Many of them will come
instinctively, but like any work of art, at times the director will need
to drive the piece to its climax urging the players on to a faster
tempo than they thought possible, or holding it back to give us time
to take it in. He may bring all into the pattern to make the rhythm
inescapable or focus on a smaller, unique pattern in the midst of a
sea of others - the choices developed as if he were a conductor,
only he must make them so clear and so right to the actors that he
can put down the baton and retire and the score will still be

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The Director's Eye

experienced by cast and audience alike.

The Script and the Scoring
Where does all this begin? Like all else, with the script. The
playwright will have begun the process. Act divisions and the
placement of the climaxes of the play, the descriptions of scene in
the stage directions - all of these will contribute to the score. But
remember the script is only the blueprint. Even the best
playwright/ director will not clutter his script with all the detail he
himself clearly knows or wants. It would become too confusing for
the reader.
Your early task is to begin to see the possibilities for scoring the
total play.
The "Unit Breakdown" gave us a distillation of the script so we
could see more clearly what happens. Now we can return to it to
begin to see how what happens is scored. As you create the Unit
Breakdown Sheet with its two or three pages containing a list of all
the units, look for groupings which make clearer the essential
"movements" of the play. It becomes possible to link together the
first four or six or nine units and to see them as a related
development. To see how One and Two lead up to the first small
climax in Three and how the play changes with the emerging
dominance of a new character in Four. How units Four, Five and Six
start us on a new pattern and how that develops urgency in Seven
and climaxes in Eight to be held onto in the fallout of Nine ...
As this sense of the score becomes clearer, we learn to hold as
well as add, to wait to introduce new energy or new inventiveness
so as to preserve the power of the climax when it comes. We learn
to protect the mood necessary in the second act making it contrast
with everything that has gone before. We discover changes needed
in the play's lighting, necessary musical underscore, the amount or
vigor of the physical action - in short, we use our discoveries to
create layer upon layer carrying out the "music" of the whole.
Finding the Right Time to Attend
Much of this will be done intuitively, of course. Some of it will
have started with production conferences even before the actors
begin rehearsal, but all of it contributes to the production's score
and all of it comes back to the blueprint of the whole.
Use your "Unit Breakdown Sheets" then as a kind of
conductor's score. As you study the progression in the play, see the
possibilities for increasing urgency as the play builds to its climax.
See the need for atmosphere to support the argument in a scene, or

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 Life's Rhythms and the Scoring of the Play

the possibilities for a gentle, quiet scene following one of intense

rapid action. Note that we demand change. Even the most exciting
of events become tiresome if extended unnecessarily. Drawing on
your experiences of life, begin to use your directing tools to score
the play. Some of this will require early attention. Other scenes,
other lines can be best brought up to tempo or "set" in a given
pattern only as you near the final rehearsal when all the elements of
the production are present.
When and how to handle time and repetition and these matters
of tempo and rhythm will continue to develop as you gain more
experience. For now, know that they are significant tools and even
a little sensitivity to the difference you can make will give you
courage to continue exploring their use in the future.
One final caution, as with all directing be careful of demanding
too much attention for these matters too early in the rehearsals. Be
careful you do not shift the focus from what is happening in the
play to the cast's pleasing you. When you sense this happening,
stop. Reevaluate your work. Consider postponing the effort with
rhythm and tempo until later. Only if they reenforce truth and
believability, only if they make the action more arresting, more
evocative, should you continue.
These reservations notwithstanding, good directors will
inevitably be skilled at handling the play's score. When you think of
models for this work look at some of your favorite films. They are
likely to serve as excellent examples for your own efforts, but more
importantly, they have probably shaped the expectation of millions
of would-be playgoers who bring their film memories to any
production.

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Chapter 14
The Concept Statement
Common sense ... suggests that teams cannot succeed
without a shared purpose; yet more teams than not
in most organizations remain unclear as a team
about what they want to accomplish and why.
-Jon R. Katzenbach and Douglas K. Smith, The Wisdom of
Teams: Creating the High-Performance Organization

The director's view of what the production can be, what it

should look like, is the umbrella under which everyone else works.
Sometimes actors and designers may defy that umbrella, but no one
is unaware of its presence. All can read the script, all can look at it
as a reflection of the playwright's intent. But what does the director
intend? What is his vision?
The director is inevitably a decision maker. His choices affect
everyone working on the production. Experienced and inexperienced
contributors all want to know. They want to know what they're
going to be a part of. They want to know how their own work might
fit in, might be complemented. They want to know what is expected
of them. There is hardly a person involved with the production in
any capacity who isn't anxious to know what the director has in
mind.
And it's impossible to share. Not completely.
"How are you going to do Brecht?" you'll be asked. Even after
you've been in rehearsal a week or more, someone - someone you
think should know- will ask, "What style are we doing this in?"
Never mind that all your offerings to the cast and everyone else
connected with the production may have been addressing just those
issues. The questions are asked just the same. What it means is that
people won't get it. Or that they are impatient to see the final
product. Or that they are still not sure what they should be
contributing and they need you to tell them something they can
better understand so they don't feel foolish, or don't waste their
time, or can work with less uncertainty. Less stress.
They want it to be simple. Precise.
The wisest collaborators will realize precision is not necessarily
an asset. Suppose the director has done the production before or
suppose he has seen a production he loved. Suppose he really

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 The Concept Statement

believes he wants this one to be exactly like the one from the past.
The insightful colleague knows it won't happen. Too many
variables. Besides it allows no opportunity for taking advantage of
the new possibilities which will inevitably come from this different
time and whatever new people or new materials are part of the
current effort.
So, for the creative director, the precise description of the final
product isn't going to be present until the project is finished. The
finish just isn't going to be in the director's mind. He isn't going to
see it until it is there in front of him to be seen. Oh, pieces maybe,
but not the whole of it.
And meanwhile, what does he share?
Creativity is, by definition, an uncertain business. It wouldn't
be creative if we knew what it was going to look like before we
began. In fact, the whole process of producing a play means we start
with guesses of what it might look like, a bunch of different guesses
from a bunch of different people and as we work, we begin to
narrow our options until finally we get there and "this is it!" This is
the world of our production. This is what we've created.
Well, how do we all get on the same page? If this is an
evolutionary process, what can you tell your collaborators that isn't
going to change? How do you set the direction for the work?
Dramatic Action and the Production's Concept
In answering these questions, let's use a familiar word. Let's
talk about the director's concept."
if

The director's concept should identify the direction of the work

without excluding opportunities for actors and designers to ·
discover and contribute. It should set boundaries for the direction of
the rehearsal and the preliminary designs, but leave the possibilities
open enough for the final product to incorporate many of the best
creative ideas by his or her collaborators.
Concepts are not arbitrary. They start with the director's view
of the play. And the most essential part of that view is always his or
her understanding of the play's action.
To omit identifying and stating the action is to invite chaos. All
too often designs which seemed creative and attractive in the
beginning, actor choices which seemed imaginative and exciting,
are the very elements which seem totally misplaced and
unimportant in the final production. Why? Because the
collaborators were never in agreement on what happens in the play.
Remember, when plays fail, more often than not it is because the

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The Director's Eye

action did not happen or it never became significant.

Your job in setting the direction for the collaboration begins by
seeking a common understanding of the play's core - it's dramatic
action. In fact, one of the obvious warning signs is when an
interviewing designer or auditioning actor voices a very different
view of the play. Be wary. Talented he may be, but to include him in
a key role without finding honest agreement invites disaster.
The Two Part Concept Statement
Here is probably the best way to think of the concept statement:
It should be in two parts. The first part should tell what happens in
the play. The second should tell how what happens will be designed
to be effective and meaningful to this audience, now.
A brief paragraph for each part can be usefully shared with a
wide variety of people. The work necessary to arrive at these
concise statements may be extensive and in some instances a
director may even need to work with the actors for part of the
rehearsal period before being comfortable with a statement. Still,
early deadlines, designer discussions, casting, publicity all profit
from as meaningful a concept statement as is possible.
Start your concept by telling what happens in the play - a
simple statement of the play's key dramatic action. Tell who does
what to whom and what kind of a world makes this possible. Too
often director's begin by saying, "I see all the actors wearing white,"
or "I see this happening in New Orleans- 1910." If these choices
appear arbitrary, the rest of the collaborators are free to make their
arbitrary choices. The result can be a production which seems to
have lost, or never found, the essence of the play. By agreeing on a
statement of the play's core, we can always come back to that to test
each of the collaborator's choices. It is your job to see that all the
parts reenforce that action whoever the contributor. That task will
be much simpler if you and your collaborators agree to the dramatic
action in advance.
Another Macbeth was an original script developed by using only
the rearranged text from Shakespeare's Macbeth. Here's an example
of the first part of a concept statement for its production:

Another Macbeth's keys actions are "the killing" and

"the search" - the search for absolution. It's the story of
the warrior Macbeth's killing of his friend and king only
to discover that in the moment he stabs Duncan, he has
taken his own life. He can never again draw breath free

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 The Concept Statement

from that violent act. "I have done the deed," Macbeth
repeats throughout the play, and despite his efforts to rid
himself of the consequences, only Macduff's sword can
send Duncan to his grave and bring Macbeth peace. In
accepting his own fate he is finally absolved of the
slaying of Duncan.

Style and the Concept Statement

The second part, then, connects the play as written to the
audience that will see this production. It describes the design of the
production. It identifies the key conventions to be employed. It sets
the direction for the style of the production beginning with the style
of acting. In short, it suggests the value structures that must come
together in the world where this action happens. It begins to tell the
actors how to think, move, speak and feel. It suggests what
extensions of the actor will be made through costume, properties
and make-up or other media. It starts the direction for the style of
the production.
To describe this search for the production's style, it's essential to
identify common models. References are made to other productions,
to real life experiences, to objects, cultures, events which all the
collaborators can use as springboards. Adjectives and metaphors
are useful. Pictures of possible influences are useful. All of this will
be done to provide direction and boundaries, but will leave room
for fellow workers to make their contributions following the
director's lead.
Here's a brief paragraph summarizing the second part of the
concept statement for Another Macbeth:

Another Macbeth is modeled after the television

reporting of the John F. Kennedy assassination. Its
repetitions, brief scenes, return to earlier details now
more fully expanded - all come from the unfolding
structure of the Kennedy assassination report as we
watched our television screens trying to put the pieces
together. The warrior dress and physical brutality reflect
paintings and descriptions of the middle ages. The action
and physical movement also reflect the familiar hand to
hand combat of "wars" in the "trenches" by the NFL
football teams where only one side emerges victorious.
The black and white, larger than life close-ups of

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The Director's Eye

television in the sixties is suggested with multiple

images, slow motion, stop action and the mixing of live
performers with projections of themselves in the
background.

These two parts taken together become a means of sharing the

core of the concept: that Another Macbeth is a play of killing and the
search for absolution using the rearranged text of Macbeth in a
production style modeled on the television reporting of the
Kennedy assassination. Whatever follows must contribute to that
core.
As we end this discussion of analysis, we've introduced a new
and complex topic, the evolution of the production's style, and
we've come full circle, for everything we do must finally be related
to the dramatic action of the play. The next chapters, Part Four, will
help us explore the nature of style and its importance in our effort
to link performer and audience in a memorable experience.

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Part Three Assignments
Scenes from Waiting for Godot
The assignments for Part One dealt with brief mini-plays, one-
page scripts of our own making. In Part Two's assignments we used
more carefully defined tools for experiencing the play, exploring
short, established scripts by a major playwright. Again, those entire
scripts could be easily read or performed in less than five minutes.
Now, in this set of assignments, we'll turn our attention to the full
length play.
It's a significant difference.
When things get big we often neglect the details which have
given us enjoyment or hope. We stop learning. We just "get it done."
Oh, maybe there's pride in the final product, but we shift focus. We
are driven to complete the task. To carry the load. To keep it
organized. This move to a larger task is a dangerous one. We all
know the implicit difficulties of big business or big government or
big universities. It's easy for the "personal" to be lost among the
numbers.
As you begin these assignments be mindful of shifting focus. Of
substituting "getting it done" for bringing it alive. Don't let the
demands of quantity obscure the possibilities for a rich experience.
Preliminary Exercise: Developing a Unit Breakdown
Begin by reading Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot carefully. If
you haven't read it before you may find it difficult. One of the
reasons I've used it here is that I believe it is one of those plays
which becomes more interesting, more relevant to your own
experiences, the more carefully you read it, the more you let it speak
to you. Then if you have actors who play it out moment by moment,
connecting each moment to what is happening, if you see it played
out by those actors, beginning to make the connection with their
own lives, it is suddenly apparent, this is a powerful play. In short,
Godot is a potentially dramatic reminder of the life the actor can
bring to a script not by extraordinary feats of unique acting
dexterity, but by the simple understanding of the text and the
experiencing of the play.

To get started, follow the suggestions in Chapter 11 for

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The Director's Eye

collecting images your first time through. Then go back

and start again. This time begin the search for Rehearsal
Units marking in the script their beginnings and
endings and distilling the text until you find each unit's
title. Finally, prepare a Unit Breakdown Sheet for both acts
of the play.
To do this well will take time. It will be easy to carry out
the mechanics of the assignment without carefully
processing the play. Any time you get bored or lose the
ability to concentrate on the script, any time you find
yourself assuming it doesn't make any difference where a
unit starts and ends or what it is titled- stop. Take a few
moments to remind yourself, these feelings are precisely
why the Rehearsal Unit is such an important tool. It is all
too easy to read a play without "knowing where we are"
and when we do, just like an audience, we disconnect. We
stop taking it in.
What saves the production is for the director, first, to
discover why each unit is part of the whole play, and then
to do his utmost to lead the cast in bringing each of these
different units to life.
Almost a half century ago when Waiting for Godot first appeared
on the theatre scene, it baffled most readers. Literary critics
constructed elaborate, meandering analyses of its themes and
meanings. To bring it to life, we need something far simpler. Godot
was a keystone of Martin Esslin' s famous book which gave name to
one of the twentieth-century's prime movements: The Theatre of the
Absurd. Esslin offered a simple clue. He reminded his readers that
the prisoner audience at San Quentin, one of the first places it was
performed in this country, knew instantly and instinctually what
the play meant. They knew what it was to wait. They knew of the
games we play to pass the time. They knew of the bizarre and
incredible people we are exposed to as we wait for someone or
something that never comes. You do too.
Here's the key: If it isn't about you, you won't bring it to life.
At first you may be looking for a much more obvious plot. It may
seem as if nothing at all is happening. But when you begin to really
listen to the play, begin to see the possibilities for life in each
moment of the play, it becomes a startlingly real reflection of
experiences as we know them. Ever have a fever blister and it

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 Scenes from Waiting for Godot

ruined your whole day? Ever bite your tongue and you can't think
of much else? This play says little things count. Something's wrong
with this shoe. Something's wrong with this hat. It says important
things happen when we're looking for something else. A Lucky and
a Pozzo come into our lives and we almost miss them. They're half
remembered and yet they change us. They turn out to provide us
with almost unbelievable experiences. We're reminded we're in this
thing together.
As difficult as it may first appear, Godot can be an almost ideal
choice for early directing scene work. It will tell you quickly if you
are not making it real. If it isn't believable, if you and your cast
haven't connected, it will be dull and boring. You can't rescue it
by being clever. You have to be real. You have to know what it's
about- moment by moment. Unit by unit.

When you finish your Unit Breakdown, join with two

other classmates and exchange sheets. See how the
number of units compare. Discuss your choice of titles.
You won't really know how well you've done until you
try to use all of your sheet, but it is important to begin to
see how carefully you must read the text, how much
rereading is involved to create a Unit Breakdown which is
meaningful even to you. See where you and others saw
sections of the play similarly. See where you have the
most differences. Try to explain your thinking to the
others. See if you can understand their processing of the
play. Note where they have made discoveries you missed.
Each of the acts in Godot can be divided simply into three
main. movements: the time when Didi and Gogo are
alone, the time when they are joined by Pozzo and Lucky,
and the time after Pozzo and Lucky leave which includes
the arrival and exit of the Boy. Discuss with the others the
structure of each of these six "movements." See if you
agree on the unit which serves as the climax for each.
What unit contains the climax for each of the acts?
How nearly are you ready to name the key action of the
play? See how nearly you and your classmates agree.

Directing a Scene from Godot

Select a unit from your breakdown sheet as your scene to
develop. In a few cases you may want to try two

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The Director's Eye

consecutive units if they are short. To focus on quality

work, limit your presentation to three to five minutes.
Some challenging units may even take less. In my own
classes, as we approach the performance time, I often
encourage directors to show less of the rehearsed scene
than anticipated rather than perform material where the
actors are still struggling with lines or contributing little
that wouldn't be apparent by our reading the script.
When possible, divide into small groups, each with a
director and actors, until you have the potential to show
one another representative scenes from different parts of
the play. If there are enough in the class, assign at least one
director to each of the six "movements" named above. By
choosing a unit from these different movements in the
play and presenting them in order on performance da)"
we can better sense the play's progression. Keep in mind
that even to work on a single scene the actors need to have
a sense of the whole.
As part of your rehearsal you may want to work with a few key
line sequences from other parts of the play which help define the
characters. Here's a useful exchange for actors playing Gogo and
Didi no matter which unit they eventually present to the class:

"Let's go."
"We can't."
"Why not?"
"We're waiting for Go dot. "
"Ah!"

By using lines in our rehearsals which we do not perform as

part of our unit presentation and by seeing other scenes performed
from the same pia}" we begin to see how the rest of the play is
interconnected. We see how each unit helps define the others.
Note that we do scene work not just because it is more
convenient than working on whole plays, although it is that, but
because it is the model for working on any play. Remember, the unit
is the basic rehearsal experience.
Casting and the Characters in Godot
A word about the roles in Waiting for Godot: There are only a few
plays where most of us could play any of the characters. Here, it

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 Scenes from Waiting for Godot

seems to me, is one them. Yes, the ideal age for an actor playing one
of the tramps is probably older than most students, but each person
playing these roles will have some special connection, each will
bring some unique, interesting qualities to the role.
Lucky and Pozzo are probably the most difficult, not because
they lie outside us, but because we don't usually want to see
ourselves in these roles. Pozzo is clearly a dominating power figure
who is not disturbed by being the master. Lucky is one who will
carry the bags until he drops. He is accustomed to having a rope
around his neck. Neither is the model most of us would select to
describe our own roles in life. And yet we have alt at one time or
another, felt like Lucky and Pozzo. We have in us the capacity to
exploit and the capacity to persevere under extreme duress. This
assignment will give you an opportunity to see how willing you
and your classmates are to tap those resources.
Be careful of working too hard to be clever. Be careful of
thinking you have to invent a lot of "new" things. Instead, focus on
how to bring these simple actions to life. How to make them
important as simple and small as they may first seem.

Whatever scene you do, start with Gogo and Didi. What
can you do to help Gogo and Didi feel like they have been
doing this forever? Do they hate one another? Yes- at
times. Do they love one another? Yes- at times. Do they
want to get away from one another? Yes - at times. Do
they want to be with one another? Yes- at times. What
can you have them do that they begin to feel those
contradictions? What lines can they find which help them
experience these feelings?
Where are these guys? At the end of the earth? Where can
you take the actors that will help get them into the play?
How can you help Pozzo and Lucky develop their
master I slave relationship without endangering the actor
who plays Lucky? What kind of a rope can you use that
really helps? How heavy can those bags be? How long
will he hold them? Does Pozzo really have a whip? What
does it feel like to hear, "Up, Pig?"
Can your actor playing the little boy remember that time
when he was still small and innocent? Can he remember
being sent to give a message to strangers? What can you

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The Director's Eye

have him do that helps him feel as the boy might feel?
Keep demanding they find out how it feels. How it feels to be
kicked by a slobbering, animal-like Lucky. How it feels to watch the
now blind Pozzo try to get up.
As you work you may be reminded how often we see scenes
from plays where they never really "stood in the rain together."
Where they were never really "tied to one another." They tried to
fake it. They never found out. They never experienced the play.
They never did the work.
Yes, it's hard. Yes, it takes time. Yes, it takes effort. But there is
great joy in suddenly seeing it come to life. As you rehearse and see
one another's performances watch for it. See the joy that comes
from knowing when you bring life to these characters and these
scenes. See the energy that is suddenly there from your discovering
together.
Evaluation
When you finish, think about your discovery of this play.
How much did your own feeling about Godot change?
What did you learn from trying to read it more carefully?
What changed as you began work together in rehearsal?
How did the viewing of other scenes affect you? How
would you feel about doing the whole play?
What are some performed moments you will remember?
When did what they were doing seem to be easy and at
the same time interesting? Where did the language seem
to belong to the actors? When did it seem easy for them to
be here -here in the play? When were you moved by the
play? Did it ever become a play about you?

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Part Three Summary
Analyzing the Script:
Blueprint for Rehearsal
Usually we associate analysis with data collecting. We count
and sort. But Part Three's chapters reminded us the theatre's
strength often comes from its ability to deal with experiences not
easily analyzed nor exclusively dealt with through logical
organization.
We noted that the memory we carry of any experience is
frequently distilled into a series of images and so it will be with
a play. Our early impressions of a script, like those of a new city
or any complex new experience will be whatever impacts our
senses - whatever we intentionally or unintentionally take in.
Random? Yes. Incomplete? Yes. But powerful nonetheless.
Why?
In the beginning, these random images are the play. Incomplete
or not, intended or not, they are where we start. More importantly,
they lead to connections. They demand exploration and organization.
They lead us to the creation of blueprints, maps for discovering. It
is important that we allow ourselves to be open to this inevitable
collection. That we understand how it can lead us to an indigenous,
organized analysis where we begin the slow process of discovering
the basics: the dramatic action and its relationship to the characters,
the world of the play and the progression of the events.
To jump too quickly to an imposed search for themes, symbols-
even dramatic action - can cut us off from these early images.
From taking in what the images share with us. From beginning to
discover what it is like to be there.
Our assignment section gave us an opportunity to try our hand
at this by examining a particular play, Waiting for Godot, in which
dividing the script into units is absolutely essential to successful
rehearsals. Here's a play where, without a unit breakdown, it is
almost impossible to know where we are at a given moment. Godot
is a play where both actors and audience become impatient for clear
indicators of what's ahead and what is being accomplished now,
where it is all too easy to "tune out."
We moved from a fragmented collection of images to a study of
the script's parts. We emphasized that the rehearsal unit is the

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essential working increment for experiencing the play. That all

plays can and should be divided into rehearsal units with careful
attention to naming by choosing a phrase from the text which
reflects that unit's distillation. Working with the script of Godot gave
us an opportunity to practice the kind of careful reading necessary
for developing a Unit Breakdown Sheet. Using the breakdown as a
kind of "conductor's score," we began to see the possibilities for
discovering the progression of the play - for seeing its passage
from climax to climax, its movement from beginning to end.
We stated that it is difficult to imagine a successful director who
does not use some version of a unit breakdown. Here, we asserted,
is the one, formal, pre-rehearsal tool we should always prepare to
aid in developing the rehearsal blueprint.
We were reminded that our lives are filled with rhythms which
evoke our feelings in nearly everything we do. That we seek out
rhythms which sustain and excite us. That we create and control
rhythms to find comfort or quiet. A brief study of Godot' s script
makes clear it is filled with repetitions and recurring patterns, with
life-filled rhythms and tempos. Watching even a few scenes
performed reveals how some efforts are more successful than others
in finding the innate rhythms and tempos of the play. To discover
and play the unit's score sweeps the audience along with it.
Delights the viewer in its simplicity. Evokes a smile just to see the
easy interaction of characters, the clever give and take of the dialog.
But to hear the actors struggling with lines, to recognize an imposed
rhythm, to see action which doesn't fit the language - and away
our minds go. On to other things. Your critics are here. We've stopped
listening to the play and are busy constructing our evaluation.
We noted that while there is no want of questions we could ask
as part of an analysis, many of them are of limited value in bringing
the play to life. We noted too that we are often satisfied with
answers which might help with immediate problems, but which
create inconsistencies with other parts of the play. We suggested
that much of our discovery will remind us of a detective novel: The
best answers may not be clear until we near the end of our search.
The exploration requires patience.
We used our unit divisions as the basis for choosing and
rehearsing scenes from Godot. We emphasized that the unit provides
the best selection for scene work, not simply because of
convenience, but because rehearsal units are central tools for the
discovery of any play no matter what its length. It is good practice.
For plays, short or long, episodic or continuous, small cast or large,

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 Analyzing the Script: Blueprint for Rehearsal

it is of the utmost importance to experience each unit's contribution

to the whole and to the other units. By performing even selected
units of the play and witnessing the play's progression as
demonstrated by those performances, we are able to see, at least in
part, ways in which other units tell us about the work on our own
scene. If we put the scenes back into rehearsal, seeing the work of
others affects our own continuing effort.
In short, what the rehearsal unit provides is a springboard for
discovering how the parts of the play relate to the whole. At the
same time it offers a means of insuring that each line, each action, is
meaningful within a small enough segment that we can sense that
segment's beginning and end wherever we "stand" at a particular
moment.
Finally, we ended this section acknowledging that a director
must share his views for the direction of the work with his
collaborators. We recognized it's all too easy for even creative and
skillful collaborators to make contributions which do not
harmonize. To guide the effort, we examined the value of a concept
statement where, beginning with a succinct statement of the play's
dramatic action, we go on to identify models for the style of the
production. This two part concept statement beginning with a
common agreement on the play's core, leaves room for creative
work but provides a basis against which all efforts can be tested. It
offers the means whereby all the collaborators can start from "the
same page."
Two challenges stand out from this Part Three as we move on:
• Can you learn to use the Rehearsal Unit with such confidence
that it prepares you for work on plays whatever their length?
• Can you combine the collection of images with a more
structured investigation of the play's action allowing yourself to
be both open to new discoveries and relentless in insisting on
answers to the basics which serve all parts of the play?
As you continue to work with the complex issues of style and
the scoring of a production you will need to develop all the insights
initiated by these chapters on script analysis as a blueprint for
rehearsal. To honor them provides valuable assurance that you will
not allow the difficulties of managing more complex productions to
undercut the primary task of making the play believable and
significant. They will serve as the foundation for evolving the style
which shares the action with an audience here and now.

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Part Four
Style and the
Sharing of Viewpoints

''To function as an artist means, in the lifelong

process of learning, we may well borrow
from those who got there first but we must
always work out of our own sense of harmony.
In that, is the style unique to each of us.

"Each production we undertake demands we exercise a

harmony of choices that together create the world
of the play. Our success depends in great part on the
audience's ability to enter freely into that world,
there sharing the play with the actors."
Overleaf: Photos of Good Woman of Setzuan by Bertolt Brecht
Chapter 15
An Introduction to Style
All the critical twiddle-twaddle about style and form,
all this pseudoscientific classifijing and analyzing
of books in an imitation-botanical fashion,
is mere impertinence and mostly dull jargon.
D. H. Lawrence

It is difficult to talk about style. We use the word often, but are
frequently confused when others make reference to it. It is easy for
"style" to become a class unto itself. "He has style." "It was a very
stylish production." These uses imply judgment, evaluation. They
suggest some things, some people are included, some excluded.
They tell us some "have it," some don't.
Style and Each of Us
But maybe at its core, style isn't so exclusive a possession.
Perhaps it helps us develop a better use of the concept if we think
of everyone's having a "style."
For years now, as my own directing classes begin their work on
style, I have asked each student to bring to class some personal
possessions, things that have become especially valued. Things that
are carried in the purse or pockets, things that have been brought
with him or her to school, things they like. Things saved. Things
with meaning. At the same time I have asked them to dress in
clothes they think best reflect who they are.
Like many past cultures who bury their dead accompanied by
their favorite possessions, we ask what "things" have become so
associated with us we think of them as extensions of ourselves?
And so students have tried to honor my request. Some have
brought only a few things. Their clothing choices not changed much
from the previous class. Others in special attire and carrying great
bags full. Pictures of family and places visited, favorite books and
music tapes and discs. Jewelry always worn but only now noticed.
Stuffed animals kept since childhood, sketchbooks and medals, gifts
from departed family members, reminders of good times,
reminders of losses, reminders of goals.
We listen to their accounts of acquisition, to their projection of
longevity, to their interweaving of values learned and represented

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The Director's Eye

and passed on. We talk briefly about what we have seen and heard,
we speak of their hair styles and the surprise we would have if one
entered one day wearing the sweater or earrings or haircut of
another. We note which are savers and which carry little. We speak
of the presence of family and origins and things experienced and
things accomplished and things hoped for.
Without exception these have been among our most interesting
and informative classes each semester. They often help us see one
another more clearly than do weeks of more traditional directing
exercises. It's a simple project, of course. Familiar. "Show and Tell."
But most of us haven't done it much since the early grades.
Suddenly it becomes clear: We really do learn a great deal about
one another by the choices we make. These hairstyles, these clothes
we wear, these things we honor and keep close to us, are, in fact,
extensions of ourselves. They reflect our viewpoint. They reveal our
style.
In the class, in an atmosphere safe enough to encourage
sharing, it no longer seems appropriate to judge those styles. Yes,
their preferences are different from mine. Some of them. And likely,
some are similar to mine, maybe the very same as mine.
Always there are people who like things which at first don't
seem to go together. Someone who likes delicate things, soft things,
quiet things, but whose favorite book or music is anything but
delicate and soft. Yet here it is: Of course these things that "don't go
together," do go together. They are here in the collection of a person
who likes them all.
And that is one of the surprises, too. Almost anything can go
with anything else as long as someone prefers them both. In fact,
the distinctive style of a person may be most clearly described by
these paradoxes.
Style - a Harmony of Choices
These combinations then, achieve a certain harmony because of
one person's preference. It becomes a convenient means of
identification. We see Terri or Abi or Doug in these extensions
because they reflect their choices and almost always there is
something about each collection that is memorable. Why things are
kept, how long he or she has had them, why some very unlike
things are comforting. We see the possibility of some choices being
abandoned - after graduation perhaps, when the owner returns to
the "real" world- and some things, some extensions, preferences,
established now or last year or ten years ago, may well last a

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 An Introduction to Style

lifetime.
"Look at that man's hair style. It's out of the '70s." "She still
likes the dresses she wore when she was thirty. It's hard to find
them now, after all these years." "He's worn exactly the same kind
of shoes ever since I've known him. He must have had two dozen
pairs of those shoes."
Style, then, can be thought of as a harmony of choices. Who
says it harmonizes? Well, whoever chooses it. So these styles reflect
individuals. Of course, there are also styles which reflect couples or
families or community groups of varying sizes, nationalities,
species. Always it reflects choices. He I she I they choose these things
to go together, to make up their world, to decorate their bedroom.
The Contamination of Style
Here's the caution: We are quick to give up our right to choose.
We often let others dictate our style for us. So our bedrooms may
not reflect us, but our parents or our roommate or the landlord or
the Army's regulations. At its worst, it becomes a mishmash of
yours and theirs and hers and what's available and nobody likes
it. It reflects no one's preferences, only our unwillingness or
inability to weed out the "stuff" that doesn't seem to "fit."
This is true in our daily living and it is true in the theatre. In any
of the arts, it is important to remember we often give away the
opportunity to exercise our preferences.
Learning about "Styles"
As would-be artists, particularly in the beginning, we
desperately try to "learn" style. Yes, there is value in discovering the
preferences, the choices dominating a particular culture. Yes, we try
to piece together what may have been the "harmonies" preferred in
Elizabethan England or by the Greeks. But remember, our own
values get into even these reconstructions. Who among us thinks of
those traditional Greek statues as having been painted? Yet,
apparently many of them were. Now, we have become accustomed
to seeing them with the raw stone exposed. Its purity has its own
attraction for most of us. It fits our "values" even if we have a
difficult time articulating how we learned to like it that way.
Even when we reconstruct the past then, most of us choose.
Functioning as "artists" we select the things that go together to
represent. To represent whatever we are revisiting.
Style, then, is everywhere. We will inevitably respond to some
harmonies more than others. But we can respect and even enjoy

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The Director's Eye

most genuine collections of preference when the viewpoint is

carefully exercised. Even when it is radically different from our own
choices, we will probably find it interesting, maybe fascinating.
What we are likely to reject or ignore is the contaminated
viewpoints: collections with no guiding personal or even
community preference. And they too are all around us. Junk yards.
Collections which may well have buried treasures waiting for
someone to exercise a discriminating viewpoint. Waiting for
someone to "pull the weeds."
The Pleasure of Seeing New Harmonies
"Now that's style!" What do we mean? It's clear. We see the
choices. We see they go well together. They have a distinct harmony
and probably they are combined in ways we would never have
considered. Suddenly, we see new possibilities.
"Cool!"
Style and the Artist's Core
As we start this exploration of style and its importance to the
theatre, each of us needs to remember we cannot have lived for
twenty or more years without developing our own strong
preferences. As we make our choices, if we make them carefully
enough, we will see that they go together. We will create our
"harmonies." As we gain new insight, as we have new experiences,
as we change, our preferences for extensions of ourselves will
change. We will come up with new harmonies.
To function as an artist means, in the lifelong process of
learning, we may well borrow from those who got there first but we
must always work out of our own sense of harmony. In that is the
style unique to each of us. And style is an expression of our very
core. No one else will combine choices exactly as we do.
There was only one Rembrandt, one Shakespeare. There is only
one You.

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Chapter 16
Style and the Creative Process
Good artists, even those who work very quickly,
turn to evenJ detail, every passage,
as though it could if necessary
be given an infinite amount of time.
- Robert Grudin, Time and the Art of Living

No image, whatever its medium, can carry the complexity of

the moment. That's its weakness. It is also its strength. All our
recollections, all our sharings of past experiences are distillations.
Because they are selected, consciously or unconsciously, they
inevitably come to stand for more than themselves. They become
poetic symbols. Visited and revisited, they have the potential to
"mean" in endless changing ways.
Images Translated into Structures
"Home." Whatever that word triggers for you, it is more than
the four letters it takes to spell it out on this page. Close your eyes
and think of home for a few minutes.
What images began to come back? Chances are, you have had a
number of "homes." If you were able to focus, some of those may
have been inviting, easily remembered, some, not at all attractive,
remained hidden. Your mind may have skipped from one place to
another, one time to another. If you stayed with "home" long
enough, some images may have become quite specific. Images of
things: tulips in the back yard or the color of a house, a particular
place in a living room, still there or long gone, the face of your
parent, you, walking in the door and calling to see if anyone is
... "home."
When my children were small they had building blocks and
cards of various kinds. Moving into a newly built house, we added
to that hundreds of small pieces of scrap lumber, and soon they
were building enormous structures, homes and castles and
communities and cities, filling the playroom floor. As I watched
them I was fascinated by these four- and six-year-olds calculating
carefully where each wooden block should be placed as the
structures grew. They walked around assessing their effort, picked
up an integrated piece, turning it a quarter turn or moving it to the

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The Director's Eye

other side or exchanging it for one slightly smaller.

How did they know? What inner program told them the "right"
choices for the placement of all these pieces? How did they know
when the "Old Maid" cards could be added and when the
domirtoes were the only possible material that could be used to
complete the walkway?
As I've worked with college students coming to terms with
style, I've tried to recreate this experience. Lugging buckets of
materials to class: blocks, cards, sticks, small plastic pieces, tinker-
toys, mirrors, string. Asking them to bring a familiar figure, a
"totem," I've set them to building worlds.
"Create a home for Sampson," I've said.
And so they have had at it. Choosing this, but not that, building
among the nearby trees in good weather, in a corner of a sterile
rehearsal room in bad.
Free to make homes and castles as children do, they have
worried little about holding out the rain or their own inability to use
even a hammer. They discovered they could all build. No two
structures were the same; each had its own very specific rules.
These materials were useful. Those were not. Before beginning I've
offered them some books with reminders of the enormous range of
architecture in America. Some may have been affected by flipping
through the pages, most probably were not. Even they may not
have known.
What determined the form of their often colorful and
imaginative structures? Images. Millions of stored up images from
the world around them. From comic books and Disneyland. From
places they've been and thought forgotten. What freed them to
rediscover the value of these memories in creating? "It just started
happening," they might say.
Keeping It Manageable
Construction was easy. No tools needed. No previous welding
or roofing experience required. True, the artist building more
permanent projects will almost always have to learn to handle oil
paints or learn the subtle demands of the violin and its bow -learn
even the eccentricities of a whole orchestra of instruments. True,
few projects allow us to pick up the wood scraps and immediately
go at it. Yet this simple experience reminds us of an important truth:
We already possess more images for creating than we may realize.
The trick is in discovering how to release them.
Like a sculptor with his hands in the clay, as the form begins to

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 Style and the Creative Process

emerge, we are spurred on to define the creation. Give a child a

chunk of playdough and he'll make an animal. Start a snowman
and he'll finish it.
In the beginning, the style of the best of the classroom "home"
structures is seldom driven by organized and logical thoughts. It is
much more impulsive than that. To the builder, there is an
unconscious, yet very strong, sense of good choices and bad choices
and out of that, an evolving sense of form. The available materials
have a lot to do with the outcome. Some cards offered are from
standard playing card decks, some are children's larger cards with
colorful pictures, some have sophisticated designs. The builder
chooses. Even without being instructed, the builder chooses.
Out of all this a "style" emerges. A "harmony" evolves. It is
clear that this same "artist" on another day might choose different
materials and build a different structure. It might well have a
different "style." But in all probability, there would be recurring
characteristics in the houses of most of these students if left to
construct new worlds for a series of days. That was certainly true of
the constructions endlessly created by my four- and six-year-old
daughters.
Why? For each of them, college student or six-year-old, the
work came out of life experiences. The experiences of "home."
And so it always is. Words, pictures, actions - whatever the
symbol, it has the potential to conjure up an almost endless list of
associations. That association works at both ends of the process.
Completed, art triggers memories and feelings in the readers or the
listeners or the viewers as they take in the finished effort. For the
creator, the work, born out of an impulse, an idea, an experience, is
developed through associations, associations triggered by the
materials at hand. If the artist starts with Sampson and the idea of
"home," the process seems simple when he is given a bucket of
materials and told to "get at it." Other projects, including the
theatre, may seem more difficult.
While We Learn
In fact, the basic search for images, the basic evolution of a
"style," is the same whatever the creation. True, if we modify even
this classroom building project, the task can quickly become more
complex. Suppose we had to enlarge the scale? What if "Sampson"
was life size? And what of weather? If it were to be a "real" home
how would we keep out the elements? To build it to last a week, a
month, indefinitely - we would have to think about glues and

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The Director's Eye

bases and holding it together. Not to become overwhelmed by the

process, that's the key. If soldering is difficult, if welding is beyond
us, if a larger scale takes all the joy out of it, then we need to start
again. Find a simpler way. There is great strength in working with
materials you have the skills to handle.
As we learn new skills, learning them in manageable
increments, we can redefine our projects, always, always staying in
touch with our stockpile of images. It is out of these images we
create. If you can't use them, reexamine the process. Remember the
key: Not to become overwhelmed by the process. If it's true for the
sculptor welding, for the composer trying to "hear" his potential
orchestra, it is true for the director in the theatre as he learns the
demands of this complex collaborative art. If overwhelmed, find a
new way to do it. Whatever it is, don't let go of the creative process.
The artist is always working for a harmony created out of his
images in a way he can process. It will constitute his style.
Your Infinite Resources and Time
Out of the infinite possibilities, out of his viewpoint, the creator,
tapping his storehouse of images and matching it with his skills in
handling the available materials, will evolve a whole.
Remember, you may have more resources than you think. How
many millions of images do we have stored in our brain? None of
us can begin to fathom the enormous stockpile of impressions.
Sounds, sights, smells ... Add to this the possibilities from new
images sought out after we initiate our work on a creative project.
These images are not only of "home" but of ways to share the
concept of "home." Artists search endlessly for ways to share what
they see, what they feel. Maybe you can't sew, but you can glue.
Maybe you can't write, but you can edit. Maybe you can't sing, but
you can beat out a rhythm on an improvised set of drums.
Even with something as "objective" as a camera, artists search
for the right angle, the right light, the perfect framing of the image.
They come back again with a different film. They crop the initial
image by cutting off part of what seemed perfect when they tripped
the shutter. They recreate the whole in the dark room. They put the
photos in a certain sequence, blow them up to a specific size - only
if it's large enough to fill the page, fill the wall, fill the eye - only
then will you get it.
Even the seemingly objective photographer develops a "style,"
a viewpoint, a way of seeing. Through experience he can learn to
use the continually changing tools of photography. He may feed his

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 Style and the Creative Process

images into a computer, he may create montages of incredible

subtlety, but in the beginning he starts because he senses the power
of creating in a way that is practical for him. Even then we may
recognize his "style." Even with a simple reusable film/ camera, his
view can become unique.
And from these simple beginnings, what follows? The search.
Always the search.
Icons, images, matching of the sound and vision so as not to
erase one with the other, images seen but not seen, faces familiar,
but little known. Objects, people viewed from over there where no
one can stand, from up there where no one can fly, from down there,
down inside where no one can go. Words remembered because we
felt their sounds - felt them until they scraped our bones. Saw
them, heard them, touched them like water rushing over etched
granite. They are all ours to capture and share. How? That is the
challenge. Some you may work with now, others will have to wait.
Wait until you find a way. Wait for new tools. For more experience.
"Recollections in tranquillity." Wordsworth's definition of
poetry. The artist searches for a way to distill the experiencing of
life. With time, with care, he comes up with tools for capturing the
essence of what he experiences, recording it, recreating the essence
of it, sharing it. In the process he may well make new discoveries,
understanding more deeply as he seeks to create and recreate.
"To see her work is to get to know her," we say. "It is all there in
the things she offers, whatever they are. It comes from her very core
-her style speaks to us."

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Chapter 17
The Theatre and Style
Art is a way of producing
creative distortions
sometimes magnificent, sometimes terrifying -
that can penetrate the false realities.
-Norman Cousins

At the Center
In the theatre, the human being is at the center. That is not true
for all the arts. In fact, it is not true for most. A human being shapes
the painting, the sculpture, the symphony, but does not stand at the
center, at least not always. Plays, on the other hand, are about
people. Even when we tell the story of animals or gods - even
cartoons about the life of a "dot" or a "line" -we give them human
qualities and insights, human feelings. It is the only viewpoint we
know with any certainty. We tell of his discoveries, her explorations,
their struggle, their memories.
So we build theatre around people, build a world for people.
Our primary task is to bring them to life, to reveal their feelings, to
explore their drives. In presenting them, we provide the extensions
they need to carry out the action. We create the world that supports
their lives. True, we choose the elements for our productions from
an enormous range of symbols and conventions, but the primary
wellspring for every successful creation is always the same: the
human experience. That is how we test the validity of our work.
That is the measure of its truth.
Each Play's Reality
Each of the worlds we create has its own unique reality. Once
established, all the parts we develop or choose or add can be tested
to see if they are consistent with that reality. This is what it takes to
survive in this particular world. This is how hard you have to work,
this is how aware you are of other cultures, of other times, of other
"worlds." This is how people interact in this world.
In the reality of the Roadrunner and Coyote cartoon-world, you
can fall off a mile-high cliff, be run over by a steamroller, have a
stick of dynamite go off in your pocket, and your body will flatten,

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 The Theatre and Style

stretch, bounce and eventually spring back to its familiar useable

form. At three, children who watch television have learned to
understand the rules of the Roadrunner world and hundreds of
others: worlds where the characters fly, breathe underwater, turn
into machines and back again.
To participate in these worlds as actor or audience member one
has to enter into tacit agreements, understand and accept the
conventions. Like Alice in Wonderland, the difference between the
world we create and our own everyday experience may be great,
but we must find a way to "live" there. Then, as the director works
he says, "this belongs in here, this doesn't." Checking always for
consistency, he sees that this world is more and more sharply
defined, sees that it has harmony. That it is consistent. That it
supports the action. That the characters are at home here. It evolves
into the style of the play.
A Meeting Place for Actors and Audience
The director then, beginning with the blueprint set down by the
playwright, is seeking to create a world with its own distinct
harmony, its own style, where the actors and the audience can meet.
"Oh yes, me too! Me too!" the audience says, once they accept the
kind of air you breathe in that world and identify with the
characters who live there.
When this sought-for meeting of play and audience happens,
all the viewer's own feelings and memories can be tapped to unite
with the play's action. The production brings the action," one
0

might say, uand the audience brings the memories." Together they
become the experience of the play.
If the audience is too annoyed or puzzled or confused by the
production - by its story or by its style - they probably won't
come with us. Oh, they may attend the performance but they refuse
to experience the action. They debate with us about our choices. "I
don't believe that kind of thing happens!" "That's silly!" "Too
callous!" "Too cruel!" "Too sentimental!" "I can't follow this!" "Yes,
I heard it, but it's not interesting to me; it's not something I care
about."
If we want to share with an audience we not only have to create
in a style that is familiar or exciting or dramatic to us, but we have
to find a style where the audience will meet us. That means, for this
audience, the story of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet may seem
more immediate, more affecting, more "real," if set in New York in
the '50s than if we try to recreate Elizabethan London or Verona in

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The Director's Eye

its flowering. It may seem more truthful even if most of the words
are sung. It may seem more powerful because the words are sung.
Out of that simple idea, Bernstein and Laurents created West
Side Story. They found a place where their audience could meet the
play.
It is an important question, "Where can we meet?" We ask it
when we have something extremely sensitive to say to someone.
Some things can't be told just anywhere. In the theatre the key to
this meeting may be in our best recreation of the time and place
experienced by the playwright. It may be in our moving the events
and characters to our own time and place. It may be neither. We
may search for a third world where the original story and characters
can still seem plausible, and where the audience can be "taken" to
meet them. It is not an easy discovery. Some settings will distort the
action or make the language inappropriate. Other choices may steal
focus from the action and the characters. They make the production
about the "concept."
When the meeting place seems obvious and so "right" the
audience thinks of it as the "inevitable" world of the play, it is likely
the "style" was carefully evolved. It probably combines elements of
the time and place of the original creation and the "now" of the
producing theatre and its audience. These combinations likely
blend subtle elements contributed by all the key artists: playwright,
actors, director, designers.
The Truth of the Offering
Not many years ago Marshall McLuhan wrote, "The medium is
the message." The implication was that "how" we say it can be
more important than "what" we say. Our culture has placed an
enormous emphasis on appearance. One of the destructive practices
we have all fallen victims to is commerce's use of effective packaging
to sell a deficient product. The extension of this is heard in our
political campaigns when candidates are seriously advised to
observe the appearance of virtue, as if no one is particularly
concerned with the reality of virtue.
"If you think she's pretty, you should see her picture."
It's easy to think of the theatre as superficial pretense. Some of
it is. But most lasting theatre, most theatre with meaningful impact,
gets at truth. Truth as each of us is best able to tell it or represent it.
The complication for the theatre is that it's a collaborative art. Not
only are there a lot of people involved but there are a lot of
viewpoints. Those viewpoints reflect many different values. It's the

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director's job to blend them into one "truth." That "truth" comes
when everything in the production belongs.
In architecture and design we often hear "form follows
function," but in practice, that is seldom the case. Form follows
function modified by a collection of values, the values of the maker,
the supplier of parts, the consumer, the neighbors, the parent, the
city zoning commission and on and on. If this is true in the world
around us, it is even more true of the theatre.
Do these swords have to cut? Do we need to hear the voice at
the other end of the phone? If they are standing in the rain, do they
have to get wet? If he's the stronger of the two, how big must he be?
How many trees does it take to make this forest? Do we need a real
gun? Should we serve real food at the dinner? Every production
requires answers to an astonishingly large number of such
questions. How do we get the audience to believe our choices do the
job? Will they believe the action "happened"?
Robert Edmund Jones wrote that the actor's task is not to
represent, but to evoke. It's a very useful idea. It suggests much of
the play's "reality" takes place in the mind of each audience
member. "I could feel his heart pounding!" "I knew exactly what
she saw when she looked out beyond us. I saw it in her face."
In fact, much of the time it is simply impossible for the theatre
to be literal in all that it presents, even if it wanted to. Too costly. Too
impractical. We have come to expect it of films where $50 million
budgets are the norm, but only in a few plays is that an option. How
can we get such a huge world in our small space? How can so much
time be condensed into two hours? How can all those people be
portrayed by our small cast?
Every successful production works at developing audience
belief. we· begin each play using familiar conventions, but it is not
enough. The production itself has to introduce us to many others.
As the action progresses we confirm the power of these choices. We
teach the audience the strength of our symbols. We build their trust
in us. We build their belief that we know.
Somehow, in every successful production, all our choices get
past the literal to a deeper "truth." No blood, no bullets, and yet ...
and yet he's dead. We have evoked death. Brought it here with our
conventions and the audience meets it with their memories, their
imagination.
Guaranteed to work if you do it the same way in the next
production?
No.

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Seeing the Possibilities

At first the task seems impossible. But think of finding a
magnificent painting on a wall in just the right house surrounded
by an incredible garden in a totally inviting neighborhood of a city
that seems to welcome you in. And the folks who live in that house
embrace you and make you comfortable there, and every morning
of your stay you look at the painting and think, "This is the perfect
place for it."
The best theatre will come when the painting is on the perfect
wall and the tea served as we enjoy it makes us realize how lucky
we are to have this moment. Today, unlike quality basketball or
film, great theatre is rare. When the theatre really succeeds, it often
is presented to an audience who thinks it wants coffee, not tea, and
isn't at all sure it cares about paintings. For that audience, with little
or no expectations, the surprise is in discovering or rediscovering
the theatre's power when it all comes together.
Yes, it's rare. And yet it is important for all of us working in
theatre to sense its potential.
Getting it all"together" is very complex. Lots of trial and error.
We start trying to build one thing and realize we haven't enough
money or the right actors or the lighting turns it all to mush. But
when it comes together, when the style evolves into that near
perfect harmony, when all these viewpoints seem to connect into
something larger than any of them individually - when that
happens, we all remember. Creator and audience alike.
Each time it's a new challenge. Experiences totally outside the
theatre may change our audience's willingness to come along. Our
symbols may have lost their magic. We are constantly searching for
the style that connects the action and the viewer - today.
Evolving a Quilt
There is a beautiful little play constructed from the stories of
women whose mothers and grandmothers were among the early
settlers in the American Southwest. To capture their drive to pass on
to the next generation the struggles and beauty of their experiences,
it uses a near perfect metaphor: a quilt. It fact, it is called Quilters.
Creating a style for the theatre is almost always a matter
of evolving a "quilt." From all these scraps, these tatters, these
experiences of people who have struggled before and with us, from
our own piecing and sewing as we sit with one another long into the
night, comes this single covering. All these tiny pieces blend
together into a totally new form, and yet, looking closely, we are

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reminded that as new as it is, as beautiful as it might be, its richness

comes from the much larger experiences that preceded it.
The Multiplicity of Styles
Today, there are as many named styles of theatre as there are
styles of writing or styles of painting. These named styles usually
carry labels given by critics or historians: naturalism, theatre of the
absurd, neo-modern, comedia del arte - the list goes on and on. Some
of these names come from the originating cultures or time periods.
Others from perceived common artistic viewpoints. For the
beginning director who isn't yet sure what he needs to know, these
labels can be frightening. It may be useful to remind yourself that
most artists are less concerned with naming styles than are writers
of textbooks.
Here, we have been suggesting there are as many potential
styles as there are creative efforts. Nevertheless, two basic
approaches to theatre and style are probably useful to acknowledge
as you begin.
The Film as Model
First, there is the now inevitable influence of film on the theatre,
and in fact, on all of our culture. It is difficult to overestimate the
influence of films and television on each of us. Taking your first trip
to New York or Paris? What do you anticipate? It's unlikely you can
think about these questions without film images coming to mind.
It's no exaggeration to suggest film shapes much of our perception
of life as we expect it to be.
Suppose we ask that our theatre behavior be "true." If we want
our actors to be "believable," what will we accept? We know they
aren't really going to die even if that is the action of the play. What
are we looking for? What is "real" behavior? Sometimes we are
surprised when we see ourselves on tape or on film, for we lose
sight of what our own behavior must look or sound like to others.
Nonetheless, the all pervasive "documentary" or "candid" camera
and "hidden" microphone set a standard for what we accept as
"real" or "true." For nearly all of us, we are exposed to more people
in crisis, more people carrying out work efforts, more people in
relationships, during a year of film and television viewing than in a
lifetime of direct personal contacts. Moreover, in today' s films, it is
not unusual for candid scenes of real people, often totally unaware
they are being filmed, to be edited together with actors carrying out
prescribed tasks, speaking a playwright's lines.
What is believable? Well, we match our actors up against these

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unsuspecting people performing real tasks without knowing they

are being recorded. To be "truthful," to be "real," the actor must be
indistinguishable from the "real people." Of course there are bizarre
exceptions - times, for example, when the actors may seem more
believable than the non-actors. But "real" models exist in
abundance and make their unconscious demands on all of us as we
strive for "truth" in the theatre. Watching old movies produced
through the past sixty years will validate this idea. As technology
improved, increasing our ability to record everyday events without
calling attention to the camera or recorder, the "style" of acting
changed. Much of what we once thought "realistic" film acting now
seems contrived.
Today, we frequently see long dead historic public figures
interacting with contemporary performers, thanks to the editing
made possible by the computer. They seem to be "in the same
world." Their "style" of behavior seems to be born out of their
interaction. The "real" world of even long gone "real people" and
the "pretend world" of the actor seem indistinguishable.
Recorded real-life behavior and film acting that is so near real-
life behavior we can't tell the actors from the non-actors provide
demanding models. Seemingly spontaneous reactions of human
beings in unrehearsed "real" situations are keystones for
believability in most of our theatre.
Style and the Teller of Stories
This second approach to style is a much older one. It reminds us
that the poetic tradition, the tradition of the storyteller as the
weaver of tales, the witness who speaks for his or her people, the
one who summons spirits, is still very much with us. The model
here comes in many disguises - cartoon characters, puppets,
clowns, great folk singers, Kabuki dancers - each has its own
eccentricities, but common to all is the speaking of poetry. Words
beautifully selected and beautifully spoken, or chanted, or sung.
Common to all are movements and faces which have a certain
exaggeration about them, a certain stopping of time, eyes peering
out from behind masks and through painted faces, movement
shaped for beauty or emotional impact whether we think to name it
"dance" or do not name it. And always an awareness of the
audience present and the interaction between the performer and the
audience. Each openly affecting the other. Each building on the
other's reaction. We associate Shakespeare with such a production
and opera - yes, and the American musical.

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But even here, there is a "reality" demanded. A consistency.

Even here the actor must somehow get his audience in touch with
the essence of life. Even here we demand that this world be
"believable." It is a much more spiritual "truth" we are seeking
here, but a "truth," nevertheless.
Here the mask becomes not a tool for concealing the life within
us, but for releasing it. All those veneers we encase ourselves in are
tossed away. Watching the eyes of the performer in his outlandish
makeup or singing his gut-wrenching melody we see him free to
share something he rarely lets out of the box in his everyday
existence. His passions find voice. His body soars. For an instant he
can fly!
For most of us, our conforming, adult behavior makes the film-
based approach to style a more comfortable one. This second,
storyteller approach, demands we master so many conventions, so
many unfamiliar tasks, it is easy to be overwhelmed and settle for
superficiality. Paradoxically, for many, the poetic quality of this
more traditional theatre may seem most appropriate for children.
Adults are too grounded in "reality" to enter into such a world. And
yet, occasionally we have great performances, celebrated
productions with a wide range of appeal, which do just that. In my
own career, probably no other production I directed had a more
enthusiastic and universal reaction from its audiences than Man of
LaMancha. One is tempted to say that the very best theatre will
always come out of such a tradition. Certainly, playwright Robert
Sherwood's reference to the theatre as "the dwelling place of
wonder" endorses just such a viewpoint.
It is true, then, that this book has pointed to the more familiar
film-based theatre as the practical starting place. But that is not to
deride the potential of a more poetic and in some ways more
traditional theatre. In fact, today, any truly creative theatre effort
will inevitably choose elements from both the film and storyteller
models. Both are too much a part of our life-long experiences to
ignore one or the other. What is important to remember is that both
demand "truth." Two very different models, but each seeking to
share the "truth" of our experiences. To settle for the superficial,
whatever the model, means you are unlikely to complete the
experience. Only if your "truth," however it's told, touches the
audience will they bring their memories to meet you.

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Chapter 18
Ritual and the "Holy" Theatre
Rituals are timed by beats of the heart,
not ticks of the clock.
- Robert Fulghum

For each of us who work in the theatre, investing in plays that

count can produce benchmarks in our life's journey. In fact, their
power over us is so great we may well think of a past year as " ... the
year I did Chalk Circle," or "the year I acted in Midsummer ... "
A Value above All Price
In my own life in the theatre, no play has affected me more
deeply than Thornton Wilder's Our Town. Like most of you, as a
young person I acted in a number of plays. The majority of them
were, at best, the equivalent of forgettable television sitcoms. My
first acting effort, as I recall, was in a play titled Seventeen Is Terrific.
Our Town was the exception among these disposable productions.
I first played the stage manager in Our Town when I was sixteen.
Since then I have directed it and played that same role at two very
different stages in my life. Perhaps even more revealing, I have used
the image of Emily's return to her twelfth birthday countless times
as I rehearsed and wrote other plays. And, repeatedly, I have held
Our Town up before my sometimes skeptical directing classes as an
extraordinary play - one capitalizing on the things the theatre can
do best.
It will come as no surprise then, when I admit that Thornton
Wilder was the first to show me what the theatre could be. All that
and no car chases, no obvious violence, no death beds, no robberies -
not even a seduction.
Toda~ many who are asked to read Our Town, find themselves
unable to accept its reality. Our cynical time suggests it is another
idealized view of an America that never existed. You may be one of
those viewers I readers for whom Our Town, like the paintings of
Norman Rockwell, seems all"white bread." No allowances for the
multicultural mix of today and no recognition of the struggles many
face in coping with the violent, angry, day-to-day world of business,
of the streets, of drugs and crime, of politics and gangs.
All true. At least many of those arguments are true. No wonder

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some find it difficult to believe there ever was a village like Grovers
Corners - anywhere, at any time. And yet ... here, it seems to me,
is a universal story. Our Town deals in an almost lost commodity:
innocence. Near child-like innocence. Does it exist today?
Yes. But where?
Well, first, there are a few tiny communities in out-of-the-way
places all over the globe with Grovers Corners-like qualities. My
wife and I spent two Christmas seasons in one in the Yucatan, a tiny
Mayan village of 800 which was only beginning to learn about the
outside world. The door on the state-built, local jail swung in the
wind. No need for it. Even there, in a thatched-roof store where
Coca-Cola and a few packaged crackers were sold, a "snowy"
television screen flickered to life two or three hours each day telling
of another, not so innocent, world.
Change at work - destroying innocence.
It might seem, then, that Our Town is a history lesson, a tale of a
nearly lost time. And in some ways it is. An important one. But
there is more. Grovers Corners may be increasingly hard to find, but
innocence still survives. Where? In each of us. Try as we might to
disguise it.
We change, of course, but all of us started innocently enough,
and images remain. Every now and then we get in touch with it -
no matter how much armor we wear. One of my recent students
started by rejecting Our Town - "boring, nothing to do with me."
He finished our study by telling us his valued memories of family
dinners. For his scene work he brought two friends, young African-
American actresses, who called up their own memories, sensitively
playing Mrs. Gibbs and Mrs. Webb stringing beans and exchanging
lifelong dreams to go to "a country where they don't talk in English
and don't ·even want to."
Our Town celebrates the ordinary. It is not, as Wilder himself
tells us, a picture of life in a New Hampshire village, but " ... an
attempt to find a value above all price for the smallest events in our
daily life. 'I love you,' 'I rejoice,' 'I suffer,'" Wilder reminds us,
"have been said and felt many billions of times and never twice the
same." The theatre, he goes on to point out, is admirably suited to
telling both. Telling the story of the individual and, at the same
time, sharing the universal.
Ritual: A Tool for Significance
Since the opening chapters of this book, we have been
considering ways to make action happen and to make it significant.

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There are lots of ways to think about this process of making things
significant. The simplest, most profound, most familiar tool of all
may be to better understand and use our capacity to develop rituals.
When it is sensitively produced, Wilder's play makes it easy for
us to see the ritual inherent in theatre at its best. One of my own
classroom mentors was the American theatre historian, Barnard
Hewitt, who many years ago wrote an essay praising Wilder as a
near unique American playwright. Wilder, in Hewitt's view, was
" ... a yea-sayer. He says 'yes' to the life of the theatre . . . And
through the theatre he says 'yes' to human life."
To consider ritual's power as a directing tool we probably need
to remind ourselves of its inevitable presence in our lives. We live
alone. Always seeking connections. Connections with partners,
with families, the girls, the guys, the business, the voters, the
community. We fear we won't be remembered. We fear we'll forget.
Lost times, lost relationships, lost accomplishments. Our very place
in time and space is vulnerable. To remind ourselves, to be part of
celebrating, we mark our calendars. We invite everyone to our
house. We serve the turkey. We travel across the country for
Christmas dinner at Grandma's ... for Passover ... for our son's
graduation ... for the christening of the new baby.
Yes, we live in a culture celebrating the "fast track."
Experiencing such a multiplicity of events and relationships we
often find it difficult to believe any one of them is of lasting
importance. Rituals, developed consciously and unconsciously, can
help us remember and reestablish the importance of our valued
experiences.
Of course, it is easy to characterize the present era as a time of
non-believers. We have lost faith in our institutions. Government
doesn't work, our schools are in trouble, the family is splintered,
religion is in question- what do we believe in? If we have few
bone deep beliefs, aren't our rituals tainted? In fact, is ritual a
meaningful part of our lives? Haven't we abandoned the very idea
of ritual?
It seems to me the answers to these questions may be just the
opposite from the expected. Precisely because our institutions are in
trouble do we cling to those few beliefs that keep us afloat.
Knowing how vulnerable we are, we have developed amazing
skills in the creation of rituals. Yes, they may take new forms, they
may be the step-brothers and sisters of traditional rituals, but our
need to find security in connecting, in being remembered, in
celebrating has never been greater. We are working overtime at

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creating our own rituals. We are desperately seeking out sources of

empowerment and connection.
At first it seems accurate to suggest, as Peter Brook did, we can't
have a "Holy Theatre" because we don't believe in anything. But it
may be more accurate to say we can only have a holy theatre. That
is, only when an action becomes significant, becomes important
enough to alter our lives, only then do we have an action which is
dramatic. In that sense, some place around any production must be
a "holy" or at least a "highly significant" act. That "holiness" might
be in the reenactment itself; it might be in the preparation for the
reenactment; it might be in the action of the piece, or in the central
characters of the piece. We may even find it in the actors who come
to do the piece.
So, we are continually faced with the responsibility of making
things holy or at least "extremely important." In that process, we
use our ritualizing instincts whether we are willing to admit to
them or not.
To become more appreciative of that instinct, we might look for
the times when we are "down on our luck," when we need very,
very badly for the loan or the grade or the decision or the mail to
come through. When we need for "her" or "him" to say, "Yes!" In
short, we might examine those situations when we have a strong
need for the "gods" to be on our side today, just this once, just now ...
"just let it happen now!" It's there in the closed eyes awaiting the
sound of the crowd around you as the player at the foul line faces
the basket at the end of the game. It's there in the walk along the last
yards leading to safety when the car has run out of gas on a cold
dark night. It's there in the stack of papers about to be returned
which will tell if it's grad school or not, failing or not, to New York
or not, free or not, going on with hope or knowing it can never be.
It is there in the emergency room when life walks the tight rope
and all else is a different world.
If we are honest, it becomes clear that we do, in fact, constantly
engage in rituals. Rituals in our relationships, in preparation for
confrontation, in our coping with life-changing experiences. We
know how to develop those rituals because we have been exposed
to an astonishingly wide range of "mysterious potions" which
somehow seem to have already helped us get through it all.
Yes, we're cynical. Our institutions are shop worn. We're leery
of imposed rituals. Maybe disdainful. But that is all the more reason
why we instinctively manufacture rituals to connect with the
experiences we give high value. At the same time we reject rituals

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demanded of us we knowingly or unknowingly create our own.

And occasionally we subscribe to long established ones. Only when
the passage, the transformation, the empowerment is something of
great importance to us do we invest intensely in the ritual. The
valuing comes first.
If the goal is important enough, we brace ourselves for
the competition. We put on our best suit, our heavy boots, our
make-up - we go as a team, we buy a new briefcase, we take the
briefcase given to us by our father, we polish our shoes as mon1
used to polish them, we slip a lucky coin in our pocket ...
Our willingness to dig deep into our "primitive" instincts is
greatest when the challenge is most awesome. When the stakes are
high. Out of such stuff comes the dramatic experience.
Rituals, Alone and Together and in Combination
They come in all sizes: community rituals, family rituals, rituals
of partnership and rituals of self. There are countless variables
within these divisions. Community rituals may have to do with
nationalism, or religion, or social concern. Often several community
rituals compete with one another for our participation and
endorsement. Then, too, we see the competition of one class of
rituals with another: Partnerships strong enough to defy the
demands of family and a Romeo and Juliet is born. Rituals of self
which fly in the face of religion or nationalism and we've created
any one of countless heroes or heroines from today' s news or
yesterday's literature. We see religion merged with nationalism and
family identity, and all that organized around strong, demanding
heads who practice self-aggrandizing rituals. It's the Godfather and
Dances with Wolves and My Fair Lady and NYPD Blue- and the list
goes on and on. So it is not easy to sort out the layers of rituals
tapped by any complex account of human interaction.
Habits and Rituals
Complicating this, too, is the fact that needs which spawn
rituals often spawn habits of long duration. We may find the
separation of rituals and habits difficult. Both are concerned with
repetitions. Both produce deeply imprinted patterns. Both originate
with personal needs which may be only dimly perceived or
understood as the habits or rituals are repeated.
But, there is one very important difference: Rituals have to do
with our giving events, relationships, memberships, actions, higher
value or greater power. Rituals are concerned with experiences
which are or were or are hoped to be significant. Rituals are

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concerned with raising the stakes. Habits, on the other hand, relieve
us of the responsibility of attending. They make "automatic pilot"
a plausible method of getting there. In a sense, they reduce the event
to the commonplace. They lower the stakes.
While both habits and rituals are useful in understanding
ourselves and reflecting our understanding through the theatre, the
theatre is concerned with the dramatic. The dramatic is possible
only when the actions are significant. "Significant," that is the key.
Ritual is often the sure sign we have recognized an event as
significant and are somehow trying, in our repetitions, to preserve
or elevate that significance.
The director, then, can profit by looking for rituals: Rituals that
show the stakes are high. Rituals that give the characters power.
Rituals that show what happens is remembered, will be
remembered. Rituals that help make clear when what we do, what
we are about to do, what we have done has enormous value. Rituals
which say an action has a life beyond the moment of its happening.

In the theater, rituals can raise the stakes:

• for our coming together as a company,
• for our interaction with an audience,
• and for the value of the story we have to tell.

Some of these rituals will never be seen by the audience. During

the '60s it was popular to treat the rehearsal space as a sacred place.
Borrowing from the Eastern philosophies, careful floor scrubbing,
observed silence and lit candles were all part of attempts to raise the
stakes in our work. Ceremonies with trumpeters and fanfares,
cannon salvos, flag raising and national anthems, commonplace at
ball games and horse races, have been part of more than one
theatre's rituals. And in the plays themselves, rituals which
emphasize the near mystical power of the theatre are nowhere more
clearly demonstrated than in Our Town.
Our Town brings us back to the basics: a platform, a story, actors
and an audience. The narrator, with the help of a few simple set
pieces tells his audience how it works as he goes along. We are here.
This actress will play Mrs. Gibbs. Here beside this table and chairs
is her garden. It is a vivid reminder of the theatre's evocative power.
We need not build a town to see one. We need only two invested
young people at a counter to remember what it was like to first be
in love.
Whenever we are in danger of making things too difficult, Our

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Town reminds us how simply the theatre can work. Two ladders
suggest the upstairs bedrooms at the end of the first act, the plank
between two chairs makes a counter for the second act drug store,
the chairs lined up before us create a hilltop cemetery as the third
act procession, with their black umbrellas, brings the white-dad
Emily to her grave. To see it well done is to realize how near perfect
is Wilder's vision of the entire production. He has selected the
simplest of elements to carry the rituals. Universal images that get
us there. Their stark poetic economy is in contrast to the over-
produced film of the play Hollywood made using many from the
original Broadway cast.
In the theatre, when rehearsals go dead, when the production
ceases to celebrate, when the utruth" is lost and the moment is
mundane, we need to get in touch with the extraordinary - to find
the uvalue above all price" for even those taken-for-granted
moments. We need to polish our floors, light our candles, and
rediscover the uholy theatre" that once brought us here.
Any ritual can become a habit at any time. If it is true of our
religious practices, our holiday celebrations, and our governmental
institutions, it is certainly true for our theatre. The good news: We
live with the possibility of rescuing ourselves from these "habits."
When in trouble, we need to connect with something larger
than ourselves, with a time beyond this time. Like Emily, we need
11 11
to accept that few of us realize life" while we live it, every, every
minute" - but now, now I understand, now I see it so differently.
Our rituals - old and new - can get us there when we most need
it..lfthey are vigorously pursued and ifwe are clearly committed to
the significant value of that which we seek to revisit, to celebrate, to
keep alive. We need to carefully observe and create our rituals -
some that become part of our production, raising the stakes, making
the action significant, and some that the audience will never see, but
which keep us focused, empower us to create, and bond us together.
How we handle the theatre's inevitable rituals will become a
significant part of our style.

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Chapter 19
The Deceptive Challenges of Comedy
The world of a comic strip is more fragile
than most people realize or will admit.
Believable characters are hard to develop
and easy to destroy.
-Bill Watterson, creator
of Calvin and Hobbes

"He's my best friend.II

"Really?
II

"Yeah, he laughs at my jokes. II

Ah yes! Burns and Allen. Abbott and Costello. Calvin and

Hobbes. Partners sharing a sense of humor. It delights us just to
think about them.
"Sense of humor." What other viewpoint has such a cherished
name?
OK, so we want to share our sense of humor with an audience.
Where do we start?
Most of this book's treatment of theatre and drama can be
readily applied to serious theatre. The next two chapters are
intended to provide assistance with what may become surprisingly
difficult: comedy. Never mind that from the outside comedy seems
easy. There is truth to the old theatre maxim: "Dying is easy;
comedy is hard."

Is This Supposed to Be Funny?

Almost all good serious plays will have comic moments. And
almost all good comedies will have serious moments. But the fact is,
when looking at an unfamiliar script we often ask, "Is this supposed
to be funny?" At first we can't tell. And if we can't tell, how are we
to know if our rehearsal is headed in the right direction?
It's a reasonable question. Sometimes we forget that disturbing
early childhood experience: trying to sort out who is teasing and
who thinks our perceived hurts and injustices are pretty serious
stuff.
Well, what about these hurts? Should we laugh at them or not?
And if we should, how easy is it to make that happen?
It is easy to forget that dramatic action almost inevitably dances

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The Director's Eye

back and forth across the line - the line separating the comic and
the serious. When we are certain it is comedy it is easy to wear
ourselves out trying to make it funny. The harder we work the less
comic it becomes.
The primary need is not to make plays funny, but to make them
real. If you can make a play real, don't be surprised if at first it
seems very serious.
Keep working. Watch. Listen. Begin to sense how it becomes
more absurd, more bizarre, more unlikely - not unreal, unlikely -
as it goes faster or as they work harder, or get louder or refuse to
quit or as their tools break down, or they are interrupted or they
interrupt themselves. See it begin to change to something silly,
something - well, yes: comic. If it doesn't happen, stop. Take a
break. Go to another scene. Come back and try again. Everything we
do, everything that is important or moving or powerful can become
silly, absurd - comic.
Remember outtakes? Every film has some footage that we don't
see but is saved because it's so funny. Stuff out of control, even in
the most serious of films with the greatest of actors.
When you direct comedy, you are looking for outtakes.
The Power of Joy
Yes, comedy has its own style. Its own way of viewing the
world. In fact, each comedy has its own style. Why is it so difficult?
Well, one of the answers comes as we think about rehearsals. The
play that began fresh and delightful for actors in auditions and
remained so for the first few rehearsals, all too often turns into
work. We have heard the funny lines before. We know when the
doorbell is going to ring. The play has lost one of comedy's
essentials: surprise. And the greater our effort, the more impatient
we became. The desired final product begins to slip through our
fingers. We suddenly come face to face with reality: Yes, comedy is
hard!
In nearly every rehearsal, it is good advice not to force the piece
to become comic. It is almost certain death to the comic mood to be
too preoccupied with the need for audience laughter. Why? Tension
and anxiety, the opposite of joy and relaxation, come when we try
too hard. For the actor and the director, to try too hard to make it
funny is the road to self-defeat.
Before committing to a production, ask yourself, "If I choose to
do this play, will it be worth the effort?" Some comedies are good
enough to amuse an audience, but if they don't grow out of

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something important to you, something at your core, you and your

cast may burn out getting there. Particularly if it is a long run, those
peripheral scripts can turn into nightmares for the actors. Audiences
who have heard it is a good production come in the third week or
third month and after seeing the performance, wonder what their
friends saw that they missed.
Most of the time, then, you will do well to replace "needing to
get laughs" with "having fun." If the cast can enjoy preparing the
production and returning to it for the run of the performances, the
audience will probably sense that and share in your good time.
There will be obvious laugh lines where you will work to find
just the right timing, and yes, it will be disappointing if they don't
get laughs, but remember, not every person in the audience has the
same sense of humor as you or the playwright. Johnny Carson built
much of his career on "takes" to his audience when some obvious
gag line got no response. Some nights they may not laugh no matter
how brilliant your production. What you and your cast can always
do is try to find joy in your work. Be careful not to do it at the
expense of the play and the play's action, but find ways to remind
your cast it is freeing and exhilarating to try to get inside the world
of this play. Why? "I chose it because I believe it."
Usually the most crucial time is the first performance. If the
audience responds, casts suddenly have their faith restored.
Nothing assures like the audience feeding back their own
enjoyment. It can become a mutuallovefest before you know it. If it
happens, value it. If it doesn't, keep working. Try to find ways to
make the performances easier. Probably the effort is showing.
Comedy will always require some fine-tuning after you begin
to sense audience responses. It is easy to lose the play's rhythm and
style in our early thirst for laughter. It is also easy to lose the play's
rhythm and style by going for "just one more laugh." Many a
production has lost its audience by the second or third act because
an actor could not resist going for the "cheap laughs" early. In long
runs the inexperienced cast will wonder what happened after a
couple of weeks if they keep reaching for laughter at the expense of
the play's action.
When your cast likes and respects the play and has fun doing it,
good things happen. The greatest gift is when you find an audience
that shares your sense of humor. It is good to remember not all of
them will. Value those who do.

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The Serious Value of Comedy

When I began teaching directing I used to read a testimonial
from a play-catalog to my classes. A high school teacher had written
to tell of the success of a particular script. "I counted twenty-six
definite laughs!n she declared, and the publisher used it as
enticement for the would-be director in search of a produceable
script.
Standing in the back of the house, waiting to see how "they like
it,n silence can be incredibly intimidating. No wonder this director
was relieved when they laughed twenty-six times. But how many
laughs does it take to constitute success, anyway?
Depending on your own nurturing, you may have no problem
accepting that it is a great idea to work on your funny stuff. In my
own case, I somehow came to believe the theatre should deal with
life that mattered and the best of those efforts were not likely to be
comedies. Sure, we could admire Chaplin, but the really great
works, the most profound drama, the lasting images - all that
came from serious writing and performing.. So give me a good cry
and to heck with the laughter. Laughter is for wimps.
Now that I am older and wiser, comedy seems much more
attractive. Part of that comes from my own certainty that laughter is
good for us: fights off infections, restores our youthful vigor, helps
us survive, helps us fight the windmills.
Makes our inadequacy bearable.
Problem: I don't always remember or believe that. And when I
am most in need of a little laughter, I usually don't find much of
anything very funny.
The late Norman Cousins was already a world renowned writer
and unofficial ambassador for America when he was afflicted with
what doctors told him was an incurable disease. Anatomy of an
Illness recounts his self-prescribed treatment (massive doses of
vitamin C and a regular diet of comedy- viewing of Marx Brothers
films and the like). Not only did he survive the disease, but also a
second crisis, a major heart attack a few years later. His self-
education and his interaction with sympathetic doctors led him to
accept a position on the UCLA medical school faculty as adjunct
professor. There he used his considerable reputation to champion
the cause of doctors' needing to understand the power of mind over
body. Today we know more about endorphins. Science can more
effectively explain the healing power of secretions triggered by the
positive emotions. They help keep us alive.
Comedy is more than an escape. To be good at comedy you

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probably have to believe in it. That may not be a "scientific belief,"

nor even a "logically supported" belief. But somehow you probably
one, need to sense the life-giving values of comedy, and two, be
determined to get into your own creations that zest for life which
erupts out of our most earnest, enthusiastic, joyful discoveries -
often under the most trying of circumstances.
In comedy we catch a brief glimpse of passing insight: Life can
be endured despite the frustration we often feel. We sense that by
laughing we are really bigger, stronger, more sensitive, more human
than when we can only fear or swear or fight. The more serious at
some time, the more laughter now.
We all might profit from fostering a stronger belief in our ability
to discover the joys of laughter. "I laughed ... I thought I'd die."
How sweet it is, laughing 'til it hurts.

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Chapter 20
Comedy: Nuts and Bolts
All I need to make a comedy
is a park, a policeman
and a prettlj girl.
- Charlie Chaplin

Beginning in the mid '80s, on most days Bill Watterson's

creation was not only the favorite comic strip, but the best part of
the entire newspaper for millions of Americans. It was wise,
sophisticated, dealing with each of us and with important social
issues. We were stunned by his decision to retire at the end of a
decade of work, but grateful for his parting publication, The Calvin
and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book. On its cover were our heroes,
Calvin and Hobbes - looking us right in the eye and making silly,
childish, grotesque faces. It was wonderful.
Tapping Universal Impulses
How do we create comedy? Start by building on your own
comic instinct. Face-making may be pretty simplistic, but it's a
universal impulse. The idea of our needing to make faces, violations,
obscenities in order to cope, survive, assert our own rights,
ownership - whatever - forces us to acknowledge the inherent
joy we experience when carrying out the comic impulse. Language
is no barrier.
An actor cast in a comedy which he does not think is funny will
probably be a very difficult actor to integrate into the work. He will
likely be short of comic impulses. Yes, he may have qualities which
allow us to laugh at his expense, but be cautious of the long term
results. The lesson: Be careful of casting. Actors really have to enjoy
what they are doing to make most comedy effective.
As a director it is your job to create an atmosphere where actors
are free to rediscover those comic impulses. Inevitably, it will get all
of you in touch with the mischievous child we were taught to stifle
and ignore. Sometimes those impulses can run amok. Be tolerant.
It's the price we pay for having Calvin and Hobbes living among us.
With a little judicious parenting it was worth it then, and it will be
worth it now.
As you work on most comedies, an extraordinary thing

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happens: Not only is it no longer funny, it is often not even possible

to see what we laughed at two weeks ago. What in the world made
us think this poor sick writing could be humor anyway? We become
confused, tired, overwhelmed. What we're doing doesn't feel funny.
Now what? At such times it is important to remind yourself, there
are essentially two people we laugh at in comedy him ... or me.
You may have forgotten which it is. Stop. Figure it out. Either one,
We see "him/them" as the deserving objects of our ridicule, for they
are, after all, less insightful than we and deserve to be held up to the
light; or two, We see ourselves in the action and recognize we get
crazy at times. Sometimes we do the most bizarre and unreasonable
things.
Laughing at Them
The first of these viewpoints usually means we band together
with members of the audience to slap back at those who make our
lives difficult. We are after the Republicans (or Democrats), after
Men (if we are females) or Women (if ... ), after the pretentious, after
the "jocks," the "nerds," the less-than-adequate-teachers, the
wimps, the militants, the ...
Even in cynical comedy, be sure your action has someone we
like, someone we can sympathize with. Often there is news: The
Emperor has no clothes after all. But who tells it? Gracie Allen,
Lucille Ball, Roseanne, the Little Tramp, Robin Williams - you
laugh at their comedy, and you love them. We want the "truth" to
come from a person we like and enjoy. If you want us to stay
connected with the play, help us identify with the misfits who seem
to have more basic insight into the human condition than the
majority of those who run our government, or our networks or our
universitie~ - than those who run our lives. Comedy without a
sympathetic character wears thin. We may enjoy it for a brief
period, but seldom a full-length play.
In recent years, NBC's Saturday Night Live has given birth to a
great number of major comedians. Interestingly, the ones who have
gone on to the most successful careers have almost invariably been
the ones who are the easiest to like: Robin Williams, Steve Martin,
Gilda Radner, Eddie Murphy - yes, their wit and skills were
important, but their rapport with audiences played a major role in
sustained success.

Laughing at Ourselves
The second kind of comedy, laughing at ourselves, is probably
the more satisfying of the two, if we can find the distance to enjoy

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The Director's Eye

entering deeply into it.

We are reminded that we are the victims of our own patterns,
our own refusal to change, our own blindness - at least under
certain circumstances - when we are late for an appointment,
when we are hungry, when we lose our glasses, when we think we
are in love. In short, much of comedy is born of the simple reality
that to be human is to be imperfect. By laughing we may well
forgive ourselves, finding a perch from which we can even enjoy
our past shortsightedness.
If this is your work, you and your cast have to make yourselves
really vulnerable. You have to enjoy that the joke's on me. "And
don't I deserve it!"
If one actor carries the brunt of this humor for us, he needs
support, yours and the rest of the company. For all of you it is
important to remember how easily we become intimidated by our
own vulnerability. Don't let anyone play the fool alone. He is, after
all, the fool in each of us. Jackie Gleason, Carrol 0' Connor - all the
great actors who made this kind of character famous - were
surrounded by loving fellow actors.
Mean spirited comedy exists, of course. We all engage in it from
time to time. We are back to values here. Like smashing the leg of an
animal and laughing as it limps off, we may sometimes justify it out
of fear, but, under most circumstances, it raises serious questions
about the performance. I prefer to think the rewards are greater
when comedy grows out of positive values we would promote
under any circumstances.
It's about Time!!!
"Timing," they say, "timing, that's what makes the difference!"
We'll all concede that the great comic actors have wonderful
timing. The question is: "How can we improve our own?"
To assert that the closer we get to the performance, the more we
will probably profit from the action's becoming "louder and faster"
is a useful start. What we really mean is getting the mind going
faster; becoming more alert. If we pick up cues faster, if we are really
alert to what the other person is saying or doing so the split-second
we hear or see whatever it is that triggers our response - if then we
are off and running, whether it is our next line or our next action -
if we do all this, we have the makings of a break-neck scene where
we are racing to the conclusion, only to be startled by the need to
stop, by the need to take in what we heard, because it isn't really
what we thought he I she said.

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We must remind ourselves, after all, that in comedy people are

frequently doing I saying things that careful reflection would
recognize as unwise. But in comedy the world is out of control.
Things go too fast ... and then faster.
A great deal of the technique we generalize about as "timing"
is contained in that simple idea. We race headlong toward a
conclusion (usually meaning we have a sharp, crisp, demanding
dialog with someone else), somehow failing to observe the caution
signs along the way. Suddenly we get the red light and we're
skidding through the intersection. We frantically take inventory,
check for broken bones, feelings, headlights, relationships, and
another emergency siren makes our hair stand on end, and off we
go again, pushing, demanding, racing, taking greater and greater
risks until the hose splits and steam spurts out and ... and ... and ...
So we are talking about interrupted expectations here. We are
talking about repetition and then ... not repetition ... and then
repetition again ... until ... maybe ... or maybe not.
And most of the time that means interaction. Usually with two
people but not only that, sometimes you and an object, or you and
an attempt at contact that fails. And those timings can be affected by
expectations of age or decorum or honesty or rage or ... or ...
Each of these (and more I'm sure) will suggest some obvious
models: The elderly person who goes about a task very slowly
might suddenly lurch into a different tempo in an effort to capture
the falling china closet and its contents; the racing child heading
for the swimming hole before being detected might suddenly "race
at a crawl" when confronted by the vicious German Shepherd;
the snooty arts patron might drop his measured, affected
pronouncements when offered the opportunity to embrace a
disrobing voluptuous blonde; the confident child with all the right
answers might suddenly "not remember" with many an
accompanying, "uh" and "ah" when it becomes clear the honest
answer will end all chocolate and ice cream for the rest of the
vacation; and so on ...
Oh yes, we have seen it all. The point here is not to seek
something entirely new, but to remember the best of the previous
models and see what it tells us about our own work.
Why is timing so affecting?
My best guess about this is it makes clear we are emotionally
centered on what is happening when timing is crisp and clear. To
better appreciate this, one has only to watch a healthy dog when
food is around. Unless he has been conditioned to never expect a

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The Director's Eye

payoff, his concentration, his willingness to follow his "nose," his

eagerness to be included - in short, his timing, can be a delight to
see as we pass a hot dog or some equally tempting morsel from one
person to another with our friend in close attendance. To all but the
best trained canines, it becomes a challenging contest between
impulse and decorum. And so it is with comedy. Our normal,
sensible way of doing things is overridden by the impulses of the
moment.
The truth of this is so strong that when most comedies are losing
impact, it is useful to see what happens if all the pauses, all the cue
pick-ups are either shorter or longer than we expect. This is not an
invitation for random technical manipulation. It is not about the
mouth or the articulators, it is about the mind. First the mind must
work differently and then, the cues and the pauses will follow. It is
about the struggle between impulse and decorum. Between the
normal and the unexpected.
It is a suggestion that when the hot dog is being passed before
our canine noses, we are trying extra hard to be good, and thus we
stay immobile just a few beats or even split seconds longer than
anyone expects. Then "gulp" and it is gone. Dog gone. It was so
quick who even saw him move? And now he is frozen again only
I believe I detect a dog's smile on his face!
Timing.
Comedy: Black and Blue
One of the frustrations of comedy is usually the comparative
reaction of audiences to subtle verbal wit and broad physical action.
More than once I have worked hard to help a cast refine clever
moments of wonderful dialog exchange only to have the strongest
laughs, the clearest involvement of every person in the audience,
come when the pitcher of water is poured over the hero's head. Not
that wit and verbal humor should be ignored, but physical stuff -
well, it's in a league all its own.
If you are remembering the Three Stooges, and questioning this
generalization, know that I never found the Three Stooges
particularly humorous myself. No, here I simply mean that at the
climax of much comedy we fall back on the human being, or several
human beings, totally out of control. That usually means we've
moved into something the script can only begin to suggest, and the
director and actors have been left to create on their own.
It is often when the playwright most clearly turns the work over
to the director. (One could add that it is also when the director most

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readily turns the work over to the actors - if they are skilled
enough. If you have Robin Williams in your cast, for example, let
him try it and stand back and watch. Most of the time, we are less
fortunate.)
Let's start with the chase.
The contemporary version of the chase is the automobile chase
in adventure films and TV series. It is so commonplace one wonders
how many million feet of chase film could be assembled if you
attempted to create a library of chases. In comedies the chase or
some other physically complicated action is often the climax of the
act and/ or the play. The film's capacity to retake, to edit pieces from
multiple attempts at the action, to condense or expand the time of
an action - to accomplish all kinds of things that are costly,
difficult and incredibly complicated- has set high standards for
such comic action. To develop a successful climactic action in a
comedy can be one of the scary directing tasks. Fait and the good
work you have done up until then, suddenly seems forgotten.
These scenes are likely to be the ones where we are most in need
of a good sense of staging including how to use the space, how to
edit the scene to an appropriate length, how to enlarge on the sound
and/ or dialog provided by the playwright, how to keep the action
growing inevitably out of the characters and the situation, and
perhaps most of alt how to utilize those elements which are here
and now, live, in front of, or among us. These are scenes which
depend on careful use of the production tools - actors, set, props,
costumes - and often can't be rehearsed in anything approaching
their final form until well into rehearsals.
At their worst, they are painful reminders that someone is
working to create a piece of shtick and more shtick and more shtick
and more·... and ... and ... and. At their best they knock us
completely out of our intellectual selves and suddenly we are
children having fun again- FUNny, FUNny, FUN - and when the
scene is over and the actors disappear we are left gasping and
talking to one another and are up and heading for the bathroom.
What must we remember as we tackle these scenes?

• Dramatic action is just as important in comedy as in

serious drama, perhaps even more so. When comedy
sputters to a halt it may only be that we went for the
laugh and forgot what had to happen to carry out the
action.

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The Director's Eye

• Be careful of the units which prepare us for the climactic

scene. Too often we don't care enough about the
outcome; we aren't really brought along to love the little
guy who eventually is going to let the big one have it.
• Be careful of rushing to do the climactic scenes before
you have enough understanding to help you test the
inventive detail. See that it is "true" to the people and
the dramatic action. To rush to detailed staging too early
results in gimmicks clearly invented by the director, and
not belonging in this play. We may need these units to
experience closure, but if we give excessive attention to
them early in the rehearsal process we will make
commitments that have to be changed when we move
into the actual space, have the real costumes or real
props. Weigh the value of their being included against
the cost of redoing.
• We need to rehearse and refine the u action unit" itself. It
is difficult to repeat it enough to polish a unit when each
run-through exhausts a cast. Slowing it down, taking it
apart, doing a piece at a time, changing a prop, putting
it back together- most complicated scenes require a lot
more time than we are willing to give them. The director
who learns to carefully assemble the pieces, knowing
when to bring it up to tempo, when to yell "cut," when
to take it back to the beginning of a unit - that director
has a good start handling the action of the larger scene.
Trust that experience will teach you as you try your
wings at all this. But you need time, all the necessary
props, costumes and space, and the trust by all that it is
worth taking the time to do it well. In the beginning,
know that it will take longer than you suspect.
• Be careful of imposing! You must be certain that pieces
added do, in fact, grow out of these characters and this
situation. Stuff that doesn't belong or can't be handled
by these actors will destroy the rhythm and believability
of that which belongs. What you take out is as
important as what you put in. If a moment is funny we
are tempted to keep it, but a second or third run-through
that includes the "discovered" moment may remind
you of its contamination of the whole. Be ruthless. Cut.

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 Comedy: Nuts and Bolts

• Many of these action scenes are driven by the intense

emotional passions of the characters. To ignore
weaknesses in emotional motivation while you
continue to invent clever business is usually a waste of
time.
• Give special attention to the finish and the afterimage.
What "still pictures" will remain with us? Will music ...
or something??? ... help us continue to enjoy it after it's
finished?
• Remember how delicate a job it is to know when to
quit- all of us have taken one too many bites of the
banana split because someone taught us we had to. On
the other hand, one unexpected tiny, exquisite mint
when we thought the meal was over ... might ...
There is a lot to be invented with farce, a lot of action to get on
its feet, a lot of script to flesh out. We are open to excesses, to
unmotivated garbage, and to mismanaging our rehearsal time. We
are open to too many props, too few props, actors who won't do
what needs to be done, or who want to show off doing what doesn't
need to be done. No matter whether it's a chase or a broken pitcher,
the action must still happen and we must care!
In all of this we usually are dealing with people and events
which at one time were very serious, probably threatening, to us all.
Now, the challenge is to find a safe time and place. But more, we are
looking for a point of departure or attack where we are not only
safe, but so safe we can relax and enjoy the moment. Where we can
laugh at life's trials. Where we can laugh at ourselves or at them.
To be assured of this place by the returning and surrounding
laughter of like minds is one of the classic pleasures of performing.
To most actors, nothing is more soothing than to have your comic
work greeted with great waves of continuing laughter. You are
among friends. All your efforts are validated. You are loved, for you
have found the "truth" that flies in the face of the daily struggle.

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Chapter 21
Choosing Models over Labels
"Quickly we stick labels on all that is,
labels that stick once and for all.
By these labels we recognize everything
but no longer SEE anything.
We know the labels on all the bottles,
but never taste the wine.
Frederick Franck, The Zen of Seeing

To work as an artist you need models. Where can the young

director see powerful, affecting theatre productions? Yes, in the
beginning it may help to see theatre of any kind, but soon you will
need to see high quality work. Inspiring work. Robert Edmund
Jones wrote, "Keep in your heart some images of magnificence."
You need to see productions which show you what the theatre
can be.
There's a problem: Such theatre isn't easy to come by.
When Did You Come In?
When I was a young boy during World War II, gasoline was
rationed. We lived ten miles outside a city of 33,000 and going "to
town" happened only on Saturday afternoons. There was no
television, of course, and so, at every opportunity, I spent Saturday
afternoon at the movies. It was the days of Roy Rogers and Gene
Autry and black and white adventures from the Wild West. For ten
cents I could see a double feature, a cartoon, an episode of a serial
("The Phantom" was my favorite), a comedy short of The Three
Stooges and a newsreel. They ran continuously all day and evening
and no matter when I arrived, I seemed to enter "in the middle." So,
of course, I stayed through all the rest to see the beginning of the
film showing when I came in- to see what I had missed.
One of our basic life experiences is our effort to see the
beginning of "movies" we miss when we arrive after the feature
starts. Others talk about their experiences, share their histories with
us, share the history with us (as if there was only one history), and
we try our best to catch up. We look at books, talk to others, do any
one of a thousand things, trying to recapture what it must have been
like to have seen the '30s or the '50s as our parents or grandparents

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 Choosing Models over Labels

saw them, but it is never quite the same as having lived through it.
The universe doesn't start over again at the end of the
showings, so we have to remember we each see different amounts
of the picture. You and I came in at different times. If you were born
after 1963, I can never be sure what the Kennedy assassination
means to you. What I can be sure of is it is different for you and me.
When students come to my office and ask for guidance, I start
pulling books from the shelf, but I can never be sure they are the
right ones. I can tell you what affected me, I can try to outline the
whole family of options, but there is no way to be certain my
models will do it for you. What can you hear now? What speaks to
you now?
Maybe you need to know about Bertolt Brecht today and maybe
not. Even when you didn't recognize his influence, maybe you have
already heard most of what you need to know about Brecht by way
of his effect on Oliver Stone or Francis Ford Cappola or Steven
Spielberg. Or maybe Brecht will be important to you next year.
So much of what affects us results from timing. Over and over
again people tell us of events that occurred years ago bringing
insight that guided them through all their lives. Had the same thing
happened to you last week, would it have been unforgettable?
Maybe. Would it have become a model for your creative work?
Maybe.
Only you can answer those questions. And you aren't likely to
know the answer until after the opportunity occurs. What is certain
is that you cannot make profound experiences happen. You can try
to be open to them. You can put yourself in a position where they
seem possible- even likely, but insight, real knowing will come
when it comes. Beware of confusing information processing with
bone deep insight.
In Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, Betty Edwards reminds
us most of us are too quick to label things when we are with small
children. When they ask "What is that?" we name it and go on, too
often assuming that labeling is sufficient. We name instead of
guiding their exploration, instead of helping them in the discovery.
Too often labeling passes along only the tip of someone else's
discovery. We must learn to value the stored images coming from
our own rare moments of deep connection. The times when we find
one of those magical"images of magnificence." We need to be less
concerned if our valued models cover the whole spectrum of
possibilities. The models which excite us, spur us on will be enough
for now. They tell us what we can best build on. Memorized labels

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are not enough. True models come from insight. Those times when
we suddenly see how it can be done in a way not clear to us before.
Building Our Wheel of Models
In each of our lives there will be dramatic experiences. These
will be so vivid, so rich, the images can serve as the base for a
lifetime of work. We can draw upon them again and again in an
infinite number of combinations. If we use them, these will become
our theatre models. If you listen to your inner response to these
affecting experiences, you won't care much what labels the
productions are given. Nor whether they are in vogue, nor whether
they cover any particular range of work. What you will hear your
inner voice saying is, "Yes!" "I want it to be like that! Now I see
what it can be! Yes!!!"
These models have power because they bring us insight. They
remain on the edge of our memory - out there on the rim of the
wheel where we can tap them any time we wish, pulling them into
the center and using them in endless combinations as the core for
the current project.
Because we have to be open - and perhaps a little naive - to
receive them, most of these wellspring productions will come when
we are rather young in our efforts. A few will be added as the years
pass, but it will become more and more difficult to catch us by
surprise.
We need to learn to trust them, to know they can lead us to
powerful sharing. We need to be careful of "knowings" that haven't
left their unforgettable imprints on our memories. It is tempting to
want to use what we have been "taught." Tempting to be the "good
student." Remember, there are things we know, and then there are
things we know!
Most of us have been introduced to a wide range of potential
theatre, often from courses in dramatic literature or courses in the
history of the theatre. It is easy to feel we should be able to direct a
Restoration Comedy or a play by Shaw or Ibsen. Didn't we just
have a course where we talked at length about their themes and
ideas, about their application to today?
It is good to remind ourselves that only occasionally does a film
with even great actors succeed in making these remote worlds so
alive they become a treasured experience. The point here is not that
we can't occasionally profit from undertaking the challenge. Rather,
it is that no matter what the play, no matter what kind of world you
attempt to create, you must have a model- often more than one -

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 Choosing Models over Labels

that is so vivid to you, you know what it feels like to see, hear, sense
that world before you. You know and will accept nothing less. You
may not get there, but you know the benchmark.
Athletes who play on great teams speak of this. They say, " ... he
hasn't yet learned what it takes." They speak of the value of
veterans to a team, "He's been there. He knows."
It is no less true of the artist in the theatre.

How Does It Work?

I shall never forget the first time I entered the Stratford Festival
Theatre in Ontario. Now we have all seen thrust stages, most of
them significantly influenced by the work of Guthrie and his
designer, Tanya Moiseiwitsch. Not so then. And certainly I had seen
nothing like that. Oh, I had seen pictures, but to enter those doors,
stand at the top of one of the aisles leading down to that beautiful,
wooden architectural stage: Suddenly I realized how inviting, how
dramatic a theatrical space could be.
In the years that followed I saw many productions on that
stage. Not all were great, of course. But the best of them taught me
what joy could be created by an ensemble, what delight a fine
character actor could evoke for a tiny role. I learned how important
it was to stop my life and attend. It was not easy to get to Stratford
and to come to that little Canadian town in the midst of the
farmland required effort. When you got there you wanted to stay a
while. To take in the swans on the lake. To watch the flags whipping
in the wind over the theatre. To process what you had seen.
I learned even from productions I never saw. I might not have
been enthralled by Guthrie's production of Oedipus. I never saw it.
I saw only the movie made from it, and it was not a thrilling movie.
But the masks . . . The masks and the costumes were incredible.
Tanya Moiseiwitsch' s designs were so provocative they resurrected
the wonder I had experienced when, at 23, I first saw the Japanese
Noh theatre in Tokyo. And, years later when the Acting Company,
born of the early years of Julliard' s theatre program, came to our
performing arts center, I listened with special attention as they
talked of the mask work initiated by Michael St. Denis: how they
were asked to spend time day after day working quietly in front of
a mirror; how they selected a mask from many only to come back
the next day and have it "change genders" or "be suddenly older;"
how they might work an entire semester before being allowed to
speak; how, even then, the instructor restricted their language to
brief responses to his questions - all slowly allowing for

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maturation. All using the mask to get in touch with more of

themselves.
Masks used in my own productions and introduced into my
class work came from the blending of those experiences. A piece
here and a piece there - and I saw what it could be.
During my graduate student years at the University of
Minnesota I was part of a crew that helped remodel an old river
boat to make it the Minnesota Centennial Showboat. Frank Whiting
-whose favorite plays were King Lear and Peter Pan- headed
the theatre. In many ways, "Doc's" theatre was the theatre of
melodrama. I remember vividly watching the curtain come down
on Under the Gaslight when the boat brought its performances to
Redwing, Minnesota. The audience shouted and stamped their feet
for a full five minutes when Laura managed to untie the ropes
saving the one-armed Civil War Veteran, Snorkey, from the
thundering locomotive roaring down the tracks toward him on that
tiny stage.
Of course I stole it and of course it worked. Ten years later my
first production at the University of Illinois saw the audience
stamping its feet and shouting for a full five minutes ... But not only
had I learned how to do Under the Gaslight, I had learned some
incredibly basic things about working with actors in the simpler
world of period plays. Tools that would serve me well in numerous
other productions where the final results might suggest little
parallel with the source. It was on the rim of my wheel and I would
use it again and again.
Farce. I had seen "successful farces." Several in New York with
high quality casts. But something special happened for me one
night in Detroit at Wayne State University when Dick Spear's
production of A Flea in Her Ear was performed at the Hillsberry
Theatre. The cast was so alive, so alert - they performed with such
energy - that the whole audience was lifted onto another plane. I
have never forgotten it. "That's what it takes," I said, "that's it!"
And it was. I have gone after it many times since. Fifteen years
later, directing Matchmaker where the audience roared at the boys
hiding in the closet and were out of their seats at the chase in the
restaurant ending Act III, I owed a major debt to Dick Spear and his
cast. And so it was, with You Can't Take It with You another ten years
after that. How silly can you get? If you do it with affection and
ener~ if you try to stay honest, very silly! How fast can it go? Oh!
Fast!! Very fast!!! How do you know? I saw it. I saw it thirty years
ago at the Hillsberry, directed by a man I hardly knew, who died

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 Choosing Models over Labels

when he was very young but who taught me about farce. For I saw
what it could be.
It is all like that. Pieces. Insights into how it can be that surprise
us with their impact. Television teaches us. Films teach us. Even
radio teaches us.
I once put together an original production called The Big Plot
where most of the action required the actors to crawl around inside
cubes and pylons, sticking their heads up through slits in the tops
of stacked "giant blocks" to play characters who often talked to
themselves playing other characters (their own voices on tape),
while or after or before certain images - a match burning, the
squinting eyes of a character, the dial of a car radio - were
projected on the sides of the boxes as if we were seeing close-ups of
something we had just heard about in the dark.
So here we were, blending voices from radio with occasional
projections and mini-scenes played on "puppet stages" with only
the head and shoulders of the actors visible. Where did it come
from? From my own childhood experiences lying on the flowered
rug by the big radio in the living room listening to "The Lone
Ranger" and "Jack Armstrong." From a "new" play seen in our
playwrights' workshop years before which was presented primarily
in the dark. From still photography of household objects printed on
brightly colored children's "building cards." From a mind-boggling
variety of projections and screens at Expo '67 in Montreal.
All creative work is like this. Pieces stitched together in a new
way. The cover and frontispiece of this book include photographs
from a production of Another Macbeth. We created the play using
only the words of Macbeth but the style and form of the piece would
never have been possible without the experience of the Kennedy
assassination seen on black and white television. Anyone who lived
in the United States during that unforgettable week in November
1963 would have known the primary model for Another Macbeth,
produced eight years later. We had no difficulty using a whole
gamut of "new" theatre conventions borrowed from television.
They had been forever imprinted in our minds by the deeply
moving, shared, public rituals surrounding the assassination and
burial of Jack Kennedy.
Studying records of past productions, I sometimes was aware
that seeing the production might have been disappointing. Too
dated, perhaps. Or too crude in its tools for a viewer from a later
time. But often the core of the work was so exciting it provoked a
new image of what theatre was up to. I never saw a single

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The Director's Eye

production directed by Max Reinhardt or any of the great early

Russian directors - Meyerhold, Vakhtanghov, Tairov, Okhlopkov -
but their work affected me enormously. Not only because I hungrily
sought out photographs of their productions and read their own
accounts of their working, but because I searched for and read
numerous descriptions - witnessing by those who were in the
audiences.
Today, it is difficult to realize I never saw a production of
Brecht's plays performed by the Berliner Ensemble. But the
documentation was so extraordinary, the photographs so complete,
the notes so detailed that when combined with the texts and
reviews and all that merged with the experience of directing several
of Brecht's plays- it is easy to forget: No. I never met the man. No,
I never saw a play he directed. Yet, without a doubt - his work
influenced me enormously.
Would it have been true had I never entered his plays? Never
acted in or directed his scripts? Maybe not. I remember directing
Mother Courage and Her Children. Even now it would not be an easy
play to mount. Then, I had no idea. I had an eager, willing crew,
good designers. But it took enormous effort to hold all those scenes
together. Turntable, props - so many props her wagon alone
required a stage manager. Not once in rehearsal did we get through
the entire play without having to stop the actors. Opening night, I
remember what an incredible relief I felt sitting in a tiny balcony,
tears streaming down my face, as I watched her pick up the traces
and begin to pull the wagon at the end of that final scene. "You
don't know what struggle is," I told someone who asked about
directing Brecht, " ... you don't know ... until you have your lead
character tied to a wagon."
The experience became part of me. Traces of it are in every play
I've directed.
And so it is with Beckett. Not that I know all of Beckett's
writings. I do not. Not that I couldn't be embarrassed by any astute
historian asking questions about Beckett's life or his written
intentions. There is much about Beckett I have never studied or
have now forgotten. What I cannot forget is the power of a
particular viewpoint. The viewpoint of the mind that created
Waiting for Godot. I have directed Godot twice, used it in my classes
hundreds of times, like many others, found it so immediate, so
relative to my own life, that a piece of its language pops up in nearly
every day's conversations. And once Godot became such a part of
me, it is impossible to imagine directing any play without it

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 Choosing Models over Labels

somehow being part of the mix. Even one's own experiencing of a

play becomes a model for more experiencing of plays.
And so it goes.
Models. More than a list. More than dictionary definitions.
More than classifications. Insights. Insights to be returned to again
and again. Borrowed, revised, merged with other insights, with
new experiences, with different people and different times.
Style evolves. Spurred on by models which leave you
determined to see it so alive it's impossible to resist. You will have
to find your own sources. Neither mine nor anyone else's will do for
you. But when you find them and put them to use, you will never
forget the link

175
Part Four Assignments
Three Preliminary Exercises
and Three Directing Scenes
Three Preliminary Exercises: Personal, Home and Collage
Here are three exercises intended to help you evolve a better
appreciation of your own resources as you approach the problems
of style in the theatre. The first two have been discussed at some
length in the previous chapters. To actually carry them out,
particularly when you can compare your own work with that of
others, is a very different experience from reading about them. It is
worth investing the time.
These preliminary style exercises give us a chance to reflect on
some of the key issues without the necessity of a long rehearsal
period and without the assistance of collaborating actors and
designers. They are experiential "metaphors" and like all
metaphors, the work has the possibility of bringing clarity in this
case, clarity to our understanding of style. In the beginning, don't be
unduly concerned with their application to the theatre and
directing. Accept that "style" is not the property of theatre alone.
Eventuall~ your directing will profit from recognizing the value of
style as a frame for seeing the world around us and for thinking
about our own behavior. To become more mindful of creative acts,
wherever they occur, develops the artist within. It's how we find
our models.

• Show and Tell for Grown Ups - Most of us are very

aware of the effect of our clothing on others around us.
We dress up. We put on our uniforms. We wear our
school colors. We have certain tools we keep with us
when we go to class or to our jobs. We take certain
books or CDs if we are going away for the summer. We
decorate our rooms with pictures of our families, we
keep reminders of events from our past. Some of these
become so important we carry them with us wherever
we go. We wear icons on our fingers and around our
necks. They become extensions of ourselves.

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 Three Preliminary Exercises and Three Directing Scenes

This assignment asks you to consider those extensions

which have become important to your identity. Those
which help you feel confident, those which remind you
who you are, where you came from, who you want to be.
Choose several of these items and bring them to class. If
clothing is important, wear something "special." Be
prepared to lay them out around you and for a few
minutes tell the class about their importance. They
represent your values. They suggest your style. They
have a certain harmony.
After each person has a chance to "show and tell," take
a few moments for a brief discussion of what you saw
and heard. Consider what choices are similar from
person to person. Identify what each person has that
would seem inappropriate if it belonged to others in the
class. Discuss the things you saw which may be
important extensions of the person but were not part of
his or her telling: distinctive hair styles, for example, or
colors of clothing. Note that we define one another not
only by what is present, but by what is not present. We
compare. Some of your classmates may show very few
things. Some will enjoy wearing more casual clothing
than others. Some may place great emphasis on family
or religion, some on past travels, some on sports
participation.
Which presenters revealed most about themselves by
the extensions they shared? How do you feel when you
are surrounded by your own most highly prized
choices? How long have these extensions been part of
you? Do you ever engage in "pulling the weeds" from
your own closet or pockets or dresser top? How likely is
it some will change when you graduate or move to
another community? What do these showings tell you
about style? About the usefulness of the phrase
"harmony of choices"?
Now, take five minutes and write a brief set of personal notes as
you consider the relationship of this exercise to the theatre. Include
wherever your thoughts take you allowing for reflection on both the
work involved in the creation of a production and the inevitable
"extensions" of the characters within the play. When you have

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The Director's Eye

finished, consolidate the group's best thinking by having your

teacher or a classmate draw up a collective list on the blackboard
based on the class's sharing of ideas.

• Building a Home for HSampson"- This second exercise

asks that you create. Like the first assignment, it's
something everyone can do. Bring to class a small
figure, a totem, which has special meaning to you. Most
of us have been given some kind of tiny person or
animal we can easily imagine coming to life. Your
assignment is to create a home for this figure using
readily available materials. Your teacher may supply
you with a variety of materials from which you can
choose or each of you might contribute to a common
stockpile. The more interesting results will probably
come from having a collection of ten or twelve different
kinds of materials from which each participant can
choose combinations of his or her own liking. Chapter
16 describes my own class practice: We used small
wooden blocks, dominoes, pick-up-sticks, tinker toys, a
variety of playing cards, string, mirrors- all kinds of
children's building materials both manufactured and
improvised. When we constructed outdoors we often
added leaves, sticks, stones - whatever was available.
As you construct, choose what seems appropriate to use
and ignore the rest. Some people will prefer a wide
range of materials, others will work with only two or
three kinds.
When you finish, tour the "homes" constructed by the
others. Allow each builder to briefly answer questions
from the group about his creation.
If you're like most, you'll have a strong sense of
ownership about your work. Now, imagine the need to
move to another part of the country. Even if you're
reluctant to give up your construction, search for a
person with whom you would be willing to trade
houses. When you have made the trade, bring your
totem to the ''new" structure. See what "remodeling"
changes you can make to better suit you and your
"Sampson's" viewpoint in the new home. After
rebuilding, take another tour of the sites and see how

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 Three Preliminary Exercises and Three Directing Scenes

different they now appear and what has remained from

the original construction. As a group, compare this with
"multiple-builder-experiences" from your real-life past.
How did you feel about letting someone else have
control over your project? What was it like trying to
make someone else's "home" feel more like it belonged
to your own "Sampson"?
Return to your original "home" and either remove the
remodelings to return it to its original form, or leave it
with any of the "improvements" you like if you think
they help create a better home for your totem.
Divide into groups of three and discuss the experience.
How did you know what the home should look like?
What determined the materials you used? How did the
choice of materials affect the structure's final form? Can
you identify models which affected your work? As you
constructed were you aware that some things seemed to
"belong" and others didn't? How did you know when
you were finished? Was it difficult to believe you were
creating something of value? How would you feel if an
art gallery offered a significant amount of money for
your "home?" What effect would it have on you if these
homes were durable? If they were in a much larger
scale? If they were made of more costly materials
gold, silver, silk, handcrafted papers, polished woods?
Take five minutes and write down your first thoughts about the
possible relationship between this project and the director's work in
leading the .creation of the production's world. When you finish
writing, briefly share your thinking as a group paying particular
attention to any new insights gained.
Because this project requires almost no construction skill - no
tools, no mastery of joining or fastening devices, it allows us to
work from simple impulses. It reminds us that we have strong
preferences when we create a world. Many of those preferences are
so much a part of our past experiences we may forget their source.
Nevertheless, this "home building" reminds us we have almost
unlimited resources for creation. We have a strong instinct for
building harmonies. Working carefully, we can all produce
thousands of projects with unique styles growing out of our own
experiences. With encouragement, each of us has the potential for

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evolving interesting works which reflect our own unique

viewpoint.

• Merging Worlds in a Collage - For this final project,

purchase an art print where the original painting or
drawing was done before 1950. (Although you will have
to work in a smaller scale, greeting cards and calendars
often feature less expensive reproductions.) Choose an
image reflecting a past culture, but one with which you
identify one which somehow reflects your own sense
of values. Bring the print to class along with scissors, a
piece of foam board big enough to mount your collage,
a glue stick and a stack of catalogs and magazines with
interesting photos and illustrations. Working as a group
provides you the opportunity to share resources and to
see possibilities from others' efforts which might not
occur to you without their modeling.
Identify the essence of your original print. Your
assignment is to try to make it more immediately
affecting for today's viewer by merging contemporary
images with the original. Begin by searching your
catalogs and magazines for images from //today" which
seem to have something in common with the world of
the print. To merge new images successfully with the
original will require careful consideration of the way
the two worlds might be joined. Cut or tear the print in
any way which helps give its essence focus and which
supports the addition of the "found" images - for
example, you might discard sections of the print which
seem less valuable or you might cut windows in the
original where new images could be inserted. Your
mounting board may also help with focus by framing
the print in some unique way. Be sensitive to placement,
to color and size. You may identify a large number of
related contemporary images, but the final effort can
probably be best served by using only a few of the
possibilities. Take care to create a collage which
harmonizes. See if you can evolve a style for the final
piece where everything seems to belong.
When you've finished, join your classmates in creating
a gallery of collages fastening them to the walls or

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 Three PreliminanJ Exercises and Three Directing Scenes

displaying them in some other way. Take some time to

walk around, viewing each others' work and talking
informally about the process and the results.
Finally, in groups of four or five consider these
questions: What key decisions did you make in the
evolution of your collage? Which ones of these were
irreversible? How did the evolution of your collage
depart from your original assumptions? How difficult
was it to keep the art print's essence at the core of your
completed work? What's the implication of this for the
script's key action and the evolution of style?
Again, take five minutes to write using these guidelines:
Looking around the room at the collages, choose one whose evolved
style reminds you of a successful film or television series, or
perhaps of an affecting theatre production you've experienced. To
what degree do you think that film, series or theatre piece's success
was determined by the director's ability to find "the right images?"
By his ability to merge images into a harmonious whole? What is
the strongest parallel you see between this assignment and the
director's role in creating a production?
Go back to your group of four or five and share your insights.
Three Directing Scenes with Different Style Demands
Even if you've seen a play successfully produced and intend to
follow the conventions of a well-known style, to adapt to the
available people, space, and support elements requires trial and
error and sensitivity to the play's potential. To meaningfully explore
possibilities for style in a scene takes time. There are always choices
to be made. Even the most obviously "realistic," serious play
requires choices of conventions. Some elements will be evoked,
some represented.
Here are three scene assignments which offer different
challenges in extending your work with style. Choose the one which
seems to best build on your previous experiences both inside and
outside the theatre. In most circumstances it will be best if you
work with a smaller cast of two or three actors. If you're casting
from a limited acting pool you probably will profit from knowing
who your actors are before making your final scene choice. Their
experience and interests will be important factors in your success. If
you have had little experience with any of these three choices, work
with the one which appeals to you most. You may discover it more

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The Director's Eye

demanding that you suspected, or less rewarding. Often scripts or

styles of production we might have overlooked yesterday become
desirable choices as our insights develop through experience. It is
one of the advantages of scene work as part of a larger group - we
learn both by our own efforts and by seeing others' work.
For this assignment, plan to show the scene twice, once after
four or more rehearsal sessions and again after a group critique and
two more rehearsal sessions. The two showings give you an
opportunity to use audience feedback as you continue your work.
For your second showing, your instructor may suggest you are
ready to add another unit to your already rehearsed scene or to
present all of what you originally had intended if you found it
necessary to cut some of the planned showing when you recognized
it was not yet ready.
To choose your specific scene, make a unit breakdown of the act
involved and choose one or two rehearsal units totaling no more
than five minutes. Often students will undertake too much material
to do the job well. Try to develop the habit of cutting your scene to
a manageable size before showing it, even when it means
shortening the scene at your final rehearsal. Remember: It is not
enough to learn the lines and block the scene. You must bring the
scene to life. It takes time.

• The First Alternative: Directing Comedy. Neil Simon

has been America's most prolific comic playwright in
the twentieth century. His plays are almost always
based on personal experiences, often ones which were
very serious at the time they occurred. Choose one of his
plays, preferably one you have already seen or read.
Read the preface to one of the volumes of his collected
works, where you will gain insight into the play's
origin. Begin your rehearsals by treating it as a serious
scene. As you lead the cast in their effort to experience
the play, concentrate on making it real. As the scene
becomes more believably theirs, start asking yourself
"Under what circumstances does this become a comic
situation? What is it that makes these characters funny?
What gets out of control? Are we laughing at ourselves
or at others?" Don't forget the basics: What's happening
in the scene? What makes it significant? Where's the joy
and fun in our work?

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 Three Preliminan; Exercises and Three Directing Scenes

• The Second Alternative: Directing the Ritual of the

Extraordinary in the Everyday. Choose a scene from
Wilder's Our Town in which you pay particular attention
to the rituals which raise the stakes, those extraordinary
elements in the everyday. The soda fountain scene
where George and Emily first declare their commitment
to one another is such a scene. There are many others.
As you work with the actors note the power of evoking.
Pay particular attention to Wilder's use of simple
narrative to set the scene and to connect the play with
the audience. In your rehearsals, when appropriate,
help the actors learn to take in the audience's reaction
by their watching and listening to you as the audience
of one. Note that the use of ritual is not an end in itself,
but a means of making the scene more significant, more
powerful. Find the innocence in your actors which leads
to the honest emotion necessary for the play's coming
alive.
• The Third Alternative: Directing the Poetic Drama of
the Storyteller. Dylan Thomas' Under Milk Wood is the
story of a day in the life of a Welsh fishing village filled
with colorful and often comic characters. It is told
through the voices of two narrators who clearly reflect
Thomas' own view of life in Wales. Scenes are frequently
short sketches of the interactions of two or three
eccentric characters offering wonderful opportunities
for creative staging and acting. Choosing this play for
scene work will challenge you to make effective use of
direct audience address, poetic language and evocative
physical action. Originally written as a radio play, this
twentieth-century drama has many elements of the
storyteller style we associate with Shakespeare and
much of the pre-twentieth-century theatre. To bring
these characters to life you will need to find familiar
models such as those from the imaginative world of
children's literature. Simple elements of light and sound
can play major roles in creating the atmosphere
necessary to support the play's world. Keep your actors
involved in the evolution of the production's style.
Don't overlook the beauty of the little coastal town and
the playwright's love for the life behind its doors.
However you evoke these characters, they should

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delight the audience and ultimately become real for us

in the same sense that the best of puppets become real.
To create a world where the audience can meet you to share the
play requires you to consider the viewpoints of the playwright, the
original culture where the play was first written and first produced,
the viewpoints of the actors and any other collaborators, and the
viewpoints of you and your potential audience. It's complex. We
can almost always raise the stakes. We can almost always make the
work more memorable for more people.
These assignments should usher you into a new awareness of
the challenge offered by the theatre. For most students it's
important you begin to see how much more there is to do when you
thought you were finished. You begin to see, not only how to
discover and experience the play, but how to sort through the
hundreds of choices which lead to the production's style. You begin
to see the possibility for evolving a harmonious production a
style where everything seems to belong.
Conducting Critiques of the Scenes
A safe atmosphere is essential if scene critiques are to lead to
learning. Every participant has a responsibility to help create that
atmosphere - teacher, student directors and actors. It must be safe
enough that directors and performers will risk being vulnerable. It
must be safe enough that it's all right to risk failing. With each scene
making unique demands, there is an almost unlimited number of
issues which might be considered. Yet, as complex as the task
becomes, my own experience tells me the most valuable
commentary will be about very simple things: "I loved your using
a mop for a wig." "It was spooky when it got dark, but I didn't care
about the play." uit reminded me of the time my Dad sat me down
and told me about life." "I couldn't believe they were newly
married." Usually we find the best models for evaluating our work
by going back to life and our own insights into human behavior
coming from the interaction of people we know well. Yes, we want
to encourage creativity, but we must always be sure invention
grows believably out of the action of the scene. Conventions
employed must help evoke the world of the play and what it feels
like to be part of it.

To have two showings and two critiques provides:

1. An opportunity to validate what you have discovered
which must be retained as you continue working.

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 Three PreliminanJ Exercises and Three Directing Scenes

2. A chance to set the direction for future discoveries by

identifying those areas needing further exploration.
As you react to one another's work, remember, the first
challenge is to bring the scene to life. Then you can evolve the style
which best connects the play with the audience. It is easy to become
overwhelmed by style demands and neglect experiencing the
play- neglect finding ways to make it believable.
Keep reactions positive even when urging one another to do
more or to explore other possibilities. The power of a group's
sharing scene work comes from their delight in the growth of one
another. Each time you allow yourself to see and enjoy a different
world being brought to life, you understand more clearly the
potential each of us has to create. Nothing is more important in the
critique of these scenes than the building of confidence that we
know enough to produce good theatre. We must learn what each of
us has to offer and find ways to bring our best to the work we
undertake. As you watch one another's scenes your task is to see the
possibilities inherent in the script and to see one another's potential
to bring that script to life. Be honest with your reactions and
respectful of those who are giving their best. We will not always
think alike, but we can still learn from one another.

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Part Four Summary
Style and the Sharing of Viewpoints
The materials presented in Parts One, Two and Three were
intended to help the beginning director develop insight into his or
her role in bringing the play to life. Part Four moved us to a new
concern: connecting the world of the play and the audience. Part
Four introduced us to "style."
We began this exploration by admitting that discussions of style
can often be confusing and esoteric. That they frequently divide us
by suggesting judgment and exclusion - "some have it, some
don't." Instead, we suggested that each of us has a personal "style"
affecting our relationships in hundreds of ways each day. This
"style" is a reflection of our viewpoint, our preferences. We looked
at those extensions of ourselves which help define us: our favorite
clothes, our preferred books and CDs, the photographs we keep, the
jewelry we wear. We suggested there is an implied harmony in
these preferences. They go together because they are things which
are valuable to one of us. They reflect who that person is and who
he or she wants to be. A viewpoint unites them. We suggested it is
useful to think of style as a harmony of choices.
We acknowledged that each of us has some unlikely
combinations among our favorite things. This, we said, suggests
that anything can go with anything else as long as somebody likes
them. In fact, these paradoxes of preference are among the
distinctive ways to describe someone' s style or viewpoint.
We suggested that each of us already has stored up hundreds of
thousands of images from which we can create. The challenge is
finding ways to create with materials we have the skills to handle.
For the theatre the message is simple: Do the theatre you can do. As
you learn more skills, that will change; but always do the theatre
you can do best.
The complication comes when we remind ourselves that theatre
is a collaborative art. Often there will be many people involved and
many viewpoints. More than anyone else, it is the director who
stands at the intersection of all the viewpoints. It is his job to blend
the many preferences into one "truth." "That truth," we said,
"comes when everything in the production belongs."
The reality is almost none of our preferences, when taken
individually, originate with us. We are always learning from our

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 Style and the Sharing of Viewpoints

experiences. Hence, we constantly store up new images, new ideas,

new ways of thinking, new ways of working. Here's the caution: We
must distinguish between those which become our own preference,
whether or not they originate somewhere else, and those which we
copy or pass along simply because we feel that's "how you're
supposed to do it." In short, does this viewpoint come to belong to
you or not?
To create our best work - that which is the best reflection of
who we are and what we want to be it is important to recognize
when we give away the opportunity to exercise our own
preferences. The essential problem of style is that we often make
choices, not because we prefer places or colors or behaviors, but
because we feel the pressure of others' preferences. Sometimes we
seem to have no choice, sometimes we act without thinking. In both
cases, we allow our viewpoints to become contaminated. Hence,
what might seem to reflect our style is partly ours, partly someone
else's.
A true artist does not create in someone else's style - he
couldn't even if he tried. Instead, no matter where he starts, he
makes the choices his own, he works out of his own sense of
harmony. In that act we have the unique style, the viewpoint owned
by each of us.
We used the metaphor of a quilt to suggest the way in which the
experiences and materials of others are blended into a totally new
work. So it is for the theatre. Though it is a collaborative art, though
the.re are many experiences which contribute to it, each work will
inevitably be unique. To experience a parallel to this, each student
chose a print from an earlier time (not unlike choosing a script), and
combined it with images selected from magazines and catalogs of
today. At the end, we asked, just as we would ask with a theatre
production, "Do the elements belong together? Is there a harmony
of choices?"
And so, in the theatre, each time we create a production, we
ask, "Will it connect the play with the audience? Will they be able
to come to meet us? Does it honor the essence of the original
concept - the playwright's script? Does it use our materials, actors
included, to the best of their potential? Is it our theatre? Does it do
what we can do best?"
We acknowledged that each production inevitably evolves its
own style and yet, we said, today there are two dominant models
for our style which affect nearly every production. One of these is
film. In fact, film provides an obvious model for much of what we

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The Director's Eye

do in our lives. When we ask what acting is "believable" we think

both of documentary films where real people are unknowingly
photographed and films of fiction with actors whose work is so life-
like we often can't tell if they've been rehearsed.
The other basic model is the storyteller's theatre- the theatre
of tradition represented by the opera or the musical theatre, the
clown, the ballet, the historical theatre of Greece or Elizabethan
England or the Orient. Here conventions distill the action into
types, here the language becomes poetic and the characters take on
the sharp definitions of masks or painted faces. It is a theatre which
comes to life by evoking. We are delighted by the invention of what
is before us and yet it triggers so much more. Like poetry, it ripples
out to make us see beyond. It triggers our imagination as the actors
before us become part of the play taking place in our mind's eye.
In truth, all of today' s theatre - or nearly all - combines these
two models, the film and the storyteller. There are always some
elements which are real - the here and now - and others which
are evoked, filled in differently by the images stored up in each
audience member's mind.
The job of the theatre is to use each with honesty, always
placing the "truth" as best we know it before the spectator. Each
time we create we begin with a few accepted conventions, but our
own productions teach the audience the value of other conventions
as we go along. Hence, in each production we evolve this amazingly
complex agreement of what speaks to both of us - those
performing and those taking it in. If we are successful in finding the
right style, the audience freely brings their own memories to meet
us and together we share the experiences of the play. If we do not,
they leave us. They become bored, they argue with our choices, they
understand but do not believe, they believe but are not greatly
affected.
As part of our examination of style we also looked at two
seemingly very different elements, ritual and comedy. The first of
these, ritual, we tied to the theatre's need to make its action
significant. Despite our culture's apparent abandoning of many
traditional institutions, despite its inherent cynicism, we suggested
this is a time when we are acutely aware of rituals. We are, in
fact, constantly inventing rituals of sharing to commemorate
occurrences we want others to recognize as important benchmarks
in our lives. We arm ourselves with rituals of power as we prepare
for conflict with what seems like overwhelming forces. We use
rituals to remind one another that we are not alone, that we can

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 Style and the Sharing of Viewpoints

survive, that life is worth celebrating, worth remembering, worth

our best effort. Through rituals we raise the stakes.
We noted that this is the opposite of habits which cause us to go
on automatic pilot. With habits we carry out mindless or near
mindless acts while our thinking wanders through more attractive
or more pressing fields. In the repeated performance experience of
the theatre, habit is ever ready to undercut our discoveries. It is all
too easy to carry out the play's actions mindlessly with little or no
personal investment. Ritual on the other hand, mindfully used, can
raise the stakes of the performance itself, of the occasion, of the
stories we share and the characters we portray. We had only to look
at Wilder's Our Town to be reminded of the theatre's power to
celebrate the extraordinary in the everyday. To see ritual evoke
moments with startling immediacy.
We gave special attention to comedy, knowing that of all the
viewpoints demanded of the theatre this, all too often, may be most
difficult to sustain. For the cast, the very repetitions required to
rehearse and prepare comedy rob it of its surprise, in fact, of its very
delight. Casts, we cautioned, will seldom be able to sustain quality
work in comedy if they don't believe the play funny. In fact, we
asserted, it is more productive to try to have fun with comedy than
to try to be funny. Fear sets in quickly when expected audience
laughter doesn't come. It is important to remember that all plays,
comedies included, must first of all be real and that comedies
inevitably deal with serious events when seen through the eyes of
at least some of the characters. We suggested comedy is often based
on the "outtake" - those unexpected accidents which can turn the
most serious performance into a comic moment.
We took special note of the idea that comedy depends on
timing. "Events out of control" became a simple model for thinking
about comedy's demands. We noted that farce is probably rightly
thought of as the most difficult genre to direct. Why? Because its
climaxes almost always depend on complex actions which are
nearly impossible for the playwright to describe. Hence, the
director is invariably required to create the climatic scene in farces,
while at the same time finding ways to help the actors carry out the
scene's action without its feeling imposed.
Finally, we suggested that comedy is healing. Laughter itself
releases neuropeptides which serve us all well. It reminds us we can
survive. It deserves our best effort.
We concluded this part with a chapter on models. Reminders
that our skill in handling a variety of styles will grow as we work

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The Director's Eye

from models which have left us with memorable images and

insights. We noted that classifications and labels are less important
than recognizing we borrow from our most affecting experiences,
including productions we have seen or participated in. We combine
parts of them endlessly into new mixes - new quilts - and out of
these and the demands of each new script and production situation,
we evolve still another style, another effort to create a world where
actor and audience can meet.
The directing assignments for this Part Four gave us a chance to
start broadening our thinking about style by pushing us in three
very different directions. Style becomes a continuously evolving
process where each time we undertake a creative effort, we seek to
bring our images and the images of our collaborators to bear. Where
we mix them with the script that initiated the dramatic idea and the
audience which will ultimately come to meet it with their own
experiences, triggered, reexamined and recast by the sharing.
In the strictest sense then, each production we undertake
demands we exercise a harmony of choices that together create the
world of the play. Our success depends in great part on the
audience's ability to enter freely into that world, there sharing the
play with the actors.
To use real water in the glasses or no glasses at all, to encourage
this and not that as more believable acting, to evoke a battle with a
hundred performers and eight horses or sound effects and eight
actors - all such decisions, all are part of the choicemaking which
constitutes the style of the production.

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Part Five
Working with Your
Collaborators

"The key to successful collaboration is finding

a vision all can believe in, respecting that each has
something of value to contribute, and creating an
atmosphere of trust where everyone involved is willing
to take risks and share the give and take as you
collectively seek to bring the play to life in the most
affecting way. As a director you are in a position to
nurture such an ensemble every time you put a script
you care deeply about into rehearsal."
Overleat; Photos of John Ahart's Head of State
 Chapter 22
Communicating with Actors
This is the struggle every leader faces:
How to get members of the team
who are driven by the quest for individual glon;
to give themselves over wholeheartedly
to the group effort. In other words,
how to teach them selflessness.
- Phil Jackson, NBA coach in Sacred Hoops

All directors have their strengths. Some are insatiable readers.

They love words and writing. Others are drawn to visuals. A few
have a deep sensitivity to space or an affinity for unique materials.
Then there are those who are musicians at heart- trained or
untrained. Their best work weaves a tapestry of silence and sound,
words and underscore.
The One Essential for a Director
None of these qualities is absolutely essential. One quality is:
All really good directors must have the ability to work well with
other people. If that skill is strong enough it will compensate for
weaknesses in almost any other area. Theatre is a collective art, and
the director who enjoys people, who can inspire others to do their
best work and become a valued part of the ensemble, will find the
personnel to compensate for his own weaknesses, whatever those
weaknesses are.
Yes, there are successful directors who make nearly everyone
around them miserable. People preoccupied with power who abuse
those whom money or opportunity can buy. But you can be sure
even these director's creations are only shadows of what they
might be.
The Primacy of the Work with Actors
To a great degree then, the development of the director comes
as you learn to work better with others. And of all your
collaborators, none will demand more of you, nor give you more in
return, than the actor. In almost every production, it will be your
primary relationship. A well received production may earn you
awards and keep you employed, but if your work with the actors

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The Director's Eye

was a nightmare you are likely to consider it a failure. After a long,

difficult rehearsal period enthusiastic audiences can revive the
actors' joy in their work. It is not so easy for the director.
The implication of this for the director is inevitable. No matter
how brilliant your analysis of the pla}" your understanding of style,
your work with the designers, it is the director's role in relation to
the actors which will have the most important effect on the final
product and your own satisfaction with your work.
Much of this book has been addressing that task. Part Two,
"Rehearsal: A Time for Experiencing," contains much of what I
consider my most useful thinking about the director's work in
rehearsal. You may want to look at it again after reading this and the
next two chapters.
It is important you recognize the actor needs your help.
Inevitably. Even the most experienced actor working with the most
inexperienced director needs help. You must learn the truth of that
even when confronted by actors whose behavior suggests they are
totally self-sufficient. Like an adolescent eager for independence,
the actor may reject most of what you offer, but that should not stop
you from trying to find the assistance he needs and can accept. In
many cases the success of this interaction will depend on your skill
in being indirect and subtle in giving a helping hand. When I think
of my most cherished compliments from actors, they are invariably
couched in references to "being free" and "letting me find it
myself." Those are especially valued when my own memories
include incredibly long hours and hard work trying to find ways to
make the actor's discovery inevitable.
Actors Bring Very Different Backgrounds
Actors come with widely differing expectations about the
process and with very different models for success. It is significant
that more acting classes are offered by our colleges and universities
than theatre courses of any other kind. Playwriting, for example, is
a much less frequent course of study. The same is true of directing.
In New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, literally hundreds of
individuals offer some kind of acting program for those trying to
make a career in the theatre. In all probabilit}" the majority of actors
you cast will not only have experience acting in plays, but will have
studied acting under someone and will probably have read at least
portions of a half dozen or more books on acting.
In one sense we suffer from an overabundance of "simulated
acting." Most actors have done an extensive amount of scene work

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 Communicating with Actors

without a director. They have developed habits of working quickly,

sometimes superficially, with no demand for sustaining a long run,
or integrating with a total cast. They have had limited opportunities
to deal with the pressures of performing - performing for
audiences of all kinds, performing every moment of a script,
performing in the face of widely differing feedback by critics and
well-intentioned friends.
You will almost always have not only the challenge of
discovering the play but of creating a common method of
working. It is no exaggeration to suggest that conflict over ways of
working - both between the director and the actors, and among
actors- is a serious concern in the majority of productions.
Assembling a Cast
Cast your production with this reality in mind. It means you
should value people you have worked with before, trusting that
you need the best ones to be leaders in each new cast. Veteran
actors, veteran athletes, veteran pilots mean not only people with
experience, but people with experience in the system at hand. Like
a coach relying on peer leadership by team veterans, you need
actors who start the work trusting your ability to lead them on the
journey.
Conduct your auditions to reveal not only the skills of people,
but also the way they work. A simple device: Ask the actor to
perform a brief speech from a play in which he's performed. Then
change some premise of the character - his age, his social status,
his outlook on life - and ask the actor to perform it again with
those conditions. As he works, make a suggestion or two for
additional changes and see how easily he can adapt. I pride myself
on developing strong ensembles. If I sense a determined, self-
centered ego at the auditions, that person is going to have to
demonstrate clearly superior skills for me to consider including him
in a cast.
As you become more certain of your ability to bring out the best
in your actors, you will be less awed by the length of resumes. A
large number of roles played usually suggests the actor will have
deeply imprinted habits. No one, for example, is more difficult to
work with than an actor who has been repeatedly rewarded for
overacting.
Often, there is a lot of "unlearning" before an entire cast can
work together toward a common goal. Cliches from the past aren't
going to succeed here. To "unlearn" that which has served them

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The Director's Eye

well in past productions requires risk-taking. They will need to trust

you and their fellow cast members. It is easier to work with a naive
actor than to work with one who has to unlearn questionable skills.
Be clear what guides your search for good actors. I almost
always place emphasis on truth and honesty: How much of
themselves and their own experiences comes through in their work?
Whatever the play, look for actors who have an affinity for the
play's world. Usually we need actors who are sensitive and
intelligent. Many plays require emotional maturity and a
willingness to tap deep feelings. Depending on the role and play,
there are times when actors are needed who can handle a lot of text.
Few people can take pages of material and make it believable and
interesting. Sometimes a role or play will make very specific
physical demands. Will the actor work hard enough to get there?
Sometimes we just need actors who are interesting personalities -
occasionally even bizarre- and fun to be around.
These issues all suggest the importance of taking adequate time
to evaluate in auditions. They suggest many of the common
audition techniques may not provide the answers. "Cold readings"
of the play to be performed may be useful, but are seldom enough
to make sensitive judgments in the final cast selection. Yes, there are
actors who handle lines beautifully once memorized, but who can't
read "cold copy" well. Lots of them. If you suspect you're
auditioning one, it is often worth taking extra time to let them work
and rework a small amount of dialog. Many times I have cast an
actor suspecting he or she was much better than the audition
suggested. Frequently, I would later find him to be one of the
strongest actors in my cast. In many instances it gave me the
opportunity to use him again in another production in a larger role
or, occasionally, when I cast first a company and delayed casting
individual roles until after a week of rehearsal, I had the pleasant
reward of knowing I had "discovered" a leading actor who would
otherwise have been overlooked.
If the casting pool is large, you will have to screen out those
who seem most obviously inappropriate before spending extended
time with individuals. Even so, try to give everyone an initial"fair
hearing." Not only is it possible the rejected actor may meet your
needs in a later effort, but rejection at auditions can be hurtful for
most performers. Honor that vulnerability.
When you come to the second round of auditions for those
in whom you are most interested - we usually label these
"callbacks" - keep in mind the importance of actor combinations.

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 Communicating with Actors

Test the initial interaction of key pairs who are important in the
script's development. See what "chemistry" is there for the lovers,
how acceptable are mother and daughter combinations, what
contrasts are there for the villain and hero. Work with actors using
your material, material they provide, physical work, vocal work
and simply talking - talking about life, about themselves, about
their goals, about the kind of play you are doing- all these can be
very helpful. And still there will be surprises. The challenge here is
patience. Are you willing to invest the time it may require? If so, in
most cases, know that actors appreciate the attention. You are, after
all, really trying to listen to them, to see them. What could be more
satisfying to most actors? If they can't give you that time, it may tell
you something about the kind of commitment you can expect in
rehearsal.
Getting the best cast available is as much a part of the process
as rehearsals. Don't mislead them; you can encourage an actor
without implying he has the "inside track" on a role. Any actor
with experience knows there are lots of reasons for being denied a
part. Remember, the best auditions are the opposite of power
games. They are memorable, enjoyable opportunities to learn more
about one another. If successful, most actors will remember them
fondly even if not cast.
Almost never does the director want an actor who is
preoccupied with being a "star." If you have the unusual
opportunity early in your career to work with someone Hollywood
or the New York press has named a "star," you will do well to make
sure your own relationship is as free from that ego-status as
possible. Otherwise, you can be sure the "star" will direct the play
whatever his named role.
One of the frequent problems is casting someone in a small role
who is certain he could play the lead. Even with the pressures of a
production's beginnings, it is often worth the time invested to
develop a strategy for handling this possibility. Sometimes you can
discuss the issue with the actor before casting; sometimes you can
use him as an understudy; sometimes you may decide he will not
become a supportive ensemble member and is better left uncast.
Whatever the play, you are very likely to have six or twelve
actors who can do three of the roles and none who can do others.
The sobering lesson to be learned from experience is that some of
the guesses will turn out wonderfully and some of the sure things
will be disaster.
It is good to accept your best guess and get on with it.

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The Director's Eye

The Actor-Director Partnership

Once the play is cast and work begins, what can the directing of
an actor involve? This is only a list, but it suggests the enormous
range of the interrelationships between actor and director.
1. Helping the actor be free to work
Relaxation
Concentration
Positive Attitude
2. Helping the actor interact with other actors
Company rapport
Relationship with other individuals
3. Helping the actor tap him/herself
Rediscovering past experiences
Finding how he I she feels I thinks I moves I talks now
Adding to his /her experiences
4. Helping the actor connect with the play
With the action of the play
With his/her character
With the style of the play
5. Helping the actor project to the audience
Clarifying his I her timing; his I her scoring
Clarifying his/her vocal work
Clarifying his /her movement
Clarifying his/her use of the theatre space
Clarifying his /her use of costumes, make-up, props
6. Helping the actor in his/her interaction with the audience

Yes, this is a generic, "textbook" list. But it's also a reminder that
actors who are tense and self-conscious may have a very difficult
time getting beyond that tension and self-consciousness, no matter
how experienced they are or how long they rehearse. What does it
matter how brilliantly you can analyze the play if your lead is still
fearful he looks foolish?
To build an ensemble that trusts one another and enjoys
working together does not insure a play's success, but it provides an
excellent base for exploration. Great actors are capable of doing
wonderful work on their own, capable of making extraordinary
discoveries outside of rehearsal. But there are some discoveries
which a cast can only make together. The director can make that
possible just as he can make that impossible.

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 Communicating with Actors

11
A director watching (Remember Audience of One" from our
beginning discussions?) as the audience in rehearsal and with the
audience in performance, can offer a viewpoint not available to any
actor. "How was it?" they ask. And rightly so. Learn to honor that
need with careful, sensitive feedback.
Any of the tasks outlined requires insight, experience and skill.
There are no simple answers to the best way to handle any of them.
Different actors require you deal with them differently. So do
different production situations and different scripts. You will need
to learn by doing. Some insight comes from watching others direct.
Some can probably come more readily if you are acting, for as an
actor you realize what another director does that helps or hinders.
Some insight only comes by taking risks as a director and learning
from your failures as well as your successes.
Guidelines for Director-Actor Transactions
It is important to know there are no sure-fire techniques you can
quickly learn and be finished with your own education. It's all
much too complicated for that. Besides each director will have to
develop ways of working that grow out of his own experiences and
values.
Meanwhile, here are some practical guidelines for interacting
with actors which seem to have helped many of my own students
as they searched for guidance. Even this short list may be too much
to keep in mind now. Try identifying two or three of these and
practicing them the next time you work. A rehearsal or two later,
come back to the list and see if there are more which seem
particularly relevant to the work you are undertaking. Be patient.
Learning to work well with actors takes time.

• In the beginning it is easy to compliment yourself

for having ideas. Be careful of talking too much.
Rehearsals, after all, are times to find out by doing.
11
Learn to say, Again! Take it from the top." Often the
opportunity to run a short section several times can do
more to improve it than thirty minutes of discussion.
• What you don't say may be more important than what
you do say. Excited by the possibilities, we tend to share
more than the actor can use. Be selective. Learn the
importance of saying the one thing that is needed now.
Save other thoughts for times when they can better be
heard.

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The Director's Eye

• Don't let actors get away with //lying." False moments

accumulate. Words which don't ring true contaminate
the next scene and the next. Unmotivated actions keep
the actor from being present. Learn to say, "Cut!" Stop
them. Make them deal with it. Start again.
• Exception to the above: Learn to recognize when the
playing of the action, the saying of the words, the
carrying out of the sequence is bringing the actor into
the play. When you sense that happening, don't stop
them even if there are things which need attention. They
are trying to sense the flow, even when they can't tell
you. Some rehearsals go nowhere because the actors are
interrupted too often. You will be making real progress
as a director when you can distinguish between these
two needs: the need to stop them now, and the need to
let them continue to the end of a unit or a scene. If in
doubt, watch them. See if one or the other seems to
result in a growing believability.
• Actors have ideas. Honor them. Even when you are
"certain" it will not work, you may need to let the actor
learn for himself. One of the most useful responses you
can give to an actor with-ideas: //Let's try it." Suppose
the worst happens. He likes it, you think it's awful. Let
him try it for another day or two. Maybe he will
discover it doesn't wear well. Maybe you will discover
it isn't so bad after all. Seldom is it necessary to stop the
discovery of rehearsal for an extended test of wills.
• Cultivate ways to give directions without pulling the
actors out of the physical and mind sets of the play.
Learn to side coach." Find ways to affect them while
H

they work. Get close to them and talk quietly to one

actor while he maintains his concentration on the
scene. Don't expect major results from intellectual
ideas given to them when they are finished unless they
are experienced enough to work on their own before
trying to use your instructions in the next rehearsal.
• Don't underestimate the importance of setting the tone,
setting the mood. You can often become the most
important force in the rehearsal by creating a sense of
how alert the actor must be, how physically demanding

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 Communicating with Actors

the task is. Like a good drill sergeant or coach, being

there, with them, in the space, and setting that tone by
the quality of your own voice, your own actions, your
own alertness while they act can be of infinite value.
• Pay special attention to relationships. Work on the ways
two characters have come to be utied" to one another.
Help them find the subtle language exchanged between
the two -both verbal and non-verbal- that may be
missed by the public at large.
• Particularly in the early stages of rehearsal, be careful of
dictating how the actor should feel. Instead, try to get
them to discover what they do feel or what they could
feel if they were able to make the play more meaningful.
Be very careful of direct actor commands when you are
dealing with emotions. To tell an actor to "be more
angry" at a given moment, may only cause him to be
more self-conscious.
• Note how characters change. Watch for points in the
play when they can't go back, when things can never
again be seen as they were before. When actors become
overwhelmed with too much to consciously remember,
use these "turning points" as the focus. Help them
monitor their own progress by checking to see if these
significant changes are happening.
• Lead them to extensions outside the play which
reenforce your observations. Help them see you are all
supported by a network of poets, each struggling to tell
a pait of the story. Plant seeds which will help them
continue their work outside rehearsals - often at a
subconscious level.
• When in doubt remember that life is the library. Get
them in touch with other people and with their own
lives. Find out how they and you really feel.
• In much of your work you can lead by example. If you
are willing to put your own feelings, your own
experiences on the table, you can encourage them to
take the risk also.
• Remember, the goal is to lead them into the discovery.

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When your examples, your side-coaching, your sharing

overshadows their own work, you're in trouble. It may
please your ego to hear "Gee- you are so good! I wish
you could just do it!" but it is a sure sign your actor is
losing confidence in himself.
• The most alarming words to hear from an actor: '.lis
that what you want?" When an actor substitutes
pleasing you - reluctantly or willingly - for finding
what feels honest for the character and right for the
world of the play, you know he has given up his own
human insight. Both you and he need that sensitivity
present. The best answer to this question may be "I
think so, but let's continue trying it and see if it begins
to feel better to you."

Start with the "Now"

Be wary of generic directing exercises as the key to success. It is
easy to give in to panic and begin doing the familiar, whatever it is.
Your leadership needs to grow out of your insight into the play and
your continuing observation of the people you choose to share its
story. Whatever you do with them, start where they are now.
Always.
A cast of ten beginning rehearsal comes from ten different paths.
Your job is to get them onto a common journey. Consider directing
the transition into the rehearsals one of your most important tasks.
A period of quiet - some form of meditation- an opportunity for
them to use the first words from the script that come to mind out of
this quiet time, a chance for their simple interaction to energize
them until they are ready for rehearsal, their getting in place and
ready to start.
Whatever you use, you must find today' s way to take them into
the play. It may be a two- or five- or nine-step process. Watch and
listen. When you get them really connected with the play, let them
work. Use the play's language, its action and its environment as
tools for discovery. While they are in the process, nudge them,
sustain them, encourage them in ways they may hardly realize are
happening.
For most of us in the theatre, these are the exciting, creative
times when we are in touch with the sheer energy and mystery of
life. Don't miss out sharing it with your cast.

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 Chapter 23
Memorization: The First
of Five Golden Rings
An actor is someone who remembers.
On the simplest level, someone
who remembers his lines ...
An actor remembers the 'feel" of all the feelings
he ever felt or ever sensed in others . ...
He remembers the world before it became his world
and himself before he became his self ...
To be without memory and to be an actor
is inconceivable.
Charles Marowitz

Because human behavior is complex, acting is complex. There

are a number of established "systems" for actor training. You are
not likely to work long in the theatre without having to choose up
sides on any number of acting controversies. Theatrical styles
like all styles- become overly familiar and hence less universally
effective. Tomorrow will see new names and new systems having
their day in the sun. The next two chapters are not intended as an
endorsement of one acting "system" over another, but an attempt to
identify tasks central to the work of all actors.
Five Golden Rings
"Memorization," "Emotion," "Gestation," "Boarding" and
"Function."· These names refer to five tasks so universally
demanded of the actor -whatever the production- I have chosen
to call them the "Five Golden Rings." Frequently, it's assumed the
good actor knows how to handle each of these. My experience says
that is a false assumption.
If you commit yourself to the study of these five tasks, if you
develop the insight to help your actors handle them efficiently and
with sensitivity, you will probably be considered an "actor's
director."
The First Ring: Memorization
"How do you remember all those lines?" Every actor has heard
it. The mystery of remembering lines. For most of us the standard

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response is a wry smile, implying that it is not possible to share the

complexity of the task. When you are very young, remembering
lines is the easiest part of your job. When you are very old, it's
usually a nightmare.
Let me suggest that few actors realize how seriously they
should consider their process for learning lines. True, most work at
memorization. In fact, for some who have difficulty remembering,
it's a serious task indeed. No, I am referring to something else: The
study of how we learn lines and what, in fact, we really are learning
as we carry out our plan.
Much of the difficulty many actors have in making a role
believable and effective comes from poor practices in memorizing
lines.
We now know that different kinds of memory are stored in
different parts of the brain. Visual images, sounds, emotional
feelings, words, interaction with other people, the mood and
atmosphere surrounding us, the feel of an action we are engaged
in - whatever parts we choose to identify in dividing up a given
minute or hour - it now seems relatively certain we store some
pieces of that experience separately from other pieces. Moreover,
when we try to recall that time, we almost always tap parts of that
memory and not other parts.
Put another way, all experience is stored, not as one memory,
but many simultaneous memories - memories which are retrieved,
both consciously and unconsciously, as partial experiences.
The Fallacy of Words Alone
The core of the actor's problem in memorizing lines is that he
often behaves as if words are the only thing he needs to remember.
As if all the memorization involved for his role is centered on the
words he says and the verbal cues which trigger them.
Lines come out of the character's memory, his making a
connection with inner images, triggered by something that happens
in the now. As the lines are learned, the actor needs to work out the
connections. Some of those connections are easy if you are acting
with another performer at the time you are reenforcing the use of
the words: A character shouts angrily at you, "Get out of this room!"
pointing toward the door. You march to the door, turn and face him,
saying, "I'll be back!" and exit slamming the door behind you.
Simple. Do it two or three times and it all feels obvious. Of
course you could remember your line. Seeing the other person,
listening to his words, marching to the door, telling him how you

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feel, slamming the door after you. It is much more than memorizing
three words. The paradox is that learning the complexity of it is
much easier than learning only the words.
The same is true for every memorization problem the actor
encounters. You must learn images, know what triggers them-
what you can take in every time you perform. You must see how
they grow out of the previous moment and how they lead into the
next. When learning lines, we get in a hurry and don't want to take
the time to puzzle out the complexity of the moment. The actor
repeats his lines in isolation from the rest of the cast, often without
experiencing much of what would be happening were his character
somehow needing to really use these words. He needs to recognize
that for every speech he must first learn what triggers the impulse
to speak. He must learn the images that come to the character
making speech necessary. He must learn the sequence of awareness.
As he works on his lines, he must begin the connecting process
that identifies what will be available in his environment each time
he performs the play which- if he takes it in- can make him want
to say that. He must teach himself, that at this point his mind can
take in the lights coming up from the auditorium ceiling, and
because he notices them it makes him think about the sun coming
up over the mountain and that is what causes him to speak the line
Thornton Wilder has written for the stage manager in the opening
of the play.
In fact, he must do this for not only all his lines, but for all the
significant images within his lines. "That would take forever!" you
say. Well, not really, but it takes time. Significant time. That's why it
is so difficult to teach an actor to do it. And if he does not ...
A Worst Case Scenario
At its worst, we see the actor go through three destructive
stages around line memorization.
First, he clings to his script longer than is necessary. Fearing he
will not know his lines, he continues to read them in rehearsal until
the director forces him to put down his book. He may get better at
"pretending" to interact with his fellow actors, but always his
concentration, his focus, must include his script. He cannot really
watch and listen to others, for he is too busy making certain he does
not lose his place in the script. In fact, often when he has given a
reasonably successful line reading, it is good to stop him and ask
what he just said. The usual revelation is that even when he has
spoken only eight or ten words, he remembers almost none of them.

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Why? He isn't using his mind to develop the thinking of the

moment. He isn't really listening, he isn't really in touch with what
he feels. Therefore, when he does speak, his mind isn't even aware
of his selection of words to express his needs.
He's faking it.
In the second stage of this process, the actor has spent time on
his own, "learning lines." Now, with it required of the cast to be "off
book," he comes ready to repeat what he knew when working alone
last night. Again at its worst, in this stage he remains fluent only as
long as he is not distracted by what is going on around him. If he
begins to feel anything new, if the actor opposite him does anything
unexpected - in or out of character - he loses his concentration
and thus the line. In short, he has to block out what is happening
now to keep his memory of the line sequence intact.
During this retrieval effort, not much acting of merit happens.
There is little feeling experienced by the actor, other than panic that
he will not remember the words. There is little development of the
scene from interaction, for interaction is feared as a distraction.
All this probably sounds familiar. If it has not happened to you,
probably you have observed it in others. Fine, you might say, but he
will get there. Words will finally be learned and then he can act.
Maybe.
In the third stage of this process - again when it is at its
worst - the actor does finally learn the sequence. He learns it so
well he will not be distracted by any amount of acting going on
around him. In fact, he learns the sequence, including the verbal
cues, so well he can repeat it almost endlessly without engaging the
rest of his mind. So, it is natural that he goes on automatic pilot.
Quickly he begins to repeat lines on cue without their having any
depth of meaning. Without his being in touch with the event
surrounding them. He is free to monitor his own voice, which he
does, offering to himself a silent, running evaluation of his skills. He
is free to think about who is in the audience, what he is going to
have for dinner, how attractive the young lady is opposite him -
any one of an endless array of thoughts totally outside the character.
In that stage, he frequently distracts the other actors by making
totally inappropriate comments during group scenes, for he's
bored. Why shouldn't he be? He knows his lines. What else is there
to think about?
Now most actors won't demonstrate the excesses of all three of
these stages at their worst. However, a surprising number of actors
will succumb to one or more of these tendencies. You will have at

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least one actor with serious memorization problems in every cast.

You can count on it. You must be alert for danger signs and try to
deal with it early.
Guidelines for the Director's Role in Memorization
If lines are learned superficially, there will be a lot of unlearning
required ahead. You may or may not be able to accomplish it.
Here are some things you can do:

• Encourage them to find out how many of the words they

know by getting the books out of their hands early in
the work on nearly every scene. Have them work on
short scenes so that they do not worry about what
happens on the second page; they only need remember
the first. Give them lots of opportunity for repetitions
together so they get used to seeing the other actors
present as the ones they are trying to affect with their
words. Give them physical action which allows them to
invest the whole body in the interactions of the scene.
• Encourage them to listen without fearing they will
forget their next line. Assure them someone (you or a
stage manager) can provide them with the line when
they call for it. Note that the best model for learning
lines is the actor who has an amazing ability to stay in the
scene, often with high levels of emotional involvement
and extended silences. At the last second - when it's
unexpectedly and suddenly clear he needs words which
he cannot remember - he shouts, "Line!" By his
actions, the experienced actor with those skills tells
others, "Don't worry about forgetting the lines. Stay in
the scene, keep the mind and feelings working.
Probably the line will come to you when it's time. If it
doesn't, someone will give it to you and you'll have a
chance to repeat the scene several times. You'll probably
make it yours before we quit tonight."
• Alternate rehearsal of sequential scene work with
line work intentionally abandoning the sequence.
Remember that preoccupation with memorizing cues
steals from actors' really listening and seeing one
another. True, the actor does have to recognize his cues,
but cues seldom should function at the obvious,

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conscious level" cue learning" implies. It's a much more

complex process than that.
• Encourage actors to work outside rehearsal without
worrying about extended sequences, both alone and
with one another. They will be making permanently
part of their experience the simplest but most essential
information. Two-, three- and four-line exchanges will
become easy and so much a part of them they can be
called upon under very different circumstances in
various parts of the play. (Go back to Chapter 6 and look
again at the suggestions for using language as a tool in
rehearsal.)
• As they use lines, have them doing various tasks that
are part of the play or appropriate for the kind of world
these characters exist in. Teach them not to be afraid of
silence. Teach them to say lines only when they need to
rather than when it's their cue. Yes, they may miss some
cues, but they will learn to be invested in the scene.
Then, they can learn what they need to take in for
the line to be needed. Remember, the first task of the
actor is to be here. Not to speak words, but to simply be
here - here in the play.
• When they are having trouble with lines on a given
scene, encourage them to feel free to go back a few
speeches, where they are more confident, and start
again without discussion or explanation to either you
or their fellow actors. If the practice is abused you can
always change the rules.
• If they have difficult, long speeches, encourage them to
begin by intentionally editing, speaking those words of
the speech which carry the core of the intent. This does
not mean paraphrasing or ad-libbing. It means learning
the opening words, knowing which phrases or
sentences carry the most essential thoughts and which
words end the speech. Let them use this edited version
in the beginning while insisting it be integrated with
what they are doing and informed by what the
character is feeling. As the rehearsals progress,
encourage them to go back and pick up more and more
of the words in the speech, always staying in touch with

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what the character is thinking and feeling now.

• For most actors you can recognize when they are
beginning a long speech. Everything about them shifts
into that familiar mode that says, "I hope I can
remember this. I know no one is going to save me by
speaking until I get this all out." The truth is, most long
speeches are memory speeches. The character is telling
us something he remembers. But to do it, you have to
have images stored in your memory. Remind the actor
he has to take the time to remember and see (and before
that he would have to imagine in order for it to be there
to remember) and then he can talk about it.
• Even this imagining may be difficult for some actors.
"What does this Uncle Ned look like?" you might ask.
"I don't have to know, but you do. Think of someone
you know, your own Uncle, perhaps. Could Uncle Ned
look just like your uncle?" If they can't remember the
words telling about the memory, it's probably not
because they need words - they need the memory.
In all this work, the actor has the challenge of laying down
three tracks in a given amount of time: one track with words and
silences, one with physical action, and one with feelings. When he
begins work on complex characters and scenes, there will often be
too many words for what he feels or not enough to do in the time
his speech requires or any one of the other imbalances. Part of
what he is trying to learn is not only what he says, what he does
and what he must pull from his memory bank to induce his
feelings - but how these three tracks must be filled and paced so
they match up with one another at every given moment.
Memory. Marowitz is right. "To be without memory and to be
an actor is inconceivable." As a director, you must become a student
of the process if you are to help actors use it well.

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 Chapter 24
Emotion, Gestation,
Boarding and Function:
The Other Golden Rings
Our emotions ... guide us in facing predicaments
and tasks too important to leave to intellect alone -
danger, painful loss, persisting toward a goal despite
frustrations, bonding with a mate, building a family .

. . . passions overwhelm reason time and again ...

what we are born with is what worked best
for the last 50,000 human generations,
not the last 500 generations -
and certainly not the last five.
- Daniel Goleman, Emotional Intelligence

Memorization may be the most deceptive of the Five Golden

Rings - the actor's basic tasks. It is by no means the only one
needing the director's insight. Here are four more: Emotion,
Gestation, Boarding and Function which you will do well to give
your continuing attention. Working with different actors will add to
your experience. You will need all the insight you can gain to handle
them successfully.
The Second Golden Ring: Emotion
There is no substitute for honest emotion. It means we have
connected. We care about the story we have come to tell. Granted
not all of us show the depth of our connection in the same way.
Some of us may seldom shed tears or allow ourselves the pleasure
of body-shaking laughter. But the artist who cares deeply about life
will feel it. And the sharing of the experience will include sharing
those feelings.
Will there be people involved in the theatre's collaboration who
contribute without feeling? Usually. But the core of the successful
production will come from those who do. It is always possible that
that can be the playwright alone, or even the director and the
playwright. But if the actor is at the center of the sharing process, to
have a fully realized production the actor, too, must share - share

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with honesty and with feeling.

Even when the production's style might call for highly
formalized conventions - the operatic aria at the play's climax, for
example the most satisfying productions come from those in
touch with their feelings, from those experiencing emotion growing
out of their role in sharing the story.
Most actors seem to understand this instinctively if they are
encouraged to invest in the material they present. Few will doubt
the potential impact of honest emotion, for they have enjoyed it,
responded to it in the actors they admire. They are very clear when
in a film the emotion is shallow or bogus, when the work is done by
the musical underscore and the performers have contributed little.
And yet, clear thinking, sensitive human beings who can
understand the need for creating characters based on careful
exploration of their world, who accept the primacy of the dramatic
action, will suddenly resort to the most obvious overacting as they
attempt Amanda, or Tom or Laura in the midst of what at first
seems a very realizable and even familiar family quarrel.
Why? What causes this sudden overacting in emotional scenes?
It is not that the actors don't try. It is not that they don't take
their work seriously. In most cases I believe it is because they don't
trust themselves. For most of us, the free public display of intense
feelings under difficult circumstances is totally foreign. We are
quickly convinced we aren't sharing what we want to share.
We may somehow sense the anger or the sorrow - sometimes
even the joy these characters are going through. We may
understand, at least generally, what the characters might feel. And
because we sense what it should be, as we perform the scene we fear
we aren't feeling enough. We fear the audience knows, even if it is
only an audience of our fellow actors. They know we aren't feeling
what we believe we should.
That's where the trouble starts.
Overacting- faking, exaggerated emotional involvement- is
our attempt to convince, first ourselves, and second, our audience,
that what we are feeling is enough. Enough to support these words.
Enough to justify these actions. Enough to get us to the climax of the
scene.
When I was very young, on the playground someone
occasionally had a bottle of Coca-Cola. It came in a six-ounce bottle
then, those now antique, small, thick, curved, green-glass bottles.
Five cents for six ounces. The trick was to take one or two gulps,
shake it up a few times and sell it to someone else for five cents. It

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The Director's Eye

was, after all, still a full bottle. And if the buyer was naive enough
not to realize the seemingly full bottle had only three ounces and
foam, it did indeed pass for a nickel's worth.
I believe most actors, when caught with only a half-full bottle,
panic. Their understanding and sensitivity suddenly evaporates
and they frantically begin to shake the bottle. They are desperate to
convince you, and even themselves, that the bottle is indeed full.
As a director, it is important you be alert for foam. Do not allow
it to be passed off as real emotion. Assure the actor he may well
want to experience more, the lines or the action may well profit
from more intense emotion, but he must begin by being willing to
share what he does experience. Whatever it is.
He must trust that honest sharing of whatever emotion he has
will better support the scene than all the foam he can manufacture.
Teach him that in life, we almost invariably try to pour from the
bottle without letting it foam, without losing control. For foam runs
the glass over. It wastes. It spills on the table and is consumed by no
one. We may want to share how we feel, but we are trying -
sometimes desperately - to keep our emotions in check. We may
not want people to know how angry we are, or how sad we have
become. And if we do want them to know, we certainly don't want
that anger to become so out of control we can't get them to hear
what we need to say.
Honest emotional involvement enriches not only this scene, but
the next and the next. For emotion experienced affects that which
follows in ways often too subtle to describe. When you have ended
a relationship with someone you once cared about deeply, how long
does it take for you to no longer be affected by that experience?
How long before you u get over" it?
You can't really fake emotion and be successful at it. Not
consistently. You might fool us for this moment, but you don't carry
it with you. Think of all the ways bone-deep emotional changes
affect what you do tomorrow and the next day - even when you
are no longer conscious of it.
Almost no young actor finds it easy to carry an emotional scene
into the rest of the play. We use it up.
Life is different. Great performances are too.
Keeping the sharing of emotion honest is the challenge. Don't
accept their shaking of the bottle. Any sensitive audience recognizes
foam. We call it overacting. You can help the actor deal with it.
Getting him into the play is the challenge. Experiencing the action.
No, he won't feel it with the same intensity every time, but if you

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have cast well, and he is there - there in the play - he will feel.
Help him learn that if he is in the play, to share what he feels is
enough. He cannot make himself feel, but he can be open to the
events of the play. He can let the action affect him. With your help
and the help of his fellow actors, it will be enough.
The Third Golden Ring: Gestation
"Tourist!"- We've all experienced it. The derision with which
the natives refer to those of us who come in for a brief visit and
leave thinking we know all there is to know about living here.
Life changes. We change. Given time, everything changes.
We have to grow into our roles. The clear model for theatrical
gestation is the successful actor in a television series. In the pilot
episode, he is trying to feel at home. Learning to wear the
character's clothes - learning who makes up his family. If it is a
successful series, if the writing achieves and sustains a high quality,
by the second or third season, the acting is really good. The actors
are so comfortable with each other, so well informed by having
played through experience after experience, so confident of who
they are and the style of the world they inhabit, we stop thinking of
them as actors who have their independent lives. It's easy to believe
this is their living world. No wonder famous actors have so little
privacy. We have difficulty believing they are not Archie Bunker or
Detective Sipowitz.
There are two simple keys to gestation: hard work and
experience. You can't rush gestation. It takes time. Time for
imprinting. Imprinting that lasts. To develop anything with care
takes effort. Sustained effort over time.
We live in a culture which is constantly suggesting there is a
quicker, less demanding way. You can get there without any
experience to guide you.
Ever spent wh<1t seemed like hours waiting for your hamburger
and fries in a fast food restaurant while behind the counter people
in uniforms argue about whose turn it is to go on break? Theirs are
simple tasks; they are surrounded by all kinds of charts, computer
screens, and ready-measured ingredients. Why can't they make it
work? It's a question of experience and sustained effort. Even the
"fool-proof" system of a fast food chain suffers when experience
and effort are missing.
Do you have everyday heroes? People you go to when you
want to get things done? What can we trust you to do? Aren't there
jobs you will finish no matter what happens and others where you

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The Director's Eye

... get bored ... put it off ... start tomorrow.

Sometimes we think we can't create because we don't have a
sizable budget or our actors aren't "trained." I know a mechanic
who works on cars out of his home. Cars and parts are piled up in
his front yard. I take my car there because I trust him. He works
hard and he's been doing it for a long time. There are all kinds of
fast-food car shops, but I don't want to risk them. Not with my old
car. He's learned the job and he sticks with it. I'll take experience
and honest effort over television ads and slogans.
Plays are hard work. The only way to get there is to work at it.
My own feeling is too much theatre isn't produced through hard
work. We think there's a quick way. Someone hasn't spent enough
time exploring, experiencing, discovering what brings it to life.
The cliche about actors (and in fact about all theatre people) is
ul just love being in the theatre." I don't think I've ever heard that
said by someone who understood how hard you have to work to
create a production of real worth. The gestation required to develop
a role in a quality production comes only with sustained effort over
what often seems a shockingly long time.
Seek the actors who are in it for the long haul. Encourage their
commitment to the best they can produce. An opening isn't the end
of growing. Keep at it through every performance. Know that if you
come back to it again next year, it has the possibility of being still
richer. Gestation - it takes time.
The Fourth Golden Ring: Boarding
There's no ready-made name for this, so I've created one -
"boarding." I'm speaking here of what happens when an actor
prepares for the night's performance, his time "getting ready." I'm
also speaking of his time off stage, when he isn't directly involved
in the action. His "between scenes" time.
It's easy for a director to miss this task, to believe it's being
handled better than it is. If the director sees the production in
performance, he's likely to be in the auditorium watching with the
audience. Even at dress rehearsals, he'll be busy dealing with the
demands of crews and designers while trying to maintain contact
with his actors when he can. For me, it has often been an education
to play a role in plays I'm directing. No matter how carefully I try
to prepare the cast, I'm often shocked at the bad habits which
surface during actors' "before" and "between" times.
These times can tell us a great deal about the depth of the
actor's understanding of his task. "Boarding" means we leave

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behind the hundred and one distractions of the day - distractions

which pull us away from the world of the play - and we join the
cast for the journey. "Boarding" means we recognize the journey
is a demanding one, in its own way, a space shuttle trip to the
moon - well, at the very least, another world. When we board, we
cannot leave until the trip is completed.
Yes, warm-ups may be helpful. A company meeting may be
helpful. Meditation may be helpful. The important thing is that
actors need to learn to be responsible for getting aboard. Some
things can be done as a company, but each actor comes to the theatre
with his or her own distractions. Each must learn to work at
"entering the spacecraft" and preparing for the journey. And
equally important, each must learn to stay aboard as the play
progresses, even when they are off stage for a significant part of the
time.
The director needs to evaluate the spatial conditions which
make this difficult. How easy is it for the actors to hear what is
going on on stage? Can they stay in contact with the performance?
Is it possible to watch even a few minutes of it before making their
entrances?
In many cases, crew members and fellow actors may make it
almost impossible for the actor to be ready to reenter the play. How
bizarre that a company spends weeks exploring a world, and in
performance distracts one another from being able to be fully
present.
Crew members may not understand how fragile actors'
concentration can be. For fellow actors there is no excuse.
The director needs to teach the company to respect the difficulty
of the journey. Not just preparing for the journey, but sustaining it
once it starts. Sustaining the quality of each performance by
developing individual ways to make the transition from daily life
to the world of the play. And sustaining their involvement in each
part of the whole play by guarding against distractions.
Distractions which come from others and from our own inevitably
limited concentration.
It is all too easy to become overconfident. To believe that
because we are capable of carrying out the superficial requirements
of the play we have given the performance the action demands.
Even when. the rehearsals have addressed these very concerns, the
performance run can suffer serious erosion when faced with the
very real difficulties of "staying aboard." The director will do well
to anticipate this concern, preparing for it throughout the rehearsal

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The Director's Eye

process. In the early days of space travel, astronauts wore fish-bowl

helmets to provide oxygen and protect them against the changing
atmosphere. Whether they were charged with the control of the ship
at a given moment, or whether they were resting, they needed to
stay connected. It is no less true for the actor. He must check his
equipment, put it on, get ready, go aboard and stay connected for
the entire journey. Anything less can lead to disaster.
The Fifth Golden Ring: Function
In the strictest sense, this is probably your most vital role in
the actor-director relationship: Never lose sight of each character's
function in carrying out the dramatic action of the play. Actors
may often become preoccupied with an infinite variety of details
about the people they are playing. None - absolutely none - of it
can be allowed to interfere with a character's function in carrying
out the dramatic action of the play.
In America, our emphasis on "actor training" has led to
rehearsal practices and systems for the actor's character analysis
which seem valid in themselves, but which, misapplied, may
undercut the play's power and believability.
Well intentioned actors will become obsessed with perfecting
their dialects, achieving a suggestion of age, incorporating some
carefully developed physical mannerisms- particularly if fellow
actors, friends seeing the performance or critics who write either a
good or bad review make this the one identifying quality of their
work. They will shift their focus from whatever would dominate
the character's thoughts to get the job done, to what often seems the
most trivial of concerns. You cannot assume that once an actor
understands the character's function in making the action happen,
he will continue to make that primary in either performances or
rehearsals.
The truth is, actors are human. We forget. In the chaos of the
hour's demands, our priorities are shuffled. Often without our
realizing it. Yours may be disrupted also. But little is of more
importance to your work than bringing the actor back t.o his base:
What does he need to do to make the action happen?
At the beginning of this book we said, "The action must happen
or there is no play." It is the director's job to always see characters
primarily in terms of their "function" - function in relation to the
dramatic action of the play. All else comes afterward.
Summary of the Director-Actor Relationship
I am often asked, "Does a director need to be able to act to

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 Emotion, Gestation, Boarding and Function: The Other Golden Rings

direct?" No, but he must seek to understand what great acting is

and how actors get there. Very early, he will recognize he can help
people accomplish things he cannot do himself. Like a coach
working with a gifted athlete, he may not have the physical build or
the mental alertness - perhaps not the intuition to make decisions
under pressure- but he can watch and share. He can help break
the tasks down into manageable parts. He can help keep the actor
focused. He can validate and provide caring support when the goal
is not yet reached. He can encourage. He can be there when he is
needed and out of the way when the actor needs to go it alone. He
can enjoy the process and share that joy with his actors. They can
create together.

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 Chapter 25
Working with Playwrights,
Designers and Others
Making contact
involves two people at a time
and three parts.
Each person in contact with himself or herself
and each in contact with the other.
- Virginia Satir

You and the Playwright

We read plays. We've labeled many of those we read classics.
Some are centuries old, created out of cultures very different from
our own. Americans tend to stand outside these classics, see them
coming from another world. They belong to the British perhaps. The
British theatre can do the classics. Often intrigued by them we are
quick to imitate someone else's formula for their revival and
proudly proclaim our accomplishments when we've tangled with
them at all.
Warning: Plays seldom exist which were not originally written
by a human being out of concern for the life seen around him. No
matter what the language or form, the primary challenge is to
puzzle out what made the piece work in the first place.
Shakespeare, for example, had to have loved language. He had to
have been delighted with the turning of a phrase, the invention of
words. This is not totally foreign to us. "Ask not what your country
can do for you, but what you can do for your country." Our dearth
of eloquence in public speaking has made us particularly sensitive
to eloquence when it does occur and yet we tend to glibly repeat the
language of the classics as if these incredible writers were not filled
with pride at their own creativity. Perhaps it is because so few of us
now attempt to write.
If you want to know about working with new plays, start by
writing one. Try doing it even once. There is something to be
learned by building a play from a blank page which can be learned
no other way. It forces you to come to grips with structure, with
action, with the need to have it shared. You can take none of it for
granted - can skip over none of it.

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 Working with Playwrights, Designers and Others

As with so much of the modern theatre, the practice of the film

provides interesting models. It is now commonplace to have a script
idea sold to a producer who gives it to a scriptwriter, whose
manuscript is turned over to one or more script doctors, whose
composite is put in the hands of a director who, along with another
writer or two, rewrites the script as it goes through the shooting
process - during which numerous scenes are filmed with the
actors ad-libbing new lines or adding to the written dialog. Then in
the editing room, the script - now on film - evolves into its
apparent final form before being shown to a trial audience. Finally,
the producers take a whack at it, changing endings and scenes to
make it "more marketable."
It's a complicated process. Who is the playwright, anyway?
The theatre's process is seldom quite so convoluted, but it is
much more evolutionary than we tend to accept. Our productions
are based, for the most part, on scripts which have had their testings
and revisions and finally have been printed and reprinted enough
to be in a near-permanent form.
We tend to forget about all that often painful maturation. So,
when we think of collaborating with a playwright, it's no wonder
most of us are a little uncertain what that would be like.
The Silent Partner
The first question in the "normal" playwright-director
relationship is: Who comes first? Suppose the playwright is dead
and there are no copyright restrictions. What are the director's
obligations?
Throughout this book we've tried to stress the importance of
self-reliance and tapping your creative instincts. It will probably
come as a surprise then, to suggest that the first job of the young
director is to learn to honor the playwright's intention.
There is a simple reason for this recommendation. It is not
based on an ethical absolute that the writer be the primary creator.
No, this stance grows out of my observations as a teacher. Too often
I have seen inexperienced directors want to rewrite the play,
substituting what seemed to them a clever and creative idea for the
original action or character or scene. As tempting as it is to
encourage this creativity, it is important to face our uncertainty
when confronted by the demands of the original. A director has to
learn how to bring a script to life. Uncertain how that is
accomplished, it is too easy to abandon the script and nwrite" a
new one. (By "writing," I mean anything that significantly changes

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The Director's Eye

the dramatic action of the play, whether or not that includes writing
a single new word.)
If you want to become a director, I believe the first challenge is
to gain experience puzzling out the intended dramatic action of an
established script and working with actors to bring the play to life.
If you get us - your audience - to see the play growing out of the
actors' performing it, if you get us to really admire the play, you will
have made significant strides as a director.
Then, if you choose, you may want to start writing your own
plays, or working with untried playwrights, or even adapting
established scripts. You will have some valuable directing tools to
bring to the project.
Personally, I believe one of the serious shortcomings in the
academic theatre is the lack of emphasis on playwriting. We have
forgotten that most creative work in the theatre begins with the
writing of a script. My commitment to that premise does not negate
my belief that the primary work of the director is to learn how to
bring good scripts to life. (Certainly, it would be desirable for him
to learn how to help playwrights develop their scripts into better
plays, but he must start by learning how to bring a good script to
life.)
It is very difficult to work on playwriting and directing
simultaneously. When the inevitable problems arise, it is difficult to
be sure where the solution lies. You may be able to fix it by .rewriting
or you may be able to fix it by working with the cast. To attempt
both simultaneously may only confuse you and the cast.
I have spent much of my professional career working as a
playwright who directs his own plays. I have learned it is important
to wear only one hat at a time. I even try to separate writing and
editing. There comes a time during the production of a new script
where I try to avoid writing new material. Instead, I first see if
editing won't do the job. There are exceptions, of course, and it is
never totally this simple, but my own way of thinking is: one at a
time. Either direct or edit or write. Try not to switch tasks until you
have given the mode you're in a real chance for success.
It takes a very secure actor to stay both committed and calm in
the midst of repeated rewrites. For most actors, few things are more
unsettling than to have their characters in a state of flux. The
director of a new play in the middle of rewrites will usually find
himself needing to respond to anxiety from all directions. To handle
those uncertainties, you will need all the insight you can muster.
Don't attempt to produce a script you don't like. Don't work

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 Working with Playwrights, Designers and Otlzers

with it unless you feel you and the playwright have a common
ground, unless the two of you share important values. Honor the
playwright's intent, find it out as best you can by studying the script
itself and investigating the circumstances under which it was
written.
Be cautious about taking on a classic which is not easily related
to the life you experience. Shakespeare, for example, presents
numerous challenges which can overwhelm the young director.
There are lots of scenes, lots of characters, complex plots, unfamiliar
language, physical action to invent, and a demand that you and
your cast evolve a style of acting everyone can enter into.
It is all too easy to take refuge in having gotten the thing up on
its feet with lines memorized when the essentials for a quality
production have hardly been touched. If you must do Shakespeare,
in the beginning you would do well to consider an edited script
with fewer characters and fewer scenes.
There will be exceptions, of course, but most beginning
directors would do well to work with a "Silent Playwright" - one
who is never going to be present at rehearsal nor looking over your
shoulder - whose creation is of high quality and whose work can
readily serve as the base for using your own life experiences. The
successful, established playwright has a lot to teach you as you
learn to work with scripts.
The Gift of Another Pair of Eyes
Suppose you could do it all - direct, design the costumes, the
setting, the lights, the sound, the props. Suppose you could do it all
better than anyone else available. Why would you even have
designers? The obvious answer is, "There isn't time. I simply can't
do it all, it's.too much."
That is usually true, of course. And all of us are grateful when a
competent co-worker comes along who relieves us of part of the
burden. But there is another way of looking at designers. Think
about the gift of actors. We would seldom try to play all the parts,
even if it were technically possible. We may even come to recognize
how much we gain- dare I say "enjoy"?- seeing someone play a
role who thinks differently from us, but still makes it work.
This appreciation of a second creator is also relevant to
designers (and possibly even to the building and running crews). If
you have worked as a solo artist you know it can be a lonely
business. Sometimes so lonely you can't sustain your effort.
Theatre is a collaborative art. Yes, it is collaborative because the

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The Director's Eye

task requires a lot of people - some plays more so than others. It is

also collaborative because much of the magic comes from the
stimulation we are capable of giving to and receiving from one
another.
When you think about collaboration with designers, the basic
need is simply to get all the work done. But perhaps even more
important is the possibility for creative stimulation. Each of you
can be better because the other is around.
A good set designer will make you a better director. A good
lighting designer will make the acting better. A good costume
designer will produce more creative props by the prop crew. The
magic comes when a person's worth isn't measured by the product
he is responsible for, but by his effect upon the whole.
Like ustar" actors, set designs which produce uooos" and
"Aaahs," may drag the whole production down. You may not get
what you need as a director, the actors may have trouble using it,
the costume designer may believe it undercuts the costumes and yet
the design itself is clearly exciting to see.
In short, there is more to designing than "pretty pictures."
One of my more difficult designer relationships came with an
architect who was doing my set design. It is not that his design was
inadequate. It was excellent, as a matter of fact. The problem was he
didn't trust the actors. It was his aim to complete the event with the
building of the set. No play need follow. I'm exaggerating, of
course, but we had what seemed an interminable number of
conferences as we tried to agree on a final design. His own need was
for the setting to make such a complete statement it seemed to me
there was little faith in those who shared the project with him. In
fact, he seemed to have very little interest in what others might do.
Serving on a national committee for The American College
Theatre Festival, I remember well the comments of a fellow member
as we were going up the steps of the Eisenhower Theatre in the
Kennedy Center. uwhy can't college directors get their actors to use
these gorgeous sets?"
It was a good question. Too often our productions have
beautiful designs which seem irrelevant to the production ten
minutes after the curtain goes up. Once the novelty has worn thin,
we almost forget the setting's presence; it becomes a distant
background with little effect upon the total action. Granted, this
may be due to the director's lack of insight just as often - maybe
more often - than any failure by the designer. But whatever the
root cause, it is clear the director and designer failed in their

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 Working with Playwrights, Designers and Others

collaboration.
Designers, like actors, need to be carefully chosen. Design skill
is not their only desirable attribute. To have them as true
collaborators can add a richness difficult to overestimate. This is
particularly true if schedules allow them to be continuously
involved in the production as it takes its shape throughout the
rehearsal period.
You need the designer who is sensitive to the subtle but
inevitable changes as the production evolves from the one planned
to the one that is. Because first conferences with designers
frequently take place before the play is cast, it is not unusual for the
construction of setting, costumes and props to take place
independent of rehearsals. A designer who stays in touch with
rehearsals is the ideal. A designer who respects your changing view
of the production as a result of rehearsals is a necessity.
You, on the other hand, must learn to respect the artistic
sensibility and the time and labor investments designers make.
Because you work closely with actors on a daily basis, it is relatively
easy to understand the need for compromise and rapport which
helps you work through actors' conflicting needs. The same is true
of designers, but because you are likely to have far less contact time,
it can be even more of a challenge.
Technical and dress rehearsals usually bring differences of
opinion into the open. You will do well to nurture relationships by
consciously sharing as much as you can of the rehearsal and
construction process. When we speak of building ensembles, the
best companies include not only the actors, but all who work on the
production.
Nurturing.Collaborations Within the Ensemble
It goes without saying that the director can encourage
cooperation and interdependence by company members in dozens
of ways. One particular set of relationships deserves special notice:
the effect of costume and makeup designs on the actor.
In many producing situations, those elements are the
responsibility of people who have relatively little contact with the
actors until dress rehearsal. Sometimes the costume designer works
closely with the set and lighting designer, sometimes not.
Sometimes the makeup designer works under the supervision of
the costume designer. Whatever your company's practice, you need
to be alert to see that actors are enhanced both physically and
psychologically by costumes and makeup. If unattended, that often

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The Director's Eye

won't be the case.

Actors who have pride and confidence in the results of weeks of
rehearsal will suddenly find themselves stripped of their security
by uncomfortable or what to them appear to be character-altering
costumes. By makeup which transforms them into unexpected
strangers-in-the-mirror. All too often dress rehearsals tap
insecurities that have very little possibility of quick and positive
solutions for everyone involved. The director is likely to find
himself the authority expected to enforce everyone's ''rights." In
such last-minute cases, I have usually found it necessary to support
the actor for a simple reason. It is the actor who ultimately will have
to carry the play. Even when I like the choices of the designers, I
usually find myself trying to give the actor most of what he wants.
The last thing a company needs is a disgruntled actor when the
show opens. A much better solution is to anticipate the possibility
of conflict. Conflict which comes not only from differences of
opinion, but from differences in viewpoint. Conflict where one
person is guided by an early concept, another by the reality of
rehearsal evolution.
At the very least, a director needs to recognize that actors have
a personal and often highly emotional stake in the evolution of
costumes and makeup. Sometimes they can be valuable participants
in creating those personal extensions. At the very least, they need to
be informed so that their work in rehearsals anticipates the use of
costumes and makeup to come. Most actors will accept discomfort
if they are not surprised by it. What they often can't overcome is
imposed alterations in appearance which, to them, feel degrading
or shameful. Even if you have a gifted costume designer, it is wise
to nurture frequent contact between the actor and the builder.
11
Insisting on rehearsal costumes" can alert both actor and providers
to the difficulties which may lie ahead.
The bottom line for most beginning directors is simple. Have
actors play a major role in their costuming and make-up. Remember
11
the extensions-of-ourselves" exercise from the discussion of style.
Costumes and make-up are part of who we are.
Stage Managers and Other Supporting Folks
During the twenty years I served as CEO and artistic director of
a theatre company, I observed a curious phenomena. When I could
not find a well qualified person to fill a particular position, I
invariably ended up with three people trying to do the job. Usually
it cost more than one would have, was still not well done, and

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 Working with Playwrights, Designers and Others

created supervisory headaches in the process.

This is probably true for any organization. It is easy to make up
titles and add names to a company listing. The theatre is still
attractive enough that in most situations people will say they are
interested (often even show you resumes that suggest they are
qualified) for nearly any position you describe.
In the amateur theatre, for example, there are likely to be
several people eager to serve on running crews as you hold your
organizational meetings. There is a very efficient reality check
familiar to most of us: How many of them produce reliable results
when you give them their first call to report six weeks later? And of
those who report for the first call, how many would you use again
after the show closes in two months?
There is nothing like experience to tell you what is your real
labor force.
As you begin your directing work, keep in mind that the larger
your support staff, the more opportunity there is for uncertainty.
One of the current struggles in America is management of the work
force. Any corporation will tell you, the larger it is, the more time
managers spend trying to keep everybody working and trying to
keep everybody working with one another.
Think of the frustrations you have seen in other working
organizations as you seek to put together your support staff for a
production. Know that it is not only the budget which should
determine the staff size. Given your experience and the experience
of those working most directly with you, how many people do you
want to try to keep focused on this project?
It is easy to spend more time organizing than creating.
Here are the key subordinate roles the director needs filled in
almost every situation. In the best of situations, one person might
fill all these roles. The stage manager is the most obvious title given
to such a person. As you start your work, it is probably enough to
remind yourself that somehow these tasks need be done whether it
takes one or five people.
You need a sounding board. Whether it be an assistant director,
a dramaturg, a stage manager or someone with any other title, you
need someone you can openly and confidentially share with as the
production unfolds. Someone who attends the rehearsals and the
production conferences. Someone you trust. Someone who is a good
listener.
You need an assistant. In every production there comes a time
when you need someone who is willing and able to run errands, see

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The Director's Eye

that schedules are posted, get messages to others, answer questions

that do not require your own insight. You need a person who keeps
records of what happens in rehearsal to share with others in the
process, to help us with tomorrow's rehearsal, and to serve as the
base for any revival of the production.
You need a production coordinator and/or stage manager who
can be counted on to keep this immediate production organization
responsive to your direction. Of course, that should include respect
for the actors' and designers' needs, but if you are to be in charge of
the production, you need someone who is committed to giving you
what you need to carry out your supervision of the production. That
person will represent you in numerous contacts with the actors and
the designers. He I she will have overall responsibility for the
running crews. With the guidance of you and the designers, he will
supervise the practical integration of the supporting elements
during the technical and dress rehearsals. Once the play opens, he
or she will be responsible for all the personnel involved in the run.
The producing group you are working with and the individuals
you, or someone else, have selected to carry certain titles will have
their own models for organizing the support personnel for the
production. Know that every director and every play will require
this be modified to suit the specific unique needs of this company
during this rehearsal period and this performance run. Early in the
process, gather your key personnel together and lay your cards on
the table. Even if you have to admit your uncertainty, tell them. Tell
them what you are counting on them to do.
Next time, you will have learned from your experiences, and
you will keep certain responsibilities for yourself, giving others
away, but begin by sharing where you are and what you think you
need them to do.
We are often surprised at the outcome when we are honest in
confessing our needs.
Everyone Is First an Actor
One final thought about collaborators: The truth of Reinhardt's
maxim will strike home every time you become annoyed with an
involved person who violates the concentration needed at the
center of your rehearsals.
It is no small task protecting the focus of the rehearsal space.
Even bored actors who have no lines for the moment become
competitors for attention. As director you need to either keep them
involved or out of the space.

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 Working with Playwrights, Designers and Others

You also need to remember there are usually crew members who
must become actors although their names won't appear on the cast
list. They are the ones whose fingers on the sound and light
switches can drive what seems like a herd of elephants through the
scene at precisely the wrong time. Improved technology has given
to the computer control of many intensities and durations for lights,
sound and sometimes, scenery. But never forget that the person
who determines these cues must have an actor's sensitivity for the
scene.
When at all possible, treat them as actors. Get them involved
with the cast sufficiently to develop their understanding of the
whole. Build them into the ensemble. If they make serious mistakes,
all the actors will be very aware of their presence. Your job is to help
them become a valued part of the company.

227
 Part Five Assignments
Focus on Relationships and
Emotion in Directing Scenes
A Preliminary Exercise: Leading the Blind
In any collaboration there is more to leading than telling people
what to do. To ask for or need help means we make ourselves
vulnerable. Directors must learn to respect the actor's vulnerability.
It may not be so apparent but directors also need the help of actors.
Seldom is interaction a success unless two collaborators each help
the other. Yes, actors can help directors be better at their work, just
as directors can assist actors. To help you think about the director-
actor relationship and our need to nurture the other's best work,
this leader-blind experience may be more productive than any
words we read or exchange.

• Start by dividing the group into pairs.

• In each pair, one begins as the leader, the other as the
"sightless" person.
• Your mentor should set up ground rules before you
begin. Those rules should indicate to all what spaces are
to be considered part of the field for exploration. In
most cases, exploring outdoor spaces will provide more
opportunities for discovery, but whatever the "field/'
the mentor must be in a place to watch the entire group
and help insure their safety.
• Once the exercise is underway there should be no
talking - not by either the leader nor the "blind."
• The exercise begins when the mentor says, "Blind, close
your eyes," and ends when he or she says, "Blind, open
your eyes."
• If a blind person becomes frightened or is hurt, even if
it is a small injury, he or she needs to freeze in place and
call out "help" repeatedly until help comes.
• If the leader sees that the blind is about to do something

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 Focus on Relationships and Emotion in Directing Scenes

that will endanger him or her, the leader is to call out

"stop" repeatedly and all the blind within hearing
distance are to stop until they are assured they may
continue.
• The leaders are to watch for hand signals from the
mentor which will be given to help keep the entire
group together and to indicate when the exercise is
moving to its final stages - some twenty minutes for
each pairing, depending on the total time available.
First set of pairings: The leaders' goal is to "show" the
blind those things in the environment they might
otherwise miss. To make sure they experience this "new
world" to the best of their ability. Leaders are to stay in
physical contact with their charges at all times. During
the session the mentor has the option of aiding in the
exchange of leaders allowing two new pairs to be formed
as the mentor uses hand signals to indicate which two
leaders are to take the others' charges. Using hand
signals, the mentor indicates to the leaders where to bring
their charges for the finish of the exercise.
Second set of pairings: The leaders from the first set of
pairings become the blind and the blind become leaders. (I
usually ask each participant to team up with someone he
has not yet had as a partner.) In this session, the blind is
to discover on his own. The leader's task is to watch his
charge, protect him from harm by guiding him using
"hands on" only when necessary. In the beginning, the
leader will snap his fingers in a distinct rhythm to
indicate a direction the blind might move to follow to a
safer or more interesting environment. The blind will need
to learn to recognize his or her director's rhythm.
Discussion: After each of the two sessions, the group
discusses the experience. After the first session break up
into smaller groups of four or six, after the second session,
discuss the experience as one large group with emphasis
on the learnings applicable to the director in the theatre.
Include .successful and unsuccessful efforts to guide and
to allay fears by sharing what both the blind and the
leaders experienced. Share what differences were noted in
the experience when leaders were changed.

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The Director's Eye

• How much guidance was enough?

• When was it too much?
• As the ublind" what made you feel good about your
leader?
• What made you feel safe?
• What made it possible for you to discover new things
when blind?
• What could the blind usee" which was hidden from the
leader?
• What helps develop trust between the leader and the
blind?
• What gets in the way of trust?
• Did a blind person help teach you how to be a good
leader?
• When did two of you - blind and leader - make
discoveries neither of you might have been able to make
alone?
• How does the vulnerability of the blind relate to the
actor?
• What are the key lessons for the successful director
learned from this experience?

Directing Scenes Emphasizing Relationships and Emotion

Our last set of assignments introduced you to a simple format
for scene work. This unit's assignments will follow that same
format:

Select one or two rehearsal units from a play to create a

directing scene. Rehearse the scene for four or more
rehearsals. Perform up to five minutes of the material,
editing out sections not yet ready for showing when
necessary. Hold a critique where participants can react
to one another's work, emphasizing one, those successful
elements which should be part of any continued effort,
and two, the areas needing further exploration. Guided by

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 Focus on Relationships and Emotion in Directing Scenes

the feedback, the directors put each scene back into

rehearsal for at least two more sessions, adding another
unit if necessary to continue to be challenged by the work.
This is followed by a second showing and a second
critique. The total suggested rehearsal time for each scene
is nine to twelve hours, two-thirds of that before the first
showing, the rest before the second.
By limiting the scenes to this relatively short length, while
asking for what may at first seem to be an excessive amount of
rehearsat the student is encouraged to seek more penetrating
discoveries, to search for more believability and significance, and to
more carefully evolve a unique style suited to each play.
It can be enormously valuable to prepare eight or ten such
scenes over a period of one or two years, each scene inevitably
presenting different challenges. Relatively few directing classes or
even directing programs will offer formal academic support for
such an opportunity, but the beginning director should recognize
the learning that can come from such repeated scene efforts. The
most promising young directors I've known somehow manage to
find actors, a time and a place for performing, and an audience to
support their growth during these developmental stages. The
directing scene, like the sketchbook for the artist, gives you an
opportunity to put into practice what you learn from each past
effort. To jump to directing full length plays without repeated scene
work risks shifting your primary focus to managing at the expense
of discovering and creating. We'll look at that distinction more fully
in a later chapter.
Meanwhile, here are three options for directing assignments
with opportunities to focus on some of the key issues raised in Part
Five. Choose a scene where you can spend time developing the
subtle interactions which come with long term relationships. In
addition to casting the play, choose a "designer" - another
collaborator- who will work with you to provide useful elements
which help create the play's atmosphere and assist in the unfolding
of the action. Without excessive construction or expense, encourage
that person to provide simple lighting or sound, perhaps simple
props which help define the playing space and support the action of
the scene. In short, seek his/her help in creating a place where actors
and audience can meet.

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The Director's Eye

• Directing a Scene from Glass Menagerie. Tennessee

Williams was one of the most admired American
playwrights of the twentieth century. His plays were
almost always autobiographical in their origins, none
more so than his first full length play, Glass Menagerie.
It's good to remember even established plays were
written by human beings who once had to do their
beginning work in the theatre, just as you are doing. In
addition to reading Glass Menagerie, you will profit from
reading one of Williams' own prefaces to the published
script. Here's a small cast play about a pivotal event in
the history of a Southern family. Williams' own sister
was the obvious model for Laura just as he was the
model for Tom.
If there are several scenes from the play being
performed by your class, try to choose them so they
represent important parts of the play's progression.
When performance time comes, offer them in
chronological order so the audience can better sense the
characters' evolution.
Glass Menagerie makes surprisingly difficult emotional
demands on many young actors. Because the text is
often explicit in conveying anger and disappointment,
you may find overacting from actors whose work until
now has been reasonably simple and honest. Remind
your cast one of the justifications for our using
Menagerie is its accessibility. All of us know something
about family life. In your own family or one you know,
you are likely to have excellent models for the
characters in this play. Most actors will have felt many
of the emotions called for here. What they may not do
easily is share those feelings. Your job is to find ways to
encourage their getting in touch with real feelings by
helping them see the connections between this play and
the lives they've experienced. Then, help them trust that
if they let themselves step into the shoes of these
characters it will be enough. No pumping up will be
necessary. Between rehearsal sessions, review the
suggestions for director/ actor transactions from
Chapter 22 as well as the material on memorization,
emotion and function from Chapters 23 and 24.

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 Focus on Relationships and Emotion in Directing Scenes

The key to many of the scenes will be your success in

creating a believable family, no small task given the
number of years it takes to develop those relationships.
As you think about this, consider the roles each played
in earlier years. How can you help actors in each of the
paired relationships develop a "felt" history? Consider
what it might have been like to be Amanda and Tom or
Amanda and Laura when the children were little. What
was it like the day they received the post card from their
father after his disappearance? Amanda is likely to be
the most difficult of all the roles for a young cast, yet all
of us have been looked upon as a "mother or father
figure" by some young friend. You probably know
families where an older sister is the "mother" -
sometimes the resentful mother - to her siblings.
Rather than worry excessively about age differences,
concentrate on the changing feelings in these common
relationships.
• Directing Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. Here is a very
specific assignment for a director, two actors and a
udesigner" who are especially fond of Shakespeare and
ready to expand their style challenges. When we are
approaching a difficult playwright, we sometimes
assume it's easier to undertake non-emotional,
seemingly casual scenes. This asks you to do just the
opposite. It asks you to plunge into a scene with an
obvious and intense dramatic action. It suggests the
stronger the action, the better chance even the beginner
will have to bring it to life - if he and the actors are
willing to be honest. If they are willing to share with an
audience whatever they experience. Few scenes in all of
dramatic literature are more potentially memorable than
Macbeth, act II, scene ii, the scene between Macbeth and
Lady Macbeth immediately after Macbeth emerges
from Duncan's chamber with bloody hands following
the killing of his king. Like the scenes from Glass
Menagerie, this scene emphasizes relationships; like
Williams' scenes it demands careful handling of the
emotional content. Like Menagerie, it requires the careful
evoking of mood. Warning: This play is fueled by
ambition. What we see is ambition crashing headlong
into the wall of regret. What happens when it is too late?

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The Director's Eye

Too late to take it back? Too late to say you're sorry?

Unless you and your cast are willing to confront these
very real and personal feelings, your work will
inevitably focus on the superficial.
Before you begin, do a unit breakdown of the scene.
Choose units which seem to offer a likely connection for
you and your cast.
No one you cast will have killed a king, but in this era
of gratuitous television and film violence, Macbeth is a
good reminder of the intense personal nature of
involvement in death and killing. See what you can
bring to bear on this scene from the experiences of all
your collaborators. Yes, you will have the challenge of
handling well Shakespeare's language. You will also
have to make decisions about costumes and even
"blood." But the biggest challenges will come from
developing the relationships between Macbeth and
Lady Macbeth and between Macbeth and Duncan. Even
though Duncan is not a character in the scene, his
presence is very much part of the action. Take the time
to help the actors imagine a real person as Duncan. Who
might Duncan be if his final recognition of his killer
were to be unforgettable?
Can you find ways to get your actors to identify enough
with the action and the characters that we begin to see
this as a scene about "them"?
As with Menagerie, take time to refer to Chapter 22 for
reminders on director I actor transactions. Performing
Shakespeare often raises the issue of the "three tracks"
discussed at the end of Chapter 23. Take another look at
those pages and see if they reflect some of the needs for
handling the parallel tracks of language, action and
emotion in your own rehearsals. And, of course, given
the volatile nature of the scene, watch for overacting.
For help, go back to our discussion of emotion as one of
the five golden rings.
• Directing the Women of Bernarda Alba. The House of
Bernarda Alba is a difficult play. It has been produced
often in this country, particularly by college and

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 Focus on Relationships and Emotion in Directing Scenes

university theatres in search of large cast shows for

women. It deals with great passion and both personal
and cultural conflict. In a house ruled with an iron fist
by the mother of five daughters, the father's funeral
begins the play and the death of a daughter trying to
escape her mother's tyranny ends it. But it is more than
a generational struggle. Beneath the differences of time
and place, despite the contrast between the primitive
rural village of early twentieth-century Spain and the
life style in today' s technology-dominated global
village, if you dig deeply enough, you will find familiar
issues.
In 1939, when poet Federico Garcia Lorca was executed
by the Fascists of Spain, the world did not yet know of
the Holocaust of Nazi Germany nor the American
quagmire in Vietnam. There had been no atomic bomb
nor trip to the moon. Our views of the world and our
attitudes toward one another have changed a great deal
since then, and yet, if you let it, Lorca' s play of sexual
repression and the demand for conformity and
obedience in a male-dominated society may touch you
deeply. If gender equality is one of your continuing
concerns, you will find this story of a mother, her
daughters, a grandmother and an old female servant
speaks to you despite its primitive setting. Which of us
has not been tormented by the conflict between what we
thought we needed and what authority said we should
not need? And because it is set in a small Spanish village
does that mean it does not happen in America?
If you choose to work with this play, consider carefully
where your sympathy lies. Do you identify with one of
the five daughters? And can an actress play one of the
others without at least some sympathy for that
character? How do you get inside characters who seem,
at first, so obviously dominated by viewpoints you
reject? Perhaps it takes all of these characters for us to
see clearly Lorca' s view of the villain in this plot. After
alt Lorca might have introduced the father or some
other representative of the dominating male gender as
the main character. He did not. One suspects he wanted
us to see all these women as somehow victims in the

235
The Director's Eye

society. Here is the challenge: if each of the characters in

the play becomes human, if we begin to understand how
each one came to be who she is, doesn't the play become
all the more believably complex?
Casting will play a major role in your success. The
actress playing Bernarda must know something about
exercising parental power. How will you find that out?
What is the grandmother's function in the play? Who,
in your acting pool, has qualities which might make it
possible for her to play the role? Why are there five
daughters? What does each contribute? If you choose a
scene with more than two or three roles, expect to work
with lines from other parts of the play to flesh out some
characters. Avoid selecting units where the scene's
action provides little opportunity for defining the
characters appearing there.
Ritual plays a major role in Bernarda Alba - rituals of
courtship, of marriage, of status, of harvesting, of death
and burial. How can you begin to make them not only
meaningful, but emotionally affecting to your actors?
Can you help your cast sense the Hprison-like" walls
which surround them? Can you help them sense what it
feels like to hear the sounds of the world outside? How
can you make the singing of the harvesters, the tolling
of the church bells, the whispering of the watching
neighbors, the sound of Pepe' s horse late at night all
part of your cast's experiencing of the play? What's to
be gained from focusing on the hot summer days and
the clothing demanded for mourners and for women of
modesty? Your "designer" should be a valuable
collaborator in helping develop not only the production
style, but meaningful opportunities to experience the
world of the play.
In all probability some of your cast will find it much
easier than others to identify with Lorca' s world. Be
patient. There are many pieces to discover before you'll
have a believable base for the emotion which supports
the action of the play. It may be relatively easy to
understand what is happening; it will be something
quite different for your actors to build up the mindsets

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 Focus on Relationships and Emotion in Directing Scenes

that suggest this story's action belongs to them. It will

be almost impossible to create a believable, affecting
play without learning to work especially well together
as an ensemble. Using the guidelines for transactions
between actors and director in Chapter 22 will help you
develop that ensemble. Return to the chapter on
environment from Part Two for help; think carefully
about the evoking of the world of the play and the use
of ritual- Chapters 17 and 18.
Remember, one of the simplest indications of a scene's
success is that it makes us want to see more of the play.
Even though you will be working with only a small part
of the whole, keep testing your work by thinking about
its need to prepare us for the final scene. We may not
always see what's coming next, but when it happens,
we must feel, "Now I see. Lorca was preparing us for
this. It was inescapable."

Evaluation of Rehearsals and Performance

Inevitabl~ questions of action, rehearsal discoveries and style-
issues dealt with in earlier sections - will continue to be concerns
here. But this time, in your discussions, also pay particular attention
to the interactions of director and cast and those of director and
designer. Try to contribute to an atmosphere where it feels safe to
share examples of successes and frustrations affecting rehearsals
but not obvious to the audience. Trust that you'll all learn from
hearing others talk of practices not part of your own group's
experience. Pay particular attention to the ways in which honest
emotion S\lpported some scenes while others seemed to be
"working too hard" at showing us their anger or frustration.
Encourage one another to be open to using your own personal
experiences as keys helping everyone - collaborators and
audience.
That Williams' own sister ended up in a mental institution
where she spent much of her life, that she had a lobotomy
performed on her as part of her therap~ that she continued to haunt
him until his death- all these are reminders of the vulnerability of
the people in Glass Menagerie. The play appears to be about a simple
time, an unexpected, almost platonic "date" in which a small glass
animal is broken. Obviously, the stakes are higher than that. As you
finish your work together on this play, ask yourselves, "Do we care?

237
The Director's Eye

If we do, why?"
Macbeth, on the other hand, is a play where the stakes are clearly
high - matters of life and death - but do we believe it? Do you
believe anyone was really killed? Do you believe Macbeth was the
killer? Do you believe Lady Macbeth could go back into the chamber
and coat the sleeping guards with blood? How successful were the
actors in letting themselves be affected by the events of the play?
Meaningful relationships and honest emotion - those are the
keys we seek to emphasize in all these efforts. At first, the lives of
Bernarda Alba and her daughters may seem too remote for us to be
swept up by the outcome. Oh, we may understand the plot. We may
even see how interconnected all these characters are - how it takes
all of them to become the victimized household. But when does it
begin to have real impact? When does it become about us? When
does it become a story we need to have told? Emotion offers two
challenges here. First, how does the cast get inside this story enough
to discover the passions which drive it to its tragic conclusions?
Second, how do we bring this story to our audience in such a way
that they are deeply affected by it? As you watch scenes from
Lorca' s play, be particularly sensitive to moments when we "care."
When what is happening seems especially important to the actors -
not because the lines tell us it is supposed to be important, but
because we see that for ourselves.
In a tightly woven play such as The House of Bernarda Alba, it is
necessary to watch for early rehearsal signs of real life and for all in
the cast to take advantage of those moments when they occur. My
own production history is full of reminders when a cast member
suddenly "got it." Soon everyone involved realized we had moved
to a new level and everyone's performance was elevated to
something which seemed impossible only yesterday. Watch for it. In
your critique share with the group memories of such moments
which may not have been obvious in performance, but which made
all the difference in rehearsaL
Before you close your critique, ask, "What are you learning, not
only about the scenes, but about one another as you rehearse and
reflect on one another's performances?" One of the surest
indications of collaborative success is when we want to share our
next project with the same workers. In the relatively small world of
the theatre, it is interesting how many of us have valued, lifelong
collaborators who have shared much of our theatre with us from
our beginnings. To develop a nurturing partnership in these early
efforts may be a more lasting discovery than you suspect.

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 Part Five Summary
Working with Your Collaborators
Everyone who works for long in the theatre will develop fond
memories of certain ensembles. What we sometimes appreciate
more than even the skill level of our collaborators is their ability to
work together. It's clearly memorable when all involved take pride
in their collective goal and share together a love of the world of the
play. There is near magic in such a blended creative effort. To be part
of an ensemble where everyone is willing to share past experiences
and risk being open to failure, where each respects and learns from
the other, is to experience the best of the creative art of the theatre.
Part Five made this collaboration its specific focus. It suggested
a primary skill needed by the director is the ability to work well
with other people and to facilitate their working well with one
another. It suggested the director who can bring out the best in his
collaborators can compensate for many of his own weaknesses.
We began with the director I actor relationship, suggesting that
no matter how positive the audience response, the director will
seldom have fond memories of a production if his interaction with
actors has been adversarial. Actors, we said, inevitably need the
director's help, no matter how experienced they might be. The
frequent challenge is how to give that help without its being
perceived as controlling or intrusive. We accepted this fundamental
truth: Actors bring very different work habits to the production.
One of the director's primary jobs is to create a common method of
working. Usually this means not only learning together, but for
some, significant "unlearning." Much of what the director does will
have to be indirect, sometimes so subtle it is not recognized as
direction at all. Conflict over ways of working can be as much a
barrier to realizing the play's potential as failure to discover basic
elements in the script or failure to evolve an effective production
style. It can erode and, in the worst cases, destroy the desire to
discover and create together.
The first chapter in Part Five reminded us how broad and how
complex actor I director transactions can be. We reminded ourselves
that an actor's failure to understand or project a moment may owe
more to his self-consciousness or his inability to become vulnerable
in the presence of another actor than to his lack of understanding of
the script.

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The Director's Eye

To get the most from the actor, we need his trust and his willing
effort to discover and share with the ensemble. We need him fully
present. We need his willingness to risk. While accepting the
possibility of an unlimited number of useful guidelines for working
with actors, we looked at fourteen which are quite specific and
which grow out of common, recurring challenges. They deal with
familiar issues: when to repeat a scene and when to go on, when to
give verbal commentary, how to better encourage emotional
involvement, how to help the actor continue his work outside
rehearsal. We emphasized the importance of stopping the actor
when we sense false words or actions, of honoring the actor's ideas,
of setting the tone in rehearsals without usurping the actor's need
for self-testing.
The intent with all the guidelines is to contribute to
partnerships of encouragement. To create an ensemble of creators
working toward a common goal. We emphasized that casting
choices play a vital role in our success. To take special care in
auditions to discover the actor's methods of working and to assess
the likelihood of his becoming a valued part of the ensemble is as
important as identifying his skill level. To search for a pair of actors
whose "chemistry" makes it easy for them to bond and work
together can be as valuable for the villain and the hero or the mother
and the daughter as it is for the lovers.
In Chapters 23 and 24 we were introduced to what we called the
five golden rings of acting - tasks so universally demanded of the
actor, he will need to deal with them successfully, no matter how he
works or what the style of production. Directors, we said, will be
thought of as "actors' directors" if they have a sound understanding
of these demands and can help the actor who has difficulty with
them.
The first of these golden rings, memorization, is usually
thought of as "remembering the words." We found it more complex
than that. We noted that "other memories" are often so intertwined
with our choice of words and our need to speak that to call up one
without the other leaves the actor with the familiar sterile
performance so often seen in the amateur theatre. Why? Because all
experiences are stored not as a single memory but as many "small"
memories. Moreover, they are stored in different parts of the brain.
All these memories must be so readily accessible that one can
hardly overestimate the amount of time and care the best actor
exercises before he can use them with confidence. In short, most
actors, we said, don't realize how well they must know their lines,

240
 Working with Your Collaborators

or to put it another way, how much more than words they must
discover before the playwright's lines become their own. The
problem is seen so frequently, we devoted an entire chapter to ways
the director can help the actor with memorization.
With the last of the five rings, function, we returned to the
primacy of dramatic action. We asserted that the one thing the
director must never lose from sight as he works with actors is the
actor's need to carry out the function of the character in relation to
the dramatic action. It's a fundamental difference between the
director's view of acting and the actor's view. There are often
skillful performances which the good director will recognize as
interesting, perhaps even brilliant, but which are destructive to the
total production. It's not always easy to persuade actors who are
preoccupied with their own resumes to honor "function," but the
good director knows it must happen and will be alert for the first
signs that function must be reenforced as the primary goal.
We sidestepped many of the demands of the director I
playwright relationship in these chapters, emphasizing that to have
a playwright present significantly complicates both the director and
actor's tasks. In such cases, particularly if it is a new, untried script,
it is frequently not obvious whether the best solutions lie in
rewriting or in more effective acting or staging nor is it always
evident who is the final authority. To the beginning director, we've
said, "First, work with the silent, established playwright and the
proven play." The problems of working with rewrites still
underway can quickly become so complicated you will have
difficulty practicing the basics of directing.
The significance of a designer's contribution to the production
will vary enormously from production to production and he, too,
has been given relatively little attention here. Yet, a good set
designer can be extremely valuable in contributing an effective
setting for the production just as a good lighting designer can create
moods and atmosphere which are invaluable in realizing the
production's potential or a costume or makeup designer can greatly
enhance the work of an actor. Because designers often work in
isolation from the rehearsals, because their skills involve media
other than human beings it is easy to be delighted with the planned
product- which usually means one or more sketches or models -
and to lose sight of the human interaction necessary to integrate it
with the whole. In the American theatre, the designers frequently
see little of the play's evolution through rehearsal. Do everything
you can to share with them your changing vision of the production

241
The Director's Eye

and the reality of the production your cast is creating. A later

chapter, Chapter 33, includes consideration of the special demands
of technical and dress rehearsals where the designer I director
relationship is most likely to be tested. In the intermittent
relationships with designers, develop all the rapport you can. You
will need sensitive understanding from each of them to accomplish
the final integration of rehearsal developments and planned
technical supports.
Part Six, the section which follows, deals with the use of space,
more fundamental to the production than many directors recognize.
For the director to be naive about space and its use, leaving
fundamental spatial decisions exclusively to designers, denies one
of the director's most valuable tools.
Our assignments asked that you collaborate with a designer as
well as with actors. It is important for you to remember how that
simple addition may have affected the production process. For
some it may have resulted in an easy and productive relationship.
For others the designer may have felt unvalued or underemployed.
For still others the designer may have become a competing director
in working on the scene. Such differences remind us that a healthy
and productive relationship with collaborators is not inevitable
simply because there are tasks to be performed. To elevate the
quality of the work and fully utilize each contributor's potential
will often require repeated reexaminations of working methods. As
the director gains experience, developing opportunities to work
with increasingly sophisticated production companies, new
contributors become part of the work. We often need to share
control of elements we may have become accustomed to dictating.
Developing nurturing partnerships does, in fact, depend on your
honoring what each of you has to offer. There are always two parts
to working with this new collaborator: creating an opportunity for
him or her to contribute to the production while you, at the same
time, continue to contribute what best comes from the director.
The final part of this section attempted to identify those
assistant roles the director needs filled as the productions become
more involved and demanding. We noted that you must be careful
of an excessively large staff or you will spend more time organizing
than creating. We also emphasized the importance of finding
assistants you can trust. The director will have preferences and
frustrations in the production of almost any play. Some of those he
can share with the actors or with other creators involved in the
production. Some will be too private to share without risking

242
 Working with Your Collaborators

misunderstanding or conflict between others. It is essential that the

director have a collaborator who supports him while he examines
his own experiences of the play's preparation.
The key to successful collaboration is finding a vision all can
believe in, respecting that each has something of value to
contribute, and creating an atmosphere of trust where everyone
involved is willing to take risks and share the give and take as you
collectively seek to bring the play to life in the most affecting way.
As a director you are in a position to nurture such an ensemble
every time you put a script you care deeply about into rehearsal.

243
Part Six
The Director and
the Theatrical Space

"You will do well to study your potential theatrical

spaces as carefully as you would an auditioning actor.

"We still forget that the one great asset

of the living theatre is the ability of the actor
and the audience to interact.

"Space feels. It it's well chosen, if it's used well,

you can feel it. You can feel it around you
and you can feel the impact on one another
in that space. It connects us. It brings us alive."
 Overleaf, three different productions on the same permanent
architectural setting of the indoor stage at New Salem, Illinois: top
right, Mr. Lincoln & the 4th of July by John Ahart; left, You Can't
Take It With You by Kaufman and Hart; bottom, Edgar Lee
Master's Spoon River Anthology, directed by Tom Isbell
 Chapter 26
Theatrical Space: A Meeting Place
for Actor and Audience
Spiritual architecture is not solely
the province of religious structures ...
It can be created wherever
the physical surroundings are shaped to give our lives
depth and meaning.
-Anthony Lawlor, The Temple in the House

If you are to become an artist working as a director there are

three studies which should be part of every producing effort. Two
of these are obvious: the script and the actors who will bring it to
life. The third may not be so apparent: the theatrical space. All
successful directors would agree with the first two, many will not
have recognized the high priority which should be given the third.
Particularly if his work has consistently been in a single theatre or
in theatres very similar to each other, a director's use of space may
have evolved with little conscious attention to its demands. But let
him be faced with a totally different environment and he will either
become a student again, or his production is in for disaster.
Under the right conditions, almost any space could become a
theatre where actor and audience meet and share the action of the
play. It can also be a tremendous handicap for the production. You
will do well to study your potential theatrical spaces as carefully
as you would an auditioning actor. As you begin the effort to
choose a script for your theatre, to direct the designing of a
production, to block the actors' movement in a play -to carry out
any of the many directorial tasks involving space - it is important
to know you have a lot of choices. Those choices will begin before
you cast the play and will continue through the last direction given
whether in dress rehearsal or after the fiftieth performance. At their
best, they will grow out of the specific demands of this space.
Theatres and Their Spaces
No two theatres are alike just as no two people or no two
automobiles are alike. They may appear to be the same, but look
carefully. Even if they were built from the same set of plans, they
will be different.

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The Director's Eye

Theatres differ in size. They differ in the size of the playing

space and the size of the audience accommodated. Too often we
celebrate bigness. It's nice to report large audiences sought us out
and attended our productions, but in the beginning be careful of
large spaces. Vertical height relationships, balconies, empty spaces
separating the actor and the audience - any of these can make a
major difference. Spatial voids can sometimes be useful, but more
often they steal from our focus, keep us from connecting and make
it difficult to sustain audience attention. Many a production never
recovers from the company's move from rehearsal space to theatre;
many a production plays well to the front or middle rows, but is lost
to most of the house.
Most young directors should first learn to work in modest size
spaces where audiences will number 100 or less. To tackle an
auditorium seating 500 or 1000 in your first efforts can set you up
for failure. A similar comment can be made about large stages. It is
no easy task to fill proscenium stages with a thirty or forty foot
opening. If you are to maintain focus on the actor you will probably
have greater success with smaller-scale scenery and less stage
footage to manage.
Theatres differ in the relationship of the audience space to the
acting space. Among the simplest widely acknowledged distinctions,
does the audience sit on one, two, three or four sides of the action?
Some theatres are distinctive because they have steeply raked
audience seating. In others there may be fifteen or twenty rows of
audience with no change in elevation at all, only a raised stage to
provide for some clearance of vertical sightlines. Still others have
one or more balconies where the relationship with the stage is very
different from the main floor's seating. Then there are those theatres
where the difference between sitting in the center of the house
versus sitting on the extreme edge of the audience is enormous. In
a few theatres, even before scenery is added, the stage is not one but
two or more playing spaces, sometimes those secondary spaces
provided to the side or the rear of portions of the audience,
sometimes offering a ramp or elevated platform encircling or
partially encircling the audience.
In many of these less familiar spaces, audiences will use old
habits to seek out what they assume are the "best" seats. The truth
is, no one seat need always be considered "best." As the action
changes, different audience members can have different advantages
over others' views of the same event. It is important for the director
to consider ways in which every patron might sometimes have "the

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best seat in the house."

Theatres differ in the values reflected. Some theatres represent
rebellion, rejection of that "other" theatre -whatever it is. Some
are "holy" places where, even before the production begins, the
audience senses the historic past or the religious or near-religious
gathering represented here. In fact, the physical theatre always
reflects some set of values in its form, its construction materials, its
decoration or the choice of site. In every theatre it is likely the
audience shares a set of preferences by choosing to come there.
Theatres differ in the frame or Htools" they offer for creating the
world of the play. They make some styles of production easier than
others. They support the shifting of place and time differently. Some
make projections or hanging pieces simple, some invite your
building three dimensional scenery, some suggest you will do well
to add little to the permanent architecture or environment. Expect to
provide leadership for your designers who may seek to create
scenery and properties they excel at building, but which do not
complement your theatre and hence your production.
Theatres differ in their formality. They provide lobbies and
seating which promote certain audience behavior. They offer
refreshments or pre-show entertainment which help set the tone of
the event. They challenge you to experience something different
from the ordinary. They make you comfortable in certain familiar
ways.
The good director knows he must attend to all these qualities of
the theatrical space, emphasizing those which nurture his
production, changing or neutralizing those in conflict, modifying
his production style and play choice to fit that space. No, seldom
will all plays succeed in any one theatre space. Some plays just
shouldn't be done here- whatever your theatre. But if you study
your space carefully, you can develop for each production a style
that includes the space's characteristics as part of the production's
harmony. No director's attention to "style" will be complete without
careful consideration of the theatre. Even when we paint them
black, they do not disappear from the theatre-going experience.
The Myth of the Ideal Theatre
So, what do you need for a space to become your theatre? What
do you want if it is to be an atmosphere where you and your cast
meet an audience for a memorable experience?
In 1961, the Ford Foundation underwrote a dramatic project.
Pairing a well-known theatre practitioner and an established

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architect, eight teams were given free reign to plan the ideal theatre.
The results were eight very different theatres. The published plans
and model photos are historically interesting, but it is also
important that none of these eight concepts became a popular form
of contemporary theatre architecture.
The greatest twentieth-century boom in theatre construction
followed World War II as the cultural centers of Europe sought to
rebuild from the rubble of bombing and destruction. In the United
States, the end to the moratorium on construction during the war
was followed not only by an era of new building, but the
decentralization of professional theatre. By the mid '60s, the growth
of regional theatres and professionally oriented college programs
led most to believe we were on the eve of a great theatre
renaissance.
Much of that interest seems to have abated. One of the reasons
is that money is tighter. But probably an even more important
reason is that so many of the theatres we once praised have turned
out to be less than attractive to the artists who have worked there.
Too often they have been expensive to operate and maintain and not
very serviceable. The more celebrated of these may have become
architectUral landmarks, but often they seem more impressive on a
guided tour than in use supporting creative productions.
We have little common agreement on today' s ideal theatre in
part because we have little agreement on what production practices
are practical or even desirable. Plays differ enormously in cast size
and in the implied need for stage space. One of the realities of
almost all contemporary theatre is that budgets and available labor
restrict the amount of construction we can depend upon to create an
environment. "Tour packages," that is, shows originating in New
York, usually are designed for a proscenium theatre seating 1,500 or
more simply to make budgets practical and to provide some kind of
spectacle that will comfort that audience which wants "quantitative
proof" they are getting their money's worth. Such a theatre is
seldom the most desirable working space for the beginning director,
nor - I might add - for most high quality theatre companies.
The fact is, the "ideal space" is likely to be an evolving concept
for most directors. You learn through experience. It's no accident
that some of the best examples of "new" theatres started with
companies and/ or directors working in improvised spaces.
What one might remember is that when you find a theatre space
that serves you well, be careful of abandoning it. "Newer" or
"better equipped" is not always easy to put to effective use. Space

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often has a "feel" that is difficult to describe and impossible to

duplicate.
Common Theatre Spaces of Today
It is useful to divide theatres of today into four groups:
1. Proscenium theatres
2. Storefront theatres
3. "Newer-Form" theatres
4. Blackbox theatres.
Even the beginning director needs to be aware of the basic
demands of these four theatrical space prototypes. To give some
conscious attention to each may help you decide when it is wise to
undertake work in one or the other and when it is best to decline,
no matter what the inducements.
First, the largest number of theatre productions in this country
still take place in proscenium theatres. A few are well equipped
with highly organized production companies in place. Most are not.
Many are in high schools and community buildings. They were
included there by well intentioned but sometimes naive school
boards and civic committees who hired equally naive architects.
Often, the. plans were modified versions of the Broadway theatres of
the first half of the twentieth century. These proscenium theatres,
with their deep rectangular auditoriums, parallel rows lined up one
behind the other, empty stages with inadequate offstage space and
hanging black drapes are, undoubtedly, among the most difficult
theatrical spaces for the beginning director to put to effective use.
While they seat large numbers of viewers who may be able to
hear the amplified voice of a single speaker, while they may provide
a useful auditorium for showing films or slides and may serve the
band concert reasonably well- they seldom help to create a strong
bond between the actors and audience in a theatrical production.
Frequently they offer little effective lighting and certainly they
make hearing difficult. Whatever scenic atmosphere is created will
be a challenge, for usually there are no nearby shops for
construction and no simple devices for shifting scenery. There is
almost nothing about these spaces that is dramatic without some
major effort by the producing company.
If you have the assignment of using such a space, you will need the
support of a good producing organization or you will need to exercise your
best artistic insights to make it an exciting home for a theatrical
production. If you are new at directing, it will likely be difficult to produce
your best work here.

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The second most common kind of theatre space now used in this
country is probably the adapted space- the ustorefront" theatre.
These are the theatres converted from buildings or rooms no longer
used for their original purposes. New York, Chicago and most other
large cities have many of these converted spaces where determined
artists and would-be artists have created a handicapped theatre:
pillars in the middle of the audience, ceilings too low to have
desirable sight lines and lighting angles, audience arrangements
determined by existing walls, playing spaces with platforms
wedged into alcoves or former stairwells.
The interesting paradox is that these converted spaces
sometimes work exceedingly well. That is, the creative energy it
takes to fight the space's limitations seems to work well for the
production as a whole. The conversion itself seems interesting.
There is often something appealing about these recycled spaces.
Unlike many of the generic theatres built with the intent that the
auditorium disappear from the spectator's consciousness, these
converted theatres often have character. We usually can see the
shadows of their former "life." We are reminded this is a "creative"
space.
If you can manage effective lighting, control unwanted sound and
provide some kind of offstage space to conceal waiting actors and stored
props and scenery, this may be a gift in disguise, no matter how many
people tell you it's too bad you don't have a "real" theatre.
Third, there are the unewer" forms: those theatres built in the
second half of the twentieth century which attempt to bring to the
space some new-found realization of the possibility of rethinking
theatre architecture. Occasionally these spaces work well. Many of
them are adaptations of specific well-publicized models.
In North America, the most popular "new" form is the thrust
stage theatre pioneered by Tyrone Guthrie and Tanya Moiseiwitsch
at Stratford, Ontario, and modified to be repeated as the Guthrie
Theatre in Minneapolis. It appears as less elaborate thrust stage
theatres on numerous college campuses and as the mainstage of
repertory theatres scattered throughout the country. Gone is the
curtain and the proscenium arch. In most, vomitori or entranceways
from under the steeply banked audience provide access to the front
of a stage that is often deeper than it is wide. At the rear of some of
these stages, an architectural facade with multiple entranceways
and platforms provide different levels for playing individual scenes
and make additional scenery optional. In many, audience seating
wraps around the extended stage so that a dozen or so rows bring

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everyone within an acceptable seeing and hearing distance of the

action.
The other popular "new-form" theatre is the arena stage which,
at mid-century, seemed destined to become a dominant form of
theatre architecture. In reality, relatively few permanent theatres
have been constructed as arena spaces. Today, when the audience is
seated surrounding the action it is usually the result of creating a
theatrical space in a gymnasium or a similar building, or by the
four-sided arrangement of seat banks in a flexible space such as a
black-box theatre.
Most playing spaces with the audience on all sides use very
little vertical scenery for the obvious reason: it interferes with the
audience's view. The Arena Stage in Washington, D.C. one of the
few arena theatres with a uniquely constructed space - on the
other hand, has a history of very elaborate three dimensional
designs which often seem to fill or nearly fill the playing space yet
provide enough transparency to accommodate viewing needs. It
has vomitori in the four corners of the space and, like many thrust
theatres, steeply raked audience sections.
There are fewer descendants of the Arena Stage in Washington
than of the Guthrie Theatre, but there are some. And if we count the
number of halls or buildings containing an arena form as a
permanent theatre this is a space we must consider seriously.
The thrust and arena theatres have proven to be much more
accommodating for contemporary work than their origins might suggest.
They bring larger audiences closer to the action than one with an end-stage
or proscenium and they reduce the need for scenery construction. True,
specific theatres differ from one another a great deal, and the director who
uses a thrust or arena stage for the first time will need to give extensive
thought to the space and ways of using it effectively. In particular, he will
need to abandon many of the conventions of the proscenium theatre, letting
go of such obvious models as the musical production with numerous drops
and shifting wagons. The director who can handle the space well in these
two forms and in the proscenium theatre will have a good start in working
with almost any theatrical space.
Fourth, a contemporary theatre form that has become part of
many theatre complexes is the so-called "black box": an empty
space painted black so as to reflect little light, with some kind of
overhead lighting grid over the entire space and seating units which
can be moved about to accomplish a variety of arrangements. Built
to allow for flexible seating and the construction of a unique
performing space for each production, black-box theatres represent

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a popular move toward the designing of the entire space, including

actor-audience arrangement, for each production.
Unfortunately, most organizations find "the box" requires more
time and labor for setup than is usually available. This is
particularly true for those with cumbersome audience seating units
which traditionally require considerable labor when erecting tiered
audience seating. The problem is great enough that many theatres
develop a limited number of "standard" audience arrangements.
Like the writing of an original script to learn play-structure, learning
to use a truly flexible black-box offers the director an opportunity to explore
space in ways few other theatres can match. Particularly if the audience is
kept small and seating platforms are unnecessary, arranging chairs for
seating in a maximum of three or four rows around and among interesting
playing spaces can be exciting for both performers and audience.
Summary
Theatres, auditoriums, halls, theatrical spaces - they're all
around us. They are used for all kinds of successful and not-so-
successful events. We have accumulated thousands of images from
our experiences in these spaces. When you begin working in any
theatrical space you need to take inventory, to see what is really
present and what you can put to effective use.
Perhaps more than any other of the theatre's tools, theatre
architecture presents a particular problem for the beginning
director. There is a great deal you can learn only through experience
and the opportunity and support staff necessary to handle many
spaces will be hard for the beginner to access.
Most of our theatre buildings are outdated. It is costly to make
major architectural changes. The explosion of theatre-related
performances and the evolution of twentieth-century production
styles (most fostered by or in reaction to film and television) have
left theatre architecture far behind. Construction budgets and
finances couldn't begin to accompany the changes.
As we have abandoned our traditional motion picture theatres,
for example, we have turned some of them back into homes for the
living theatre. Grateful, homeless, would-be-resident companies
have sometimes made them work. But more often than not, they are
only reminders that to present the real theatre of our time -
whatever it is - we need more than a return to an architectural
form developed nearly a century ago. It no longer fits our work
force, nor our sense of time and space, nor our efforts to build on the
uniqueness of the living theatre.

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Here's the bottom line: a theatre should make your work easier.
It should support your bringing an audience and a production
together. It should allow you to find creative, simple ways to tell an
effective story.
For the beginning director spatial use may seem incredibly
complex. The fact is, to use many existing theatres is like asking you
to start up a steam locomotive and make a run to the supermarket
to pick up lettuce and pasta for dinner. To do the job, it may be
easier to walk or take a bicycle.
Hence, the best productions of today are often found in
temporary "theatres" recycled from buildings of all sizes and
shapes. Whatever your possibilities for a theatrical "home," don't
overlook the importance of a continuing study of space. The simple
black-box theatre where the actor and audience spaces are
essentially defined by arranging and rearranging a limited number
of chairs can become a wonderful laboratory tool. However they
occur, your spatial experiences can provide valuable models for
your work.

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 Chapter 27
The Director's Approach to Space
"[To command an audience] you have to
make them believe in what you are doing
and take them into your world.
I try to have eye contact to see them reacting.
Sometimes, when I do that,
I can even hear them breathing."
- Oksana Baiul, Olympic Gold Medalist Skater

If you want to become a director, you need to see the

possibilities of space. Not only how to use it, but how it feels. How
it feels to be there. How it feels to move through it. How it feels to
be with others there.
In an earlier chapter we spoke of environment as one of the
fundamental tools for experiencing the play in rehearsal. To share
the play with an audience, to develop the style of the production,
you will need to become even more sensitive to the role of space.
The Experiencing of Space
Ever move into a new house? One where you had seen the
blueprints before the construction began? One where you walked
through the space when the walls were only indicated by framing?
Ever watch the sky disappear as the roof went on? Ever feel the
change as the walls made it impossible to walk through the once
open space? Remember the surprises as some of the rooms
suddenly seemed small and ordinary?
Without careful attention to the spatial relationship between the
actor and the audience, the cast's evolving experience of the play
can lose its impact when we fit the final production into the
available theatre. What was electric midst the discoveries of
rehearsal often disappears as distances and angles change. Scenery
that seemed wonderful in the design becomes a plague as we try to
strike one scene and set new pieces in place for the action that
follows.
How can we do it simpler? How can working in the space be a
joy instead of a struggle? How can the space encourage the cast and
crew, enhance the production, invite the interaction of cast and
audience?

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As we think about space it is good to return to some simple

thoughts: each of us has felt the enormity of the world around us by
sensing our bodies against the sky, against an open prairie, against
an ocean stretching wave after wave to the distant horizon. We've
stood alone in an empty cathedral or basketball arena, and we've
been there when it's filled with others, when the songs or cheers-
the sheer energy of hundreds or thousands - transform that same
space into what seems a totally different world.
Store up images of the human being in space - spaces of all
kinds. The human being alone. Two - alone together. Take it in
when you are the one in space. Take it in when you are watching
others.
That is the first learning for the director who wants to become a
skilled choreographer or designer of the scene. What you begin to
experience you can begin to evoke. To evoke may take only the
sound of the space and the feel of being there. It may require only
one prop one doorway, one light pattern on the floor.
To create space you need only open the windows of the mind.
If you remember that all the senses are involved, you can find a way.
Never mind that your theatre is small and your vision of the scene
is huge. That's the magic of the theatre. That's your job: to find a
meeting place for actor and audience in which you can evoke the
world of the play.
The Director's Choices in Matching Action to Space
You are hired to teach in a high school. They have an
auditorium. It's where the plays have always been done. Unlike
homes or apartments, most of the time we don't do a great deal of
shopping before we select our space. Most of the time we accept
what we have. That need not be. If it does not serve your vision, you
can change it. There are choices. Always.
There are three ways the director can match the space with the
production:
1. Study the theatre available and for each production
select the script and production style that fit the space.
It may not be what the audience expects if they have seen
the show elsewhere, but that is part of your creative
power. A "big" show done in a simple way and by a small
cast can have a startling new impact for an intimate
audience. A musical without scenery can place the
emphasis on faces and energy, on feeling and voices
what you may be able to do best.

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2. Begin with a script and production style and find an

environment that will hold it.
That may or may not be a conventional theatre. There are
hundreds of "dramatic spaces" in every community. To
choose to present a play in one of those recognized special
environments can be a valuable step toward a successful
event.
Keep in mind that many successful productions have
resulted from modifying a traditional theatre space. To
put both actors and audience on the stage of a large
proscenium theatre, for example, may suddenly give you
an intimate, manageable theatre with lighting positions
and a "dramatic" quality greater than if you were using
the original stage-auditorium relationship.
3. Take an empty space and build an environment for the
play, designing both performance and audience spaces.
This might be a "black box" theatre, but it could also be
almost any available space. When you consider such an
effort, accept that it requires you evaluate available
lighting, control of undesirable environmental sound, and
masking for actor entrances and dressing areas.

Remember, audience size makes a difference. There is a great

deal you can do if audiences are smaller. Flexibility and options
increase if you have to accommodate only 100 or so. For directors
who have the choice, it is almost always advantageous to do ten
performances for 100 people rather than one performance for 1,000.
At the heart of the choice of conventional theatre forms: Is the
environment to represent the world of the play or to evoke it? Tight
budgets, competition with film and television, time and labor
limitations all support the move toward a simpler theatre and a
more "poetic" use of space. When in doubt, consider evoking over
representing.
Too often we have let our concern with scene shifting dominate
our use of the theatre space. Today, we recognize there are
numerous ways to create dramatic environments. Labor is
expensive. Scenery construction and technical support are hard to
come by. Most of the theatres I know struggle to budget quality set
designs.

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The platform in front of the temple served the early Greek

theatre well. Today, the presidential candidate speaks in front of a
carefully selected backdrop, flags flying, symbols of success or
power clearly being transferred to the spoken message.
A kitchen can be created on stage complete with running water
and working stove and refrigerator. But a kitchen can also be
evoked on stage. A table and chairs in front of a large picture of a
steaming cup of coffee or a sink piled high with dirty dishes might
do the job just fine.
The thrust stage of Guthrie and Moiseiwitsch was created for
Shakespeare's plays, but in the first season in Minneapolis the great
success was Chekhov' s Three Sisters. Suddenly, it became clear this
polished hardwood stage with its few furniture pieces and
surrounding steps leading down to the audience helped us see the
universal, the poetic in this drama of change, this saying good-bye
to all they had known.
The key is in the word evoke. Even films evoke. Any edited
action will depend upon our filling in what happens during the
time not shown. The simplest of films will depend upon our
completing the journey. We see the car loaded, we see it on its way
and we see it arrive. They have evoked the complete journey. When
in doubt, ask yourself again, "How can I evoke that time, that space,
that action?" For models of creative skill in evoking more time and
space, more complex action, watch the best of the sixty-second
commercials. To tell a story in sixty seconds requires that you evoke.
So does the best theatre.
Actor-Audience Interaction
Before we go to more specific tools for the director's work
connecting script, actors, and audience, a final thought about the
one - and probably, the only - unique advantage the theatre has
over its companion theatrical forms, film and television. We all
know that the most influential and dominant stage of today is the
small black box sitting in our living and family rooms, in our
bedrooms and kitchens.
What do our experiences with television and film have to tell us
about the living theatre productions we might prepare? As the
dramas play out on television screens, of one thing you may be sure:
On-screen performers are not significantly affected by their
interaction with the home audience watching. The same is true of
our motion picture theatres. Those huge screens and giant images
can and do recreate magnificent natural vistas and penetrating

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views into the soul as they show faces large enough to cover most
of our home exteriors.
But they do not respond to our laughter or our silence.
In contrast, all living theatre performances are affected by the
continuing exchange of actor and audience as the events unfold. The
box set and proscenium theatre, the darkened audience and the
actor-to-actor focus dominating the twentieth-century theatre may
suggest a production independent of audience reaction, but it will
never be entirely true. Nor should it be.
As simple as it is, as obvious as is our intellectual
understanding of it, we still forget that the one great asset of the
living theatre is the ability of the actor and the audience to interact.
In a culture dominated by a different kind of theatre - the theatre
played out on television and motion picture screens, we have nearly
lost sight of the power of the unique living exchange which takes
place now.
If it is so powerful, why does the living theatre often seem dull
and irrelevant?
First, no arrangement of theatrical space will guarantee that we
attend. Bombarded daily by those seeking our attention, we have
become experts at tuning out. It should not surprise us if potential
audiences are unsure how much interaction they would willingly
choose if actors in the theatre walk among them. In our daily lives,
we tune out pleas and harangues attacking us from speakers,
screens and street corners. Yet, the rock concert, the championship
basketball game, the nightclub comic all tell us performers rise to
new heights when in the presence of a responding audience. They
tell us we remember moments of personal exchange with the
admired performer long after we've forgotten the names of the
songs or the score of the game.
It seems so simple. We interact and it becomes memorable. But
we must learn to make that interaction inviting. We must make that
interaction part of the sharing of the experience. We must make sure
the production develops rapport with the audience. We must be
certain the hero of our play is incredibly likable.
Our culture has taught us that interaction involves risk. Young
children are cautioned not to speak to strangers. Living in the midst
of multitudes we learn to protect ourselves by becoming indifferent.
In a culture where we are increasingly isolated, even in the midst of
others, we must make the potential for joyous sharing a worthwhile
risk. Then we must find ways to encourage the dropping of barriers
- barriers erected by both audiences and actors.

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The active exchange between actor and audience will ultimately

make all the difference. No matter how skilled the actors, how well
performed the story, if the audience feels remote, separated, not
really part of it, we've lost the battle. It will quickly be forgotten.
The audience must know that to be present, to be here now, makes
all the difference.
Extras That Count: Swans on the Lake
There is always more to a performance than the performance
itself. To go to the Stratford Shakespeare Festival and not remember
the flags flying and the swans on the lake behind the theatre is
impossible.
One of my most cherished memories is of a performance of Your
Obedient Servant, A. Lincoln I staged for an invited audience who
watched as the play unfolded on the floor of the Board of Trade in
Chicago. Here was the story of Lincoln, an icon of the American
democratic experience, being played out in this temple of
contemporary American finance. One could not miss the irony
suggested in the contrast of those two worlds - Lincoln and
wilderness simplicity versus the tote boards and the ever-changing
stream of world financial numbers - while the audience woven
around the pits and platforms watched the action played through
and around and above them.
Interaction of audience and performer in an environment that
provides a unique meeting place is still one of the primary assets of
the theatre, a fact as true in the age of technology as it ever was.
There are an infinite number of possibilities for using space. It
is one of the basics in human experience. The three tools for
discovery - words, actions and the environment - are all
connected to space: How we hear the words, which ones affect us,
where and how we see the action, how much a part of or separated
we are from it. Space determines the environment that surrounds us
as we approach the event, experience it, and carry its lingering
presence with us when we reenter the outside world.
All of it is important.

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 Chapter 28
Design in Space:
Sharing Responsibilities
We [must] give up believing that we design the world into
existence and instead take up roles in support
of its flourishing. We work with what is available
and encourage forms to come forth. We foster
tinkering and discovery. We help create connections.
- M. Wheatley & M. Kellner-Rogers, A Simpler Way

Blocking.
What do we mean by that? At its simplest, blocking is the
director's telling the actors where to go and what to do on stage so
the play will be effective when seen by the audience.
So we block the play. We tell the actors where to go. But how
much do we tell them and when? Actors do a lot of "going." They
enter and they exit. They sit and they stand, they handle props of all
kinds, they move about the space in very different ways carrying
out very different tasks. They lean and touch, they bend and flop,
they turn toward this person or that person, they gesture slowly or
abruptly. Their very personalities are recognized by a tell-tale
fluidity or by their stops and starts.
Can the director really dictate all that? Should he?
Blocking: To Control or to Free?
For many in the theatre, nothing defines the director's
responsibility, and hence his power, as does "blocking." Somehow,
many young directors assume, they must have the skills and insight
to develop a specific and complex blueprint for all, or nearly all, the
physical action the cast will carry out during the course of the play.
For the beginning director, the very idea of blocking can be
intimidating.
No wonder one recently published directing text suggests that
for many the " ... most stressful rehearsal is the first day of blocking
when they are scheduled to get actors up on their feet and start
moving them about on the stage for the first time." (Note the
interesting phrase " ... start moving them about.") The writer
continues, "Regardless of how long you have been practicing your
craft, beginning this stage of the rehearsal process is like learning to

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 Design in Space: Sharing Responsibilities

walk all over again; you feel anxious and more than a little
intimidated."
Well, if you really had to supply the instructions for most of the
movement in the play - if they were totally dependent on your
"moving them about," it would be a little like having to learn to walk
all over again not just for one person, but for each person in the
entire cast. Of course that would be stressful. The playwright has
spent months, usually years, coming up with most of the words
which will be spoken, now you are to provide a comparable amount
of physical action. The cast stands waiting. They will write your
instructions into their scripts as you give them, memorize them
along with the playwright's words, and repeat both in order to
share the drama with us.
But must you take on all that responsibility? Will your
production be better if you do? If you are skilled at doing that, will
you have high quality theatre?
The Creative Power of Impulses
Let's go back to some thinking developed in earlier chapters. If
the first job of rehearsal is to experience the play, it goes without
saying that actors can usually best develop their experiences by
trying out hunches, by listening to their bodies as they respond to
what is said, what they are doing, where they are.
As we speak and hear lines we will have impulses. We will
want to leave, stay, sit down, walk- whatever. As we carry out the
most obvious tasks suggested by the script or given to us by the
director, we will have impulses. We will want to finish it quickly or
do it carefully, or seek someone to help us. And so it will go with the
environment: Because we are here, we have the impulse to sit
quietly in the corner but if the same conversation were in our own
room we would be up pacing back and forth.
Impulses. "What are your impulses?" "When you hear that
what do you feel like doing?" Particularly in the early stages of
rehearsal when the actors are groping to experience the play, little is
more telling than to play their impulses. It is one of the clearest
indications of their success in making the action of the play their
own.
Here's a simple direction I often give actors when they are
having difficulty sustaining a two-person scene: "If it doesn't feel
like there is a need to stay in the room, leave. Never mind that the
other actor still has more words to say, if you feel like leaving and
he doesn't stop you- go!" What's the result? One actor leaves and

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it stops the scene. The other must try to find ways to keep him here.
He may realize he isn't yet determined enough, he hasn't yet made
bone deep the anger or the power implied in his own words.
Whatever it is, he can't deny his partner's need to stay in the room
isn't great enough. He left. It's very simple.
"Let's try again. Don't let him leave until he's heard you."
There will usually be a number of discoveries along the wa:Yt
but it always forces stock-taking, new efforts, usually significant
changes by both.
"Let's try it again! This time ... " Whatever the cause, right now,
we still don't need all the scene. We can't sustain it. And yet we
must. The actors responding to their impulses gives us a wonderful
means of testing our progress. "Once more! See what happens if ... "
It may take several tries. Each effort a little different from the
last. But it requires very little discussion. Just a minor change and
we start again.
"Good! Now can you do it without blocking the doorway? Can
you keep him here without touching him? Can you stay in your
chair on the other side of the room? And for you, what would make
you close the door and come back inside even if you had gone to the
door and opened it intending to leave?"
Are you blocking the play? Maybe. Maybe you will find the
specific physical action you need. Maybe not. The point in these
middle rehearsals is that the actors must be free enough to risk
giving way to their impulses. If you fear it will confuse them, you
can rein them back in, remind them of certain restrictions and then
free them within new boundaries. "Wait, I don't think you should
pick up a vase to hit him! How else might you threaten him that
feels just as ominous?"
Actors are human beings who, left to discover their own
impulses, will always be somewhere, doing something. That
something can be very revealing. It can also be creative, exciting and
potentially more valuable than the image you had in mind when
you visualized the scene prior to the rehearsal.
You may create brilliantly, but if you cut your actors off from
their impulses you will sap the life from the play. Puppets and
cartoon characters must have each movement determined for them.
Living people do not.
Blocking to Set the Creative Actor Free
So how much blocking and when? What are the guidelines?
Here is a simple way of thinking about it:

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 Design in Space: Sharing Responsibilities

• We use blocking to free the actor. We use it to get the

creative process started. It helps set the parameters. It
frees them to begin.
• We use it for the fine tuning at the end. We use it when
we are most concerned with what only we can see as we
sit where the audience sits. We use it as we work to keep
the whole unified, as we seek to insure the actor will be
in the light, as we create those still pictures we hope are
retained in our audience's memory long after the action
is passed.
By assuming responsibility for the final shapings we free the
actors to keep their concentration on what would logically be in the
characters' mind. If you have done your job well, they will learn to
trust your vantage point. You won't let them disappear when they
need to be seen. "Turn here and we'll catch you in the light from the
window." "Stand looking off right at the end of that speech and
we'll have you framed in the doorway." The actor doesn't have to
make those choices. You are watching and listening. Making
adjustments so their best work is going to be seen and heard.
Making actors and environment all one harmonious world.
In between the opening general directions and the final
shaping - let them go! Encourage them to discover. Praise their
taking risks and reenforce their most creative efforts. Nurture their
being able to keep the best as part of the recurring performances.
In the heart of rehearsals, when you are seeking to make the
play theirs, when you need them to experience the play at an
increasingly personal level, beware of assuming that actors must
wait for your command before being someplace and moving to get
someplace else.
Too often rehearsals focus on "walking up taped stairs," a
designation which, for me, has come to embody the insistence some
directors place on actors' following trivial directions. More than
once I have watched directors stop a progressing scene to remind
the actors they hadn't stepped on each of the stairs laid out on the
rehearsal room floor in masking tape. Somehow, it is assumed that
conscious attention must be given these details in rehearsal, even
though most of us can master walking up real stairs when they
appear.
Ah, but here's the other side of the coin: How often have you
seen actors who seem perfectly at ease as they sit or stand waiting
for the rehearsal to begin, suddenly turn into stiff, self-conscious,

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near manikins as they wait to be told where to sit or when to move?

Given a director who is skilled in this blocking process, how often
have you seen actors leave behind their instincts as they seek to
follow his commands?
In more rehearsal situations than you might expect, actors
quickly give up their ability to explore. They stifle their hunches.
Ignore their impulses. So one of the things you will need to do to
encourage their best work is stimulate their inner voices. Encourage
them to listen to those impulses we usually deny in our public lives,
and act on them. "Go ahead! Let's see what these characters feel like
doing. We can always put them back in their boxes." First we have
to know what's in there wanting to come out.
This pump priming goes for all your collaborators and their
contributions to space. Give them some boundaries: "Come in the
room here, be sure you are sitting down when that moment occurs.
Get yourself ready to leave by the time you say those words. In
between, let's see what you feel like doing."
If you're speaking with the designers, tell them the same, "We
need to shrink the space for the climax. Have just the two of them
in this little circle of light. Alone. Holding onto each other.
Everything else gone, distant, impersonal, lost." How will they do
that? What will the scenery look like that allows that to happen?
Let's see what they produce.
You're providing the initial design specifications to free them,
not to stifle them. You get them started by putting the first lines on
the canvas and saying, "Now what happens?"
As the work continues, you prompt to keep their discoveries
going. You nudge them in another direction when you think they're
straying from that which reenforces the action of the play. Most of
all, you keep them experiencing, creating, discovering, relating to
one another. You stimulate their use of physical action to dig deeper.
Collecting Their Best Efforts
As they work, you store up images. Like a film editor in the
editing room, you must keep in your memory those moments of
most promise, those you hope can be part of the final composition.
To reenforce those actions, you may need to praise a given moment,
you may have to remind the actors to keep doing that, keep trying
to work from that chair, keep bounding up those steps. No matter
how brilliant it is, if you don't flag it - and often encourage their
repeating it today and again tomorrow - it may be lost. Without
the repetitions both you and the actors can hit that familiar wall:

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"Yesterday you did something wonderful when you said that line.
What happened? Have you forgotten?"
And they will.
So watch. Reinforce the best. Nurse it through the trial and error
process. Try to keep it fresh enough so it can be assimilated with all
the other best efforts when you're nearing the end.
So what is blocking? Well, yes, it is the shaping of the action for
the audience. But to get there you must find ways to include your
designer and actors' best creative impulses. You must watch and
select from those as well as from your own imagination's creation.
You will have roughed out a movement scenario that is
sufficient to help all the collaborators get going - designers and
actors alike. Then you must prod them with continuing small
suggestions along the way. And finally, when they are comfortable
in their roles, confident they can carry out the play's action- when
they can keep their concentration on the essence of the play, you
provide the final shaping that fits it into the space, gives the actor-
audience relationship its best chance for success, and provides the
spatial harmony that helps bring actors, lights, sound, costumes,
scenery all the production's elements -together into a whole.
Collaboration Is Always the Key
When we think of the script we usually divide it into "dialog"
and "stage directions." The playwright may write little or no stage
directions. He may write extensive stage directions. Whatever he
writes, our unconscious assumption is that the director is the final
authority on this half of the play. Words come from the playwright.
The action comes from the director. The director is responsible for
what is done and how it looks. And he should be. Should be in the
sense that he must see that it all belongs. Should be in that he is
responsible for its final harmony.
But that does not mean he need invent it all. He must share that
creation. The best work will inevitably result from his helping
others connect: connect with the action of the play, connect with his
vision, connect with each other. It can be a messy and wonderful
process.
Even when I have begun work with a clear vision of a
particular moment which changed little as we progressed to the
final product - even when that moment resulted in enthusiastic
praise from the audience - the satisfaction I've experienced has
almost always been less here than from those other, sometimes
stumbling, even painful, shared discoveries. There is something

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awesome about the joining together of unique personalities and

their collective creation. Pieces risked and fitted and refitted during
the evolution of a production. Pieces owing their very richness to
the input of many.
The truth is we cannot exclude our fellow workers from the
collaborative process no matter how hard we try. Their vision or
lack of vision will affect us. We may have to compensate for the
absence of a playwright's suggestions. The set designer may give us
a handsome setting which leaves us open to a limitless variety of
physical choices. The actors may be so accustomed to "waiting-to-
be-told" that no impulses are present as they stand waiting for your
blocking. When given such obvious lack of other determinants, you
may be required to invent until you are exhausted. But even here -
even here you will do well to nurture their humanness. When
you least expect it, your weakest actor may suddenly let out of the
box an unexpected burp that sends the entire company into gales of
laughter or grateful tears. You will be reminded that you have life
among you. That it surprises and amazes us just when we have
given up. "Keep it!" you will shout. And you do. And it's wonderful.
Be open to the possibilities. Do all you can to nurture their gifts
to the production's creation. There will be enough opportunity for
you to show your talents. If you have a good eye, if you see the
whole as no one else can see it, there will be plenty to do to shape
the final offering. Your bigger challenge is to bring the creative
potential of the entire company to the task: Keeping them on target.
Making this action come alive. Making this action significant.
Encourage them to use all of themselves that fits. And then, edit it
down to the very best.
Summary
Like all of life, a production's blocking will be a coevolutionary
process. We may try to control it, to make it something else. We
cannot. We must find the best way of working together. We must
work with "what is available" and however we do it, " ... encourage
forms to come forth."
Blocking: First to start the building together. Then prodding to
stay on the journey. Only as much as they need for encouragement.
Only to insure we don't lose the best. And finally, to bring it all
together.
To pull the weeds and keep the harmony as pure as we can
make it. It's an evolutionary process.
Tinkering.

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 Chapter 29
Guidelines for Blocking
"[By] enshrining art within
the temples of culture - the museum,
the concert hall, the proscenium stage -
we may have lost touch with the spirit of art;
its direct relevance to our lives. "
The National Endowment for the Arts

Mid-twentieth century, when the first directing texts were

written, the proscenium theatre so dominated our practice that no
alternative forms of theatre architecture were even considered. A set
of rules for "blocking" evolved which were taken for granted to
solve most of the director's problems as he sought to "stage" a
production.
Blocking Rules and the Proscenium Arch
The basic stage was assumed to be behind a proscenium arch.
On it was a box setting, the nearly universal scenery of the time. A
standard diagram divided the stage within the box set into six
squares. Two of them, labeled "up center" and "down center," cut a
path from the rear to the front through the middle of the setting.
Right and left counterparts flanked the center swath. Notes
reminded the reader that "down right" was the actor's right as he
faced the audience.
The formalizing of blocking rules spawned some "absolutes"
for directors· and actors alike, "upstage-foot-forward," for example.
"Never move when another actor is speaking." Photographs
accompanying the discussions made clear we could tell if a director
"knew his/ craft" by examining the pictures which illustrated
effective "composition." In nearly all these photographs the stage
composition was essentially two-dimensional with the horizontal
axis the longer one. We could hang pictorial records of our successes
on the green-room walls. "This" was what good theatre looked like.
The Mystique of the Triangle
Diagrams illustrating the basics of actor manipulation featured
the use of the triangle. Three symbols for actors were placed within
a box set and interconnecting lines demonstrated that focus came

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The Director's Eye

from the actors forming a triangle. If there were larger numbers of

actor-symbols they might be connected with lines showing triangles
within triangles or multiple actors forming the legs of the triangle.
What none of the texts acknowledged was that any three points
will inevitably form a triangle unless they lie on a single straight
line. It was always unclear to me why the idea of the triangle
seemed powerful enough to repeat it in book after book, since it
seemed only to illustrate the obvious.
Even today, if you ask most teachers of theatre to explain the
basics of effective stage composition, they will probably resort to
triangles.
Proscenium Rules and New Theatre Forms
When arena staging exploded on the post World War II scene,
directing texts tried to adapt these staging principles to
accommodate both proscenium theatres and arena stages. It was not
easy to apply the earlier rules to this new form. A proscenium
manifesto which declared that the downright part of the stage
(some said down center) was the "warmest" and therefore the place
for your "strongest" scenes had difficulty finding a counterpart in
the arena. Usually this meant arenas were seen as handicapped
theatre spaces. The difficulty writers had merging their
proscenium-box set-imaginary wall thinking with other forms,
produced one of the most extraordinary bits of advice for the
inexperienced director I have ever read. Using Glass Menagerie as an
example, the author cautioned that actors should never be allowed
to look an audience member in the eye. The arena form made this
very difficult, he advised, but even Tom, Williams' central character
who addresses the audience, can avoid this pitfall despite the
viewers' being a few feet from him and at his eye level, if he will
only look out over the heads of the audience. Keeping his focus
safely above them will protect him from the temptation to respond
to their audience behavior.
Never mind that Tom was clearly intended to be speaking to the
audience in this "'memory play." Never mind that Tom was sharing
Williams' personal torment over the plight of his own sister. The
dictate was, "No visual contact." Here was a clear example of
existing "rules" overcoming both logic and the need to bring to life
the basic dramatic action of a play.
Guthrie's success with the thrust stage added still more
problems. How could we continue to use our blocking rules
developed for a single viewpoint? (Never mind that proscenium

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 Guidelines for Blocking

theatres were far from universally alike - at least they all had the
audience on one side of the curtain line and the actors on the other,
or so the theory seemed to have concluded.)
Soon came "flexible" staging which introduced "L" audience
arrangements, "profile stages/' and other forms less easily named.
Add to that "store-front" theatres with still more spatial variations,
and before long the rules which once seemed absolute, now often
seemed confusing and, for the more cynical student, "useless." Still,
the basic models for teaching blocking continued to feature the box
setting and triangular grouping along with reminders that
downstage center was "stronger" - or if you followed the
"newspaper" theory, it was down right, or was it down left?
So where are we now, fifty years after all this rule making
began?
Welt many writers have suggested we shake ourselves out
from under what once was useful but now seems very limited, but
what should take its place? The problem may be that we have
searched for a way to modify the rules when a whole new approach
to thinking about blocking is necessary. Maybe triangles and curved
crosses and shared positions and downstage right won't do it.
The fact is, when theatre spaces and production styles, audience
sizes and scenic conventions are as varied as today' s are, we have
an enormous number of spatial variables which affect our success in
reaching even the most obvious of goals.
Goals for blocking
The goals of blocking can be stated pretty simply:

• To help the actors be seen and heard when they need to be.
• To give emphasis where we think it should be.
• To use actors as part of the creation of mood and atmosphere.
• And, oh yes, to insure that the dramatic action of the play is
realized or reenforced by the production's physical action.
(Remember when we said in our first chapters it was easy to forget
"dramatic action" must come above all else? Here's another
reminder of the ease with which we can let ourselves get
overwhelmed by problems to be solved at dramatic action's expense.)

For the moment let's accept that there is no short answer to

"how toblock" that will make you successful if you have no "eye."
That shouldn't surprise us, should it?
You will have to learn to "see" - see what gives emphasis,

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The Director's Eye

what helps actors be seen and heard, what creates mood and
atmosphere, and what carries the dramatic action of the play. Rules
alone will not do it. As theatres and cultures change, as the scripts
change, as our models change - cinema, life, photography,
whatever affects our visual sense - we will need to redefine what
we like to see and how we might get it. Any rule we create today
may or may not work tomorrow.
If these are the goals, what is the process for achieving them?
Blocking: An Overview of the Process
Here is an outline of the director's blocking process. It is
divided into two parts, the first is the work preceding casting
including the interaction with designers. The second is essentially
working with actors during the rehearsal process:
A. The first steps are important in the selection of the script
and the theatrical space and they prepare you for work with
designers and casting:

1. Discover the physical space needed to carry out the

dramatic action of the play. What form should it take?
How much space do you need? How many different spaces
do you need? What major environments I tools I machines
do you need in the playing space to carry out the action?
2. Consider the spatial relationship of the play's action to
the potential audience. Where could the audience best
experience the play? Are they "in the midst of it," or
separate from it? Where could they best see? How near do
they have to be? How essential is it they all see/hear the
same thing? How large an audience is the ideal? Should
the audience be in one mass or is there an. advantage in
splitting them into several groups? What are the implications
of this for the number of performances of the play?
3. Identify the theatrical conventions which will most
affect the staging of the play. Do I need real furniture,
props, etc.? Can the stage be a platform rather than a
place? Do I play the action in front of symbolic images or
in its indigenous environment? How do I move from
place to place if the script calls for several locales?
4. Match the theatre space to the production:
a) Choose a theatre to fit the script;

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 Guidelines for Blocking

b) Choose a script to fit the theatre; or

c) Modify the theatre space to meet the needs of the
script.
5. Lay out a floorplan for the production, considering
each environment separately; consider the relationship of
each environment to the others. How will I move the play
from one environment to another? What conventions or
scene changes can accomplish that? How can I make that
change a part of the rhythm of the total production? Can
I make these changes without disrupting the flow of the
action or creating unwanted spatial relationships between
the actors and the audience?
6. Pay particular attention to the placement of entrances
and exits, to the support necessary to sustain groupings of
actors chairs and tables, useful platforms or stools,
benches - whatever makes possible actors coming
together and being "at home" in the space provided.
7. Develop a blocking scheme for using the space.
Experienced directors may do this almost unconsciously
with little use of drawings or other tools. Beginners will
profit from using a model of the playing space -
improvised if necessary, chess pieces and a sheet of foam
board will often suffice - where they can move figures
about until they sense the shape and density of the potential
movement patterns. Think of it as akin to a time lapse
photograph where actors, like headlights from cars at
night, would leave an "afterglow" recording their journeys
during the playing of the action. The scheme will suggest
what patterns are possible; what the expressways and
side streets will look like. It will tell you which parts of the
space will be heavily used and which seldom employed.
It will provide a tool for seeing possible changes to improve
traffic flow and better actor-audience relationships.
8. Develop still pictures for a few key moments in the
play which can serve as benchmarks for the integration of
actors and setting. Think of these as "preliminary
sketches" of the final production photographs. Even if
your drawing skills limit you to stick figures, find a way
to see in your mind, to visualize what key moments might
be. They may change radically as the piece evolves or they

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The Director's Eye

may be surprisingly similar to the final product. In either

case they are important visualizations to help you begin
the collaboration.
B. As you begin your rehearsals your blocking process will
enter a more familiar mode: sharing with the actors. (If you have
done the work outlined above, you will be tempted to give it all to
the actors immediately. The best directors will recognize the above
was an important beginning, but only a beginning. The creative
collaboration on the production's visual scheme has yet to take place.)

1. Begin your blocking with the actors by introducing

them to the theatre and the floorplan. Make it clear how
they get into and exit the space and what the principal
tools to support their action will be. Throughout your
rehearsals, give them a chance to fit their discoveries into
these boundaries by having them work with similar set
props, doors, etc., when it helps advance their ability to
play the action. At the same time, respect the need to keep
them free to discover, to experience.
2. Keep your blocking evolving. Even if you see the end
result clearly as you begin the work, give them only what
they can use now. When they are able to use it, add more
detailed work to help reveal character, to make the action
more effective, to make certain the audience will see/hear.
(Remember, most audience members will tell you they
cannot see or hear when they can tell you very little else
wrong with the production.) Give the actors more detail
only when they are ready to incorporate it into their
rehearsals. Be careful of insisting on too much precision
before they can handle it. That is, before they can attend
to it without losing their concentration on the dramatic
action of the play.
3. Listen to the show with only secondary regard for the
visual. Watch the show with only secondary regard for
the auditory.
4. Watch the background characters and check for their
believability. Check for their support of the principals.
5. In later rehearsals, try not to interrupt the flow of the
action to make changes. Keep the action moving on stage

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and the actors' concentration on the play by making

minor adjustments while they play the action. Sometimes
you will need to walk up onto the stage, talking to them
quietly as they work. Adjustments while they are playing
the scene will be better remembered than ones suggested
afterward. Give written notes or notes after the run-
through for only a minimum number of items.
6. Consider how to Hreveal" the space. Sit in your theatre
space and think about portions of the available volume
you may not have used or have used without taking
advantage of their potential dramatic quality.
7. Work to clarify and finalize the blocking so it is
reliable and will not change significantly as you perform
the play. Keep putting yourself in different seats. Find out
how different members of the audience will view the play.
8. Incorporate the changes necessary to better use
costumes, props, lights and sound as you work through
technical and dress rehearsals. Emphasize the timing that
is required to make sound, lights and costume changes all
carry out the rhythm and tempo of the action. Don't be
afraid to call for several repetitions of the difficult
moments to set these timings.
9. Be aware of the possibility of too static a production,
too frantic, too dense. Consider that lights, sound - any
medium - might take over for a few moments and make
other efforts less important.
10. Eliminate that which is no longer necessary. Be alert
for ineffective action needing to be masked, taken off
stage, made background.
11. In the last few days, consider taking the cast to a quiet
place without technical support to again get in touch
with the core of the play. There, work in the easiest way
possible. Perhaps work with the cast sitting close together
on the floor, quietly running the play with .one another
without regard to scale and audience.
12. Have someone you trust see the rehearsals or
performances. Ask them what they saw/heard. Ask them
what was distracting.

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The Director's Eye

13. Survey your work as it nears final performance. Ask

where you were too ambitious. Where you need to cut
back. On size of cast? On size of house? On number of
scenes in the script? On number of conventions you
attempt? Ask where you were too cautious. Where could
you have taken greater risks? Where could you have been
less obvious? Where could you have experimented more?

Summary
It's a long list. Even without detail it's complicated. It's a
reminder how much must be considered before we begin
rehearsals, how much is still ahead after we have explored the play
and experienced its action, after it has become ours to share with
one another. Blocking is especially complicated because different
collaborators come on board at different times in the process. In the
professional theatre, your interaction with the set designer may be
80 percent complete before the rehearsals even begin. How can you
tell him with certainty what you need when you have yet to cast the
play? Well, you can't.
This is the nature of the process. We are constantly developing
our vision, trying to find its essence and engaging others in the
collaboration. As we progress we will inevitably have to redefine
our work- redefine it within basic boundaries. Just as we commit
ourselves to a cast, we commit ourselves to a vision or a setting. In
rare circumstances we may throw out a lead actor and start again
mid-rehearsal, but it is a major decision to make such a change.
Similarly, we commit to a physical plan when we approve a set
design. Yet within that setting's boundaries we continue to lead the
collaboration on an evolving production.
In that effort your best friends are two: One, be as careful and
as certain as possible in defining the dramatic action of the play
before you start your work with others, and two, develop strong
relationships which help all of you see the evolution as an exciting
creative act and not a handicap requiring unwanted redefinitions
along the way.
Even with the best of visual artists directing, blocking will need
to evolve. As you continue your practice you will grow in handling
this evolutionary process. Remember, it starts with your thinking
about space and the action of the play, with your concept for putting
together this space and this cast and this audience. You must begin
to see the possibilities before you agree to the collaboration. The
blocking process starts with that vision.

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 Chapter 30
Blocking: Lenses for Viewing
If you address yourself to an audience, you accept
at the outset the basic premises
that unite the audience. You put on the audience,
repeating cliches familiar to it. But artists
don't address themselves to audiences; they create audiences.
The artist talks to himself out loud.
If what he has to say is significant,
others hear and are affected.
Edmund Carpenter

For the naive theatregoer it would appear as if the minimum

standard for acceptable blocking is very simple: The audience has to
see and hear the play. But blocking - in fact, the entire visual
shaping of the production - is part of our continuing effort to
create harmony, not only to allow the play to be experienced, not
only to give it significance, but to evolve a consistency making each
piece of action believable in the unique world of the play.
The Dilemma of Blocking Choices
For the critical viewer, there will be times when it seems an
actor could be better seen or heard if the director were to move him
to a different place or have him do something else. And it may be
true, the actor could be better seen or heard. But what if it comes at
the expense of believability? If we want the scene to be believable
we may need to accept that the words of the child or the shy one or
the dying man won't be easily heard. We may need to choose.
The action of a scene often presents us with just such dilemmas.
We search for creative solutions but we may or may not find a way
to be both believed and heard or believed and seen. That brings us
back to style.
Blocking is an important tool in the evolution of the style of the
production. We are pulling the weeds, getting rid of things which
distract. Of course, not being able to see or hear can be one of them
but we are also eliminating the unbelievable, that which seems not
to belong to this character or in this play. We are shaping and
adding things which clarify and enrich the play, which make the
action of the play more immediately affecting and more memorable.

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Many times I have accepted the inevitability of audience

complaints forthcoming. I knew some would tell me they couldn't
see or hear a particular moment or a particular line, but I chose to
handle the scene as I did believing something was achieved more
important to the play's success than seeing an actor's face or
hearing specific words. That's not absolute, of course. The person
complaining could well have become so distracted he missed the
next ten minutes. But it's much easier for a spectator to tell you he
couldn't hear or see than to tell you he wasn't moved by the
truthfulness of the moment.
Some of your blocking choices will be obvious and would be
done basically the same were we to have any of a dozen competent
people directing. Some choices, like many issues of style, aren't so
obvious. For those, no two of us would work exactly the same. It is
art, after all, and what makes it powerful is that it is both universal
and unique at the same time.
How many paintings have there been of a mother holding an
infant? How many of two lovers embracing? The great ones all have
something in common and yet all are different. And so it will be
here.
Seeing the Many Layers
In the previous chapter we suggested you devote time in at
least one rehearsal to watching the production with only secondary
concern for what you hear, then listening to the production with
only secondary concern for what you see. Sometimes we are
mistaken in our assumptions of what will be seen or heard by others
who may not be attending in the same way we are. After all, we
know what is going to happen next. We know which words are
going to be especially important, which physical action should be
remembered when we come to the play's climax in the second act.
We may be very clear what the audience should be seeing or
hearing at a given time, but will they?
In this chapter we'll identify what we'll call ulenses for
viewing" - ways to focus on specific elements as we shape the
production. Just as closing our eyes can help us hear better,
watching uwith lenses" can invite a more careful examination of a
particular ulayer" of the production, can help you focus on specific
elements and subordinate others in the complex scene before you.

• The first lens: Watch the integration of setting and

actors. The curtain opens, lights come up, the setting is

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extraordinary. Beautiful. Amazing to have it built by

human hands. It is lit with sensitivity. No mistake about
it. The work of visual artists. The audience is moved to
spontaneous applause. The set and lighting designers feel
justifiably proud.
Then the play begins.
The actors might just as well be acting on a bare stage. The
setting doesn't seem to support the action. Or perhaps
it's that the actors don't seem to use the setting. All we
know is that the opening image made promises now
unkept. By the end of the first act the setting no longer
seems remarkable.
The director is the link between the designer and the
actors, between the theatre and the rehearsal room. We
have already emphasized how important it is to find
rehearsal environments which stimulate the actors to
discover the play. Experiences gained in carefully selected
environments can leave valuable imprints on the final
performance even when the stage setting is very different.
However many environments you visited for your
rehearsals, the final stage of that progression is to make
the performance setting "home." When we move into that
theatrical space we must give the actors time and
promptings to encourage their final discovery: This is
where the play should be performed. Everything we
want to happen can happen here. All the previous
experiences can be merged with the action performed for
the audience here.
Throughout rehearsals, the director will have watched for
ways the action and the setting can be integrated to create
these memorable images. Opportunities will have been
apparent from the first viewing of the set design, others
will result from going back to the model or to the theatre
to sit quietly processing how the work in yesterday's
rehearsal can be brought to the performance space. Still
other images will come when the director first sees the
actors in the completed setting at tech or dress rehearsal.
Much of the final integration can happen with what seems
like minor tinkering: moving an actor to take advantage of

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a shadow on a rear wall; using the height of a chair back

to make an embrace more poignant; changing an actor's
entrance because of the sight lines through a window.
Actions shaped by the uniqueness of the environment. Do
them somewhere else and they would have a different
form.
Remember - as much as we like to publish still
photographs of settings, settings are not frozen in time.
Plays are about events happening. Things changing. And
in the middle of it, always, the actor. (Don't forget, in the
theatre, the human being is at the center.)
Joseph Svoboda, the great Czechoslovakian scene
designer, speaks of kinesthetic scenery, scenery which
changes as the play progresses. He suggests that the
setting, with the aid of lighting, should evolve just as the
action of the play evolves. It's a useful idea. Like a forest
moving through the seasons, the environment changes as
the playing out of the action leaves its imprint. There are
many ways for this to happen. The point is, the director
watches to see the possibilities for the environment's
"coming alive." He watches to see the ways in which the
actors are at the very center of this living sculpture -
action and environment affecting one another, changing
as the play moves through its sequence of passages.
In one sense, every play fills up the space with human
energy and hope, stirs it into a boil and empties it out
again. Here is a metaphor which I have often found
useful: Suppose the action of your play can be compared
to a virgin stream before the discovery of gold. We see the
arrival of the lone prospector, later the others who join
him in the initial search, still later the enormous rush as
others stampede to stake out claims. Then comes the
building and rebuilding, the destruction and struggle, the
disappointment and losses, the eroding of hope, the
despair and abandonment. Finally, we see the quiet
aftermath, the littered and violated territory before us.
The director must see that the setting and action connect,
that the two are tied to one another, that they progress
together through the course of the play.

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• The second lens: Watch the actors' comfort level. In one

sense, the primary purpose of most rehearsal is to help the
actor become "comfortable." But as the actor approaches
performance, the familiar interaction of the cast may
suddenly be eclipsed by the presence or impending
presence of the audience.
Self-consciousness which grabs audience attention and
steals from the action of the play can be significantly
reduced by astute blocking. It is the director's job to help
the actor find things to do which will keep him focused on
the play rather than worrying about the audience's
judgment of his performance.
When actors have been sitting or standing self-
consciously on stage, I often wait until I see them at ease,
sitting listening to commentary after the scene. Suddenly
I ask them to really look at one another. To look at
themselves. I ask them to take in how much more
interesting their bodies are off stage away from the fear of
judgment. I suggest it is possible for them to find this
same "comfort" on stage during the scene. I may give
them one blocking change and wait to see if they can
extend that start to more.
"Try pulling a small pad of paper out of your pocket and
writing yourself a note about what you just discovered.
Expect to take it out again and consider it more carefully
when you are alone." "Turn back and watch her face. Each
night see if she reveals something new you haven't seen
before:" Whatever it takes, don't let them remove
themselves, not even a part of themselves, from the scene.
Much of the posturing, the excess tension, the controlled
artificial behavior we see on stage is habitual. It's the
actor's effort to disguise his not feeling "at home," not
feeling comfortable. When you have laid the groundwork
for his continued effort to unlearn these destructive habits
a simple squeeze on the "frozen" arm or shoulder while
he's playing the scene will remind him to let that part join
his totq.l being.
• The third lens: Watch for foreground and background. It
goes without saying that every scene needs focus. Usually

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focus is on the person speaking, sometimes on the listener.

Sometimes it is on the physical action.
In film, we are accustomed to that focus changing and
sometimes changing often. We see the speaker's face over
the listener's shoulder; we cut to the listener's face over
the speaker's shoulder. We see the two from a distance
framed by the doorway; we see another person walk into
the scene, stop and watch both of them. Close-ups,
medium shots, tracking shots, long shots - even the
casual moviegoer will recognize the contribution of
changing camera positions and edits. By comparison, our
ability to create focus in the living theatre may seem
limited. And yet we can use many of the ideas made
familiar by the film to guide us.
For the pre-twentieth century audience, it may have been
enough to come to center stage and speak distinctly. No
longer. We've had too much conditioning to accept that.
Actors won't always be able to provide close-ups - the
audience may be too large and too scattered for all to see
the actor "close-up" from any one stage position, but still
we can usually find a way to create something equivalent.
We watch to make our scene remote or immediate. We
work to make some of it foreground and some of it
background.
One of an actor's greatest gifts to the production is
understanding when to take primary focus and when to
become part of the supporting atmosphere. The director
may ask for exactly the same piece of business to be done
as foreground and later as background. The distinction
may be subtle: for the foreground, more energy, more
power in the movements, more angularity, more visibility
of faces - any one of dozens of ways to demand our
direct attention as opposed to our sensing it "out of the
corner of our eye."
The director needs to keep all the actors involved in the
world of the play, but it is equally important actors learn
to take the focus and then give it to someone else at the
appropriate time.
How do we accomplish this?

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In general, we can say that being different will demand

our attention. If one actor is seated and all the others are
standing, we are likely to watch the seated actor. If one is
moving and all the others are still we'll watch the mover.
Framing by the setting may be the prime determinant, or
a platform's height or depth. It may be determined by the
brightness of a lighted area or simply by the kind of
movement that precedes the line.
Usually it isn't difficult for even the inexperienced
director to see possibilities for emphasis. The greater
problem is how to simply and easily encourage actors to
become the foreground and then return to the believable
background. Your real challenge is in handling the
transitions. How do you get an actor in place so that,
when the time for all of us to watch him arrives, he can
slowly rise to his feet in a simple, believable way? Even a
short scene may have five or ten such demands one after
another.
The solution to such blocking problems often lies not so
much in what you do "now," but in the preparation you
make in earlier parts of the scene. Don't rush in when you
may not need to. Identify the moments which are
problems. If the knot is complex, call it to the actors'
attention and see how much they can solve as they
continue their work. Often if you eliminate one or two
entanglements, the others will disappear as the actors
relax and respond to their impulses. Occasionally, it just
won't go away. At such times it's surprising how much
trial and error is required ·to make a series of moments
believable, effortless and self-motivated rather than
obviously dictated by the director.
Once you've found the solutions the audience may never
recognize the effort required, but to get there you may
need to seek a time when you can work without panic,
when your actors can be patient and willing participants
in using a block of rehearsal for just this purpose.
• The fourth lens: Watch for single-focus and multi-focus.
There is audience pleasure in moving from seeing and
hearing what everyone in the theatre shares to more
exclusive sharings. Moving easily back and forth between

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scenes of single-focus and multi-focus gives weight to the

value of live performance. In scenes with complex action,
look for opportunities to make use of multi-focus -times
when different parts of the audience will see very
different scenes.
Particularly when there are large casts and audience
arrangements which allow different parts of the audience
to be in close proximity with different cast members, it is
possible to use to your advantage a number of mini-plays
going on simultaneously. Like a three-ring circus with the
clowns working the crowd throughout the tent, many
different audience sections have the opportunity for a
unique experience.
Some actions lend themselves to multi-focus. Comedies
with combatants, for example, become useful models
reminding us of the audience's delight when the audience
is divided into two camps, each sought by one group of
principals who include the spectators as their confidants.
Their simultaneous exchanges with the two audience
halves can alternate with their rushing to the center to
engage one another where their mixed battle is seen and
heard by all. (Watch television wrestling for a few minutes
if you have never seen two such performers work the
crowd. Note what happens to the live audience when a
wrestler jumps out of the ring and interacts with audience
members.)
Watch for opportunities particularly at the beginning of
scenes, in the midst of chaotic scenes, and at the close of
scenes. The Stratford stage with its many levels is often
peopled with dozens of servants and subordinates whose
mere entrances and exits create unique moments seen
exclusively by the part of the audience nearest. It is a
powerful means of insuring that all the audience feels
special whether they sit in the center of the house or on
the periphery.
• The fifth lens: Watch to see unused possibilities in the
space. Our photographic world - the world of the
television screen, the world of films, images stored in our
minds from magazines and newspapers- is primarily
two dimensional. The proscenium stage with its frame

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around the stage picture encourages us to use that two-

dimensional model. But life has three dimensions. In
addition to height and width there is always depth.
You will need to check out all three dimensions of the
action whatever the theatre's architectural form. If the
playing space is essentially seen from one side as with the
proscenium, remind yourself of choices which can give
the production more depth. Are there furniture pieces
downstage which encourage actors to use the full depth of
the stage? Do you use levels effectively so actors who are
further upstage can be seen when an actor is downstage
of them? Would a "raked" stage elevating the rear of the
set be worth the construction effort?
Even the old battle by egocentric actors which we call
"upstaging" is a part of this. Do some actors -
intentionally or unintentionally - get upstage of other
actors, forcing the downstage actor to turn his back to the
audience when he interacts?
At its simplest, this lens helps us see when the actors are
getting in one another's way. Like a photographer looking
through a viewfinder we suddenly become aware there
are things going on here which aren't in the picture. With
all the space around them, why are we allowing the action
to conceal part of itself?
Remember that actors can sit on the backs of couches as
well as seats, that it is useful to sit on the floor, that in
some theatres, the best way for all the audience to
experience distance may be for one of the actors to be in
the playing space and the other in the aisle with the
audience or even behind the audience.
You do not have to use all the available space in the
theatrical volume, but you should choose not to use what
remains unused. Do not forget it is there and with the
exercise of some creativity, it's available.
• The sixth lens: Watch for distractions. It's an unusual
production if there aren't moments, someti;rnes characters
and even whole scenes which never achieve the
believability the production needs. Nearing the end of
rehearsals you must watch for false notes and consider

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your options to soften their impact. Sometimes a line

delivered from off-stage or from the dark can be more
powerful than the actor exposed. Sometimes the support
of a sound cue can change the feel of a moment or even
a scene. Sometimes it is possible to change the scene's
focus, letting someone or something else become the
foreground.
Whatever you consider, your skill in nurturing positive
relationships among cast members and relationships
between you and the cast will likely be as important as
your creative blocking solutions. You will have gained
little if you improve a moment but lose an actor. On the
other hand, handled with sensitivity, actors will
sometimes be grateful for relief.
As you work to conceal shortcomings, remember the
power of evoking. Much of the time if we do less, if we
rely more on the audience's imagination, the moments
before and after can make us see what was never there.
• The seventh lens: Watch for the scoring of the play.
While your rehearsals may pull out all the stops to fully
invest the actors in any given scene, the final orchestration
requires a more judicial use of creative possibilities.
Directing a farce offers an opportunity to think about this.
Too many pratfalls too early and you have nowhere to go
as the play progresses. The audience will have grown
tired of the "bits" no matter how clever and well
motivated. Apply this to all the action. You must ration
your use of space, your discovery of new ways to work so
there will be surprise and climax when you need it most.
More than once, I have held back on a particular piece of
interesting business in the first act so something similar
would still be fresh and effective in act three.
There are some scripts where the score of the play, the
play's structure, is carried almost entirely by the words.
To hold it together all you need do is close your eyes and
listen. Any physical action which interferes with the flow
of what you hear is questionable. If you create a complex
physical scenario it may be interesting in itself, but it can
easily defy the "music" of the original play. Directors may
invent complex action which seems creative and even

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interesting, but it may change the rhythms of the play so

drastically the words and physical action never quite
come together.
However satisfied you are with the action of a production,
keep watching as it plays through over a series of
rehearsals and performances to see how you have
intentionally or unintentionally orchestrated the amount
and intensity of the movement. Watch the inevitable
rhythms and tempos created by the blocking. See how
they lead up to and follow the climaxes of the action. Just
as musical underscore can reach the audience at a basic
emotional level no words can match, the physical
movement of the play can have a powerful effect on our
response. To get the final production's best "harmony"
will require tinkering. Some of it good actors can sense
and intuitively adjust. Some you will need to direct.

Summary
Once you have become more discriminating in viewing the
layers of your production, you will find simple possibilities for
improving each of these concerns. In fact, you will find that
recognizing when some scenes can be multi-focus will help you
solve other views, integration of setting and action, for example.
Similarly, to see the possibilities for some action as background will
lead to better use of the full three-dimensional volume of the space.
In short, as you begin to view your work with more insight into
its many layers, you will find you quickly discover more and more
options for solutions.
Like the child building a house from an assortment of blocks
and cards, you begin to recognize you do, in fact, have strong
preferences. You can create visual harmony for the scene in front of
you. The trick is in discovering how to view what's there so you see
the possibilities.
Integrating action and setting, providing foreground and
background, using multi-focus and single-focus, insuring effective
scoring, considering the full volume of the space, getting the actors
at home on the stage, eliminating distractions - all of this taken as
a package can be overwhelming if you set out to create the perfect
visual picture. But if you are patient, if you allow the actors to do
much of the work, if you have developed the original setting with
insight into the action of the play, this imposing list may ultimately

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come down to two simple directorial tasks: watch and tinker. View
the work with one set of lenses at a time and see if you can identify
the most obvious places where some simple changes may make a
difference beyond that moment. You will be surprised at how
quickly the production becomes a more unified, more harmonious
whole.
Don't set up artificial goals for yourself. Don't worry about
"rules." Your primary goal is still the same whether the scene is
simple or complex: Make the action happen and make it affecting
for this audience. If you make changes, you'll know if the action is
getting more dramatic. Trust your insight. It's what you have to
give.

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 Chapter 31
Blocking: The Bigger Picture
Discoveries are often made by some individual
who has freed himself from a way of thinking by friends and associates
who may be better educated, better disciplined,
but who have not mastered the art of the fresh, clean look
at the old, old knowledge.
-Edwin Land, Inventor of the Polaroid Camera

Phil Jackson wrote, "There is more to basketball than basketball."

I find that rings true for me about a number of seeming absolutes
we think we understand. This book, for example, has certainly
suggested there is " ... more to theatre than theatre." Most of my
students seem to grasp the truth of that very quickly. In this last
chapter on blocking, let me suggest this variation on Jackson's
maxim: "There is more to blocking than blocking." There are larger
issues here than we may at first recognize. Some of these we have
already suggested. Some we haven't. Here's a final effort to
examine the "larger picture."
Is it fun?
If we let it, the challenge to create interesting action can
consume us. At its best, it offers a creative opportunity seemingly
without limits. At its worst, it presents us with problem after
problem to be solved. Suppose you were going to create sculpture
for each of the key moments in Macbeth or King Lear, how many
pieces of sculpture would you need? Imagine hammering out a
piece of life-sized, metal sculpture for each dramatic image in the
most action-filled, climactic minute. Imagine hammering out all the
distinct images for each minute in a complex, two-hour play.
Fortunately, good theatre, unlike sculpture, is alive. The very
process of experiencing the play produces discovery after discovery.
Not so surprisingly, these discoveries inevitably include interesting
blocking. In the best rehearsals, when the actors are invested in the
action, you look up and it's there. Appearing as if by magic. It may
take a little polishing, but the essence is there.
When the action is clear, when the key elements in the
production's style are meaningful and provocative for the actors,
creative results are a given. Dare I say it? It becomes play. Yes,

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serious playfulness. If you find yourself having to invest a great

deal of time and energy in blocking, and neither you nor your cast
are enjoying the creation, you probably haven't found the dramatic
action for the scene or you haven't discovered a good model for the
style of the production.
Benchmarks: A Minimal Process for
Working with Complex Scenes
But suppose the actors are too inexperienced to use the stage
well if we offer them freedom. Or suppose there are just too many
of them and the scene requires complicated movement. How do we
get them going? Can we move large numbers of people around
without its taking forever and trying everyone's patience?
When you find yourself surrounded by actors needing your
help to direct their journey through an active scene, the simplest
solution is to identify where you want them to be when they start,
where they are to be when the scene ends, and one or more
"benchmarks" along the way. Place the actors on the stage in their
assigned places - at the table down left, in the doorway, " ... you
two sitting side by side on the step," and so on- then roughly
describe for them the path each is to take to get from one benchmark
to the next. Associate each of the intervening benchmarks with a
line in the script so they know when they are to get to that position.
Run the scene. If it is complicated it will take several such run-
throughs to smooth it out. Tinker as you go. "Let's try it again, and
Mary, cross downstage in front of the table instead of above it; Ted,
leave earlier so you are in the doorway first and waiting for the
others to join you ... " and so on. Run it again. Your goal is not to
create the perfect picture, but to lay in the bare bones of the action
so actors, once "released," will be free to focus on the essentials of
the scene. Once they can do that, their own instincts will produce
minor changes in the scene and you can make others to improve the
visual image. Tinkering.
If you don't get the scene where you want it after a few run-
throughs, try to leave it so they can play the scene without stopping.
See how it works in the next few rehearsals. If it doesn't take on a
life of its own where the action seems to belong to the actors, take
the script and a model of the setting home with you - improvise
one if you need to - and work on it alone. When you have the next
"draft" read~ work with the cast again.
There will occasionally have to be some "blocking rehearsals,"
but not many.

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Remember, numbers make a difference. A two-person scene can

almost always be interesting if the actors relate to each other in
meaningful, simple ways, playing the needs and motivations
implied in their lines. If your actors are invested in the play's action,
you won't need to do a lot of arranging to keep a two-person scene
focused and the actors easily seen. Usually, it will also contain some
excellent "pictures" with very little help from the director.
When Less May Be More
Blocking, like all the theatre, needs a model. In the chapter on
theatrical style we suggested there are two basic approaches which
we can use as we begin: either we follow the standards established
by real life as we know it - and that life is reflected often in film -
or we follow the model of the storyteller who shares his created
world with the audience using whatever evocative conventions are
useful.
For the shorter play and the smaller house, the cartoon world
may be an excellent place to begin. Think of newspaper cartoons
drawn with all the faces full front: There may be very little life-like
representation; head size may be exaggerated, and torso, hands and
feet simply indicated. Some plays allow us to evolve a style of
blocking not too different from this.
More than once, after busily dictating a great deal of movement,
using considerable rehearsal time in the process, I have seen student
directors start again, producing superior results, with the single
suggestion that actors adopt some simple, acceptable "base" and
not move at all except to keep their faces alive and to use their arms
and hands in simple "cartoon-like" gestures.
Saturday Night Live offers interesting cartoon-based models in
many of their comedy sketches where the style suggests a simpler
world, where movement is not based on photographic real-life, but
is familiar to all of us just the same. Sesame Street and Saturday
morning cartoons offer other useful examples familiar to every
young cast. The trick is to find models your cast can share.
Here's the point: fish swim in water, they don't walk. What kind
of atmosphere supports the people in the world of your play? If you
can identify a useful model for movement, actors will create. They
will find ways to express what may have first seemed inexpressible.
They will begin to see possibilities for creating active, living,
expressive, life-filled beings.
Shoes That Pinch
Remember, many of our "blocking problems" come from the

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kind of theatre architecture we've settled for. In the name of order,

often in the name of efficiency, we frequently force our viewing into
uncomfortable forms. Buildings, like ill-fitting shoes, may stifle the
spirit.
Not long ago I spent several days doing research in the main
public library in Los Angeles. It's an interesting building- a union
of several buildings, really. Some old, some new, now organized
around a large, central atrium several stories high. Escalators move
you past the glass walls of various sub-libraries while overhead the
light reflects off tastefully hung decorations reaching upward from
the lowest floor to the glass ceiling above our heads.
It's a theatrical space.
Near the children's library, signs tell of a Storytelling Theatre. I
followed them to the designated space. Beautifully finished wood
enclosed a large screen in front flanked by two built-in television
monitors. An eight-foot carpeted area separated the screens from
the first row of risers. Tiny, carefully crafted chairs were lined up
together in seven or eight straight, stepped rows, tightly squeezed
together facing the screen. How long would the five- or seven-year-
olds tolerate sitting in these regimented lines, each line tantalizingly
close to the one in front of it? I found it difficult to imagine a young
audience grouped in such a fashion that did not provide its own
amusements at the expense of the story.
In contrast, as I was leaving the children's library, a gaggle of
children monitored by four or five adults were gathered in the
marble floored rotunda awaiting the order to march down the stairs
and on their way. As they waited, they sat in clusters on the floor. In
each group, a half dozen or so gathered together to peer over one
another's shoulders at the newly acquired books from the library. In
every cluster someone was telling his story. I had found my
Storyteller's Theatre.
The Role of the Audience
The best living theatre offers the opportunity for enriching the
experience through human contact- contact with other viewers as
well as performers. Yes, audience members can annoy and distract
us, but they can also stimulate us to new awareness. True for
performers and other audience members alike.
The arena stage offers an interesting phenomenon. When we
watch two actors speaking to one another often one has his back to
us, but across the way we can usually read not only the reactions of
those who are in the audience but through them we can sense the

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reactions of the hidden performer. Unlike the proscenium stage, we

will accept significant moments in which we cannot see an actor's
face because it is reflected in the faces of others.
Blocking can take advantage of an audience's becoming an
indirect or direct part of the performance. There is power in
audience faces across from you reflecting the action you can't see.
There is power in the audience which separates the young lover
from her betrothed across the way. Two singing a love song across a
stream of upturned audience faces is different from singing across
an empty space. In fact, all of us have spent wonderful nights in the
theatre when a particular audience was so life-filled we were all
delighted to be there - actors and audience members alike. It
brought out the best in each of us.
Here is the question: Are we all in this experience together or
not? If we are, then how can our sharing the space, the action, the
emotions help us all celebrate and experience the life radiated by
those watching and breathing together - actors and audience
alike?
One of the interesting depth or distance creators in many
productions is to introduce an actor totally outside the assumed
playing space. He appears in a light slot in the ceiling or on the
balcony railing. What we begin to see is the possibility for
intentionally suggesting that the actor has gone from the world of
the play into the world of the viewer or into another world newly
defined.
Working with the interactions of these different worlds
becomes part of the living theatre's magic.
The Gift of the Evocative Space
When we sense in a theatre space a place for the meeting of
worlds, when we immediately grasp its potential for not only
evoking new worlds but for building bridges to enter into them and
return again, when we feel the evocative power in the space itself,
we lean forward in our places and eagerly wait for the journey to
unfold.
For me, Stratford's Festival Theatre, seen for the first time, was
such a space. Guthrie and Moseiwitsch changed the entire dynamic
of the thrust stage by using entranceways out from under the
audience onto the forestage. Suddenly the apron stage did not
require the traditional "Elizabethan actor exit" - did not require
turning backs to the audience and retreating. The sweeping exit of
one scene down right could be carried out simultaneously with the

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beginning of another from down left. The entire flow of productions

changed.
In episodic plays like those of Shakespeare, the thrust stage
became amazingly versatile when Guthrie developed another
simple convention: The multiple platforms on the Stratford
architectural stage were seldom used for different locales. Instead,
almost all the primary action took place center stage, where all the
audience could see it best. What changed that location was the way
actors entered. Hence, to come up out of a trap door turned center
stage into a tower. To come down the steps right and left into that
same space put the scene in the dungeon. Space was changed by the
way the actors entered it. It's an idea I have used in hundreds of
different ways since first observing it.
For twenty years of my creative life, I sought to write and direct
plays for a multi-leveled thrust stage created because of the
possibilites evoked by Stratford's stage.
Keeping the Creative Process Alive
Why is all this important- this search for an easier way, a more
evocative way, a space that seems to demand our attention, that
seems special? Life, energy, joy- the very stuff that makes theatre
exciting - comes from the creative process. Too much time spent
shutting down those impulses, too much time laboriously spent
following instructions on how to get from A to B and we will have
lost the opportunity for discovery after discovery. Without realizing
it, we can turn our productions into pictures carefully colored
within the lines, drained of the vitality rehearsal exploration might
have brought. Too often, after time and energy spent on the
mechanics, we are satisfied to share only a small portion of what
might have been.
Memorizing lines, blocking rehearsals, technical and dress
rehearsals, as important as they are, are also potential thieves. They
can rob the actors of their creative spirits. Guard against it. Find
ways to nurture the joy of creating.
I shall never forget the effortless blocking I witnessed once in a
demonstration by the Alwin Nikoli Dance Company. A group of a
dozen or so dancers were moving spontaneously to music and on
simple random commands they stopped. Each time, the picture was
beautiful. All of it accomplished by the dancers' intuitive reaction to
the music, the space and to each other. Each time they froze there
was a wonderful harmony in the group before us. It was a vivid
reminder that human beings, if encouraged, do have the capacity to

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sense the whole, to make themselves meaningfully part of a scene

larger than themselves. Yes, you may need to help with the final
tinkering, but keeping the creativity alive can pay handsome
dividends.
For the director who can see the whole picture, blocking -
creating the mise-en-scene involves not only the challenge of the
final picture, but the journey that gets us there. As with all of
theatre, the good director learns to choose. Yes, you must learn to
create valuable, imaginative choreography. But you can also offer
the right small piece of blocking at just the right time and let the
actors finish the task. And in some cases, your most valuable
contribution may be to do nothing, to stifle your impulse to block
and instead - wait. Wait for them to get in touch with their own
impulses. Your job at any given moment: See both the immediate
and long range values and choose wisely.

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 Part Six Assignments
Directing a Chosen Scene
in a Found Theatrical Space
For many of the scenes from earlier assignments you may have
been working in interesting spaces not originally intended for
performance or even for rehearsal. If so, this assignment will not be
entirely new in its spatial demands. What may be new is the
invitation to choose your own material to match a theatrical space.
You may find you suddenly see the possibilities for bringing to life
part of your favorite book or returning to a film you have long
admired to see what happens when you try to bring a part of it to
an audience here, now. You may have several contemporary plays
you have read or seen which seem likely to capture the imagination
of your cast. Whatever it is, we start this assignment with "space,"
but its success will depend not only on your skill in evolving a
compelling environment, but in the production's having something
to say. As you begin, remind yourself that whatever space you
choose, it will profit from the script speaking to you.
The Performance Assignment
Choose a space which you believe to be u dramatic" - one
where an audience would expect something dramatic to
happen. Where you feel good or excited just to be there,
where a strong mood is evoked without adding any
scenery. Where there is a sense of anticipation even before
the play begins.
Your initial choice may be one where it's difficult to
perform even a brief scene without interference. Because
we all have memories of thousands of scenes from film,
we sometimes forget that film production companies on
location go to great length to control sound and other
elements which might interrupt the performance and then
edit the sound again after the filming. Consider your site
carefully. How practical is it? Depending on the script,
you may find a way to allow the audience to see and hear
without distraction or interruption. If not, try a second
choice. In most instances you will need to secure
permission to perform (and usually to rehearse) in your

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"found space."
After you're satisfied you have a theatrical space, choose
a script for performance there. You may want to consider
any one of several sources. In addition to proven plays,
consider a film script or consider adapting a scene from a
short story or a novel. Be careful of choosing a piece with
too many characters or too complicated an action. The
real goal here is to use the space well to support bringing
a particular scene to life. Take advantage of the mood and
atmosphere evoked by your space. Find ways to integrate
the action with the site so actors are able to do things they
might not be able to do normally or which would have a
very different impact in the usual rehearsal room or more
obvious setting.
Be sure to include plans for arranging your audience as
part of the total production scheme. In many cases if your
classmates make up the majority of the viewers, they can
probably watch the scene sitting on the ground or
standing in a designated place. Consider the possibility
there are several different viewpoints which might be
interesting. Audience members may want to see the scene
from a different place when you show it a second time.
Occasionally I have had remarkable scenes where the audience
moved with the actors through a space or along a path as the action
progressed. Stairwells, elevators (where the audience is on the
elevator and the actors on different floors or just the opposite), bell
towers, garages, rooftops, churches, attics, basements, porches, trees
(yes, I've had some wonderful scenes performed in trees), children's
playgrounds, barns, swimming pools - anyplace is a possible site.
Don't forget the possibility of evoking more than the setting
provides. Often, again conditioned by film, we assume we need
only find a restaurant to play a scene in a restaurant. In fact, we
usually need to transform the space. That is, we lift it out of the
mundane by helping people see it differently. Sometimes that's as
simple as choosing an unusual audience viewpoint. To put the
viewers up close, on the floor where they see feet and legs and hear
voices with an occasional glimpse of faces may be incredibly
dramatic.
What's important is that you ask yourself how it feels to be
there. I've had some wonderful scenes performed on campus

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rooftops in the rain as the audience stood holding umbrellas, the

wind blowing in our faces. We might not tolerate seeing a whole
play -not even a one act- performed under those circumstances,
but for a short scene, the setting can seem invaluable to actors and
audience alike. It can become one we won't forget.
It's the magic we're after. The magic of being there. Finding we
were all there, in the right place at the right time. Sometimes a
director will seek out an environment that seems literally perfect. It
is a library- for a scene that is supposed to take place in a library.
The stage directions tell us that. But when we see the scene, it is
clear this library contributed little. Books piled high on a table in an
empty room with the right lamps lighting the space might have
been more evocative.
Don't overlook the impact the setting has on both the
performers and the audience. Often a cast will profit from
rehearsing in a particular environment, but the audience will be
distracted by traffic or other elements which don't seem to make a
difference until a group of viewers are gathered around the action.
On the other hand, we sometimes have the perfect performance
place in mind, but the actors never feel at home there. Maybe there
was too little time for rehearsal, or maybe it looked interesting from
the audience's viewpoint, but for the actors it provided no felt
support.
You're after the magic. For both actor and audience, you're after
the theatrical space.
Rehearsal and Performance
Creating and/ or using a space for performance, even for
a limited audience, is often not a simple task. You may or
may not find it easy to rehearse, perform, rehearse again
and perform a second time in the same space. (And, of
course, there is the real possibility that at least some of
those rehearsals might profit from being held in some
other space.)
With many scenes the learning following the first critique
may focus on the possibility of changing the setting to
better support the performance. For this reason, there is
value in showing the scene a second time, when we can
take advantage not only of critical commentary, but of
the experience of having had an audience in our space. The
second showing may become much simpler or it might
add better light or sound or more effective seating for the

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audience. It might even result in moving to a rehearsal

room performance if you believe the real strength of the
piece can better be seen with a more familiar
environment. In short, performing twice with two
critiques and the opportunity for rehearsal between
showings should again give you a chance to take
advantage of what you learn from the initial presentation.
It is probable that some will learn the space is more
difficult to handle and less "dramatic" than they first
believed.

The Critique
This assignment allows a great deal of freedom in the
production choices. For that reason alone, you'll probably have the
opportunity to compare a number of very different approaches to
the assignment. Start, as usual, by getting out on the table the
obvious elements the audience enjoyed. Share with one another
spaces you liked, how you felt in them, scripts which were
appealing, individual performances which surprised you and styles
of production which seemed creative and exciting.
Don't overlook times when simpler may have been better or
when actors appeared extremely comfortable in the space
enhancing the believability of the scene. See if you can identify
instances where the production evoked important characteristics in
the world of the play by using simple elements in the setting or in
light or sound. How did the actors' use of the space contribute to its
feel? Were there times when you couldn't see or hear as you
wanted? What are the possibilities for solving those problems? Were
there some "pictures" which are so vivid you will remember them?
How were they achieved? Were there others which distracted? How
could they be resolved?
Because of the freedom in choosing materials and the possible
problems in adapting literature not originally written for the
theatre, you will need to consider, not only your success in finding
a space which provides an effective home for the script, but, in some
instances, your success in adapting or choosing the material. In
particular, did the use of space help make it easier to bring this
material to life? Did the director find conventions which served the
script, the space and the actors, making it possible for all three to
contribute to the audience's experience?

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Take time during the critique to break the group into

smaller units where in threes and fours you can talk about
not only what you saw in performance, but what you
experienced in rehearsals. Discuss what you are learning
about the evolutionary nature of blocking and the shared
roles of the director and the actor. Talk about actor
impulses which were given free reign with positive
results and others which may have been stifled or which
were allowed to distract from the dramatic action of the
play.
Finally, as a group, consider the early generalization from
this section that the director should view the space with
the same care that he uses in choosing a script or
auditioning an actor. In the scenes you developed does it
appear that was true? How much of the success of these
scenes depends on the script and actors merging well
with the environment? Did each enhance the contribution
of the other? How much effect did the actor I audience
relationship have on the immediate impact of the scenes?
Of their likelihood of being remembered? What changes
in your own thinking about space and blocking resulted
from this assignment experience?

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 Part Six Summary
The Director and the Theatrical Space
We began Part Six by declaring the importance of theatrical
space. After some twenty chapters where we had repeatedly
cautioned the beginning director to make experiencing the play the
first concern of rehearsals, we now asserted the director should
approach space with as much care as studying the script or
evaluating an actor.
Contradiction? Reversal of basics? What's the premise for such
a sweeping generalization?
"As simple as it is, as obvious as is our intellectual
understanding of it, we still forget that the one great asset of the
living theatre is the ability of the actor and the audience to
interact." If you take for granted a theatre's shape or size, if you
accept, without reservation, the fixed relationship of a playing space
and an audience area, we said, "Look again!" Each time you
undertake a production assess the spaces available to you. Make the
"feel" of space a lifelong study.
To develop the most effective spatial use in a production
requires not only knowing what to do, but when to do it. How do
we keep the windows open for creativity? For discovery and
experience? In short, how can we do it simpler? "How can working
in the space be a joy instead of a struggle? How can the space
encourage the cast and crew, enhance the production, invite the
interaction of cast and audience?"
Blocking is too important, we said, to be under the exclusive
control of the director. There is too much "life" in the actor's
impulses to allow director dominance at your collaborators'
expense.
No, no- this was not a plea for self-blocking for actors. Not a
case for the latter in that old, mid-century argument, to-block or
not-to-block. Rather it was a plea for understanding the sometimes
subtle, but inevitable effect of space on audience and actors alike. A
reminder of the power of the feel of space, the emotional effect of
being there. Being there together. Actor with actors. Audience
member with audience members. Actors with audience. It was a
plea for recognizing the effect of space not only on the mechanics of
setting, on visibility and hearing, but on the style of the event. On
the audience's ability to connect. On the very nature of the audience

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and actors' interaction with all the subtle differences of varying

performances, varying anticipations and histories - those held by
both audience and actors - and varying physical viewpoints from
which to experience the events.
The material in Part Six was aimed at making us rethink what
we have, too often, " ... gotten used to." Too often we have
underestimated the potential power of coming together with an
audience in a special place. We have accepted spatial models which
no longer stimulate our audiences and which require labor and
financing beyond our means. When we have sought better spaces,
we have equated "more evocative" with "newer." We have assumed
more sophisticated technology brings better theatre. (How many
mediocre productions have you seen in theatres which the playbill
told you were "state of the art"?) We have allowed ourselves to be
preoccupied with external embellishments in creating for an art
which deals in intimate, human vulnerability.
We have not ignored "blocking." No less than four chapters
have been devoted to it. We've provided an extended look at the
process, both the initial efforts in preparation for work with
designers and casting, and the evolution of blocking as part of the
rehearsals. We've provided "lenses" for shaping the production-
ways to better see and shape what the audience will see. No, we
have not ignored blocking, but we have been as concerned with the
right amount and the right time to offer it as with our own spatial
contribution. Don't be seduced by your own cleverness was the
warning. Can we provide too much spatial direction? Absolutely.
Yes, we said, you will have to learn to "see"- see what gives
emphasis, what helps actors be seen and heard, what creates mood
and atmosphere, and what carries the dramatic action of the play.
Rules alone will not do it. The oft-repeated, out-dated primers
based on proscenium stages and blocking triangles are not only
inadequate for the job, they create a false sense of accomplishment.
They replace discovery and experiencing with manipulation and
rote imitation. Carried to extreme, they sap energy and redirect
focus making "getting it right" more important than "bringing it
alive."
At the end we suggested a simple test for evaluating your
process: Is there any fun in it? If blocking is laborious, seeming to
go on forever, it may be doing more harm than good. In short, there
is an end to the best discoveries for spatial use that goes beyond the
pictures and even the feel of the scene performed. That end is in the
process itself which may have lasting effects we fail to recognize.

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 The Director and the Theatrical Space

Remember: Life, energy, joy - the very stuff that makes theatre
exciting - comes from the creative process. Too much time spent
shutting down those impulses, laboriously following instructions
on how to get from A to B, and we lose the opportunity for
discovery after discovery. "Without realizing it, we can turn our
productions into pictures carefully colored within the lines, drained
of the vitality rehearsal exploration might have brought. Too often,
after time and energy spent on the mechanics, we are satisfied to
share only a small portion of what might have been."
Ultimately, theatrical spaces, blocking - all of what was once
thought of as the visual element of the theatre- become part of a
much more vital concern for today' s director than most recognize.
We're not speaking of spectacle. Not even of novelty. We're
speaking of contact. What it feels like to sit down together. What it
feels like to sit in a familiar black chair, logs burning in the fireplace,
your partner sitting beside you when the music of Jacques Brel
begins on the stereo and you look into one another's eyes and
laugh. You laugh together. Why? Because you're there. Memories
and all. You are there - together. You can feel it in your whole
being. It's what we're after. Being there together.
We want to feel it. Feel what it's like to sense the star-filled sky
over our heads and the wind blowing on a cool spring night and
then - then, hear the words. We want to be in a tiny barren room,
the sound of waves corning through the windows, and with ten or
twelve or fifty others, sit encircling the speaker who looks at each of
us because he cannot speak. And as we watch we know what he
cannot say. Know as his tears bring tears to us all. We want to whip
out our handkerchiefs to wipe our faces, knowing that the man
beside us is doing the same. Want to see the woman across from us
bend down to whisper to her young son, want to see his small eyes
look up at us and then at the actor in our midst. He too has felt it.
We want to be there as the actor comes off the platform and stands
beside him. When he puts his hand on the boy's shoulder and looks
at us all. We want to watch him speak his final words and turn his
back and disappear into the dark. We'll look up at the ceiling
together in the silence of the story's ending. And as the lights come
up we'll know we've been there. In this place. Together.
Yes, we need better scripts. Yes, we need more sensitive acting.
But we need to share the feel of "now" if the theatre is to break from
its preoccupation with superficial tradition.
The sensitive use of space can be an amazingly powerful
element in helping us create a dramatic action that reaches an

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audience. For much too long we have continued to refer to

"experimental theatre" when we see departures from long standing
spatial conventions. It is as if "real" artists could only create on a
three- by four-foot canvas or music could only be played on a piano.
Perhaps the need wouldn't be so urgent if technology had not
delivered other media for the theatrical experience. But film,
television and computers are here. Their impact has changed
forever the way our children see the earth - see one another. We
who have struggled with this revolution can only imagine the view
of the young who have never known reality without projection
screens. Of course the living theatre seems overshadowed by the
new big kids on the block. That's been the case for at least half a
century.
Outdated, nearly forgotten, the living theatre clings to forms
and styles which have long since been better done by its muscle-
flexing cousins. We are busy shifting our scenery with ropes and
pulleys. Ropes and pulleys! Our actors are trained to project. We
seek "standard speech." The Disney empire creates productions
where the actor is instantly replaceable. Voices on tape. Masks and
costumes define the performer. And who is inside that machine
speaking to us? Does he see us? Does he hear our laughter? Does he
see the pain on our faces? Does he know we understand?
The irony is in the need. More than ever, the audiences of our
time - all of us - are desperate for meaningful and safe contact.
For ways to interact- without fear. We desperately seek validation.
Validation that our being there makes a difference. That we can
share. That you too feel as I do. "Come over here, into this quiet
place. Here. Come with me here. Let's get together here where we
are reminded of a different time, where we see the earth's
memories, where we can study one another's faces without
intimidation - come with me here and listen to this incredible
story. Look at him there beside you. Look around you. Isn't it
amazing just to be here? Can you feel it? ... "
That's the point: space feels. If it's well chosen, if it's used well,
you can feel it. You can feel it around you and you can feel the
impact of one another in that space. It connects us. It brings us alive.

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Part Seven
The Whole Picture

"Whatever the management challenges, they must

not be allowed to override our determination to
develop the basics of quality theatre.

"Most plays are saved, not by having all the time and
materials we want, but by recognizing where to best
invest the time we have. By understanding which
materials are essential and which are luxuries.

"You must begin to see what your company can do.

Not someone else's vision, not what they did in
New York, but what is possible for you."
 Overleaf, top left, Walt Whitman and the Civil War by Tom Isbell and
John Ahart on the indoor stage at New Salem; top right and bottom,
two productions on the permanent architectural setting of the
outdoor theatre at New Salem, Illinois: right, John Ahart's Even We
Here; bottom, John Ahart's Your Obedient Servant, A. Lincoln,
© Larry Kanfer Photography www.kanfer.com
 Chapter 32
From Scenes to Plays
[Technocrats are] big on organizational charts.
Vert} big on systems and structures and rules.

Their need to be in control, to dominate, to prevent mistakes,

automatically causes them to act in a way
that removes authority from evenJone else.

Can you teach someone who is serious, detail-oriented,

rigid, and methodical to be imaginative, wise, entrepreneurial, or funny?
If so, you're a better teacher than I.
- Patricia Pitcher, The Drama of Leadership

Tryouts, rehearsal schedules, costumes, settings, tech and dress

rehearsals - every experienced director knows there is an
enormous difference between directing a full length play and
rehearsing a five minute scene.
Much of the challenge inherent in the move to longer efforts has
to do with management. How do we schedule our rehearsals? How
do we budget our time? How do we manage a larger cast? How do
we blend together a more complex group of collaborators? In short,
how do we organize? How do we organize time and people and
materials?
The most logical means of going from scenes to full-length,
complex productions is to move through a progression with each
succeeding· effort presenting a modest new management demand: a
series of somewhat longer plays, each with a somewhat larger cast
in a somewhat more complex production situation than you
undertook last time.
Does it happen that way?
Almost never.
"Opportunities" and the Next Production
Most ambitious young directors will find a way to do larger
productions, usually before they are prepared to handle them. In
fact, young or inexperienced directors will often accept
responsibility for directing a production under extremely difficult
conditions - circumstances where a more experienced director

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The Director's Eye

would retreat in horror. It's a little like auditioning for a small role
and being unexpectedly cast as the lead. If you turn it down, who
knows when the next opportunity will come? To be given a chance
to direct often feels like an award, a validation of apparent talent.
There is implicit trust in the offer.
These first "opportunities" often demand a great deal of
attention be given to obvious shortfalls: Not enough people try out
to cast the play well. Not enough labor is available to build the sets
we envisioned. Not enough people are reliable so we have to find
substitutes to fill in for actors or crew. In short, directing becomes an
exercise in shortfall and crisis management. It becomes an invitation
to develop, what Patricia Pitcher might call, the "Technocrat" in you.
Resist it.
If you find yourself in the middle of what you begin to suspect
is one of these questionable "opportunities," don't despair. Most of
us who have worked a while have done the same. The keys are two:
One, don't abandon your own insight into what constitutes quality
work, and two, whatever your company and your audience tells
you about your success, take a careful inventory after you finish.
Ask yourself, "Where did I not have the time or the materials or the
people to do what I know we could have accomplished under better
conditions? What does that tell me about my next effort?"
Applying the Learnings from Scene Work
If we are honest, we all know something about quality. At least,
you should have begun to know. The most obvious value of
thorough scene work is that it helps the director begin to see what's
possible. If you work with a modest amount of well selected
material and if you have a mentor who urges you on to higher
standards, it is soon apparent you were only beginning when you
thought you were finished. Moreover, you begin to see what is
efficient and what pays off even if you have to abandon the more
routine rehearsal expectations to invest in them.
With only a three- or five-minute scene to develop, it is much
easier to see. When relationships become believable, when the
language belongs to the actors, when the action starts to arouse real
feelings in the performers, we care. We respond to the scene. We
want to see the rest of the play. In scene work- particularly in the
work of others - we see that. Eventually, we begin to see it in our
own work. Without the play's becoming believable, without its
becoming significant, we are indifferent. The scene is eminently
forgettable. In a three- or five-minute cutting, there is not enough

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 From Scenes to Plays

plot, not enough scenery to disguise the shallowness of

unbelievable work.
Once you gain these insights, each extended directing effort,
whether it is a one-act play with two characters or a full-length play
with thirty, must be tested by the same standards. Have we brought
the world of the play alive? Is the action believable? Do we care?
Did our rehearsals give us an opportunity to discover and
experience the action of the play, and have we found a style which
shares the play with the audience?
Why the warning? Why would you do otherwise?
Maybe you won't, but most beginners- when confronted with
the managerial demands of more complex plays - seem to be so
pleased at having avoided catastrophe it is easy for them to forget
the core. Whatever the management challenges, they must not be
allowed to override our determination to develop the basics of
quality theatre. You, more clearly than anyone else, have the
possibility of knowing what you have accomplished and what has
been left undeveloped.
It's human nature that we sometimes overestimate our skills or
our resources. The real test comes in what you choose to do next
time.
Scene Work and the Rehearsal Unit
There is another benefit from scene work: It teaches you the
basic rehearsal unit for the longer play. Frequently, more
demanding efforts fail because the director doesn't yet appreciate
the "unit" as the key to rehearsals no matter how complex or how
long the play.
If you watch actors who are floundering in a full-length play,
it's usually apparent they don't know how the moments they are
playing relate to the whole. The tedious production, even when the
acting is somewhat believable, loses its urgency and momentum
when the whole seems too much for the actors. Rehearsals haven't
made major sections of the play seem essential. To go back to a
simple unit analysis - where each unit's beginning and ending is
clear, where rehearsals demand the actors experience the action and
function of each unit before going on to the next, where rehearsals
are organized around the special demands of each unit - can
rescue most floundering casts.
The director's fear is "not enough time." Not enough time to
carefully rehearse each unit.
The task seems simple: Work on units alone, then link two and

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The Director's Eye

three units together and repeat them until the flow is clear;
following that, link those three units to another three or four to
experience the act's build to a climax. Do it again and again until it
is familiar and reliable.
But suppose the time-fear is justified.
Suppose there isn't enough time to give every unit the
individual care you might have given it had it been the whole of
your scene work. Here's the secret: As you work on longer plays
you must become increasingly skillful at recognizing which units
most need your attention. You must select the units which, if
carefully rehearsed, will transfer the payoff to other units which
may never receive equal time and attention. If you are insightful in
selecting the units, you can do thorough "scene work" on one or
two units in each act and the entire play will improve threefold.
What you are acknowledging is that we all make sudden leaps
in our understanding when we go through key experiences. Just
when we think we know what it is to be a student, a son or
daughter, a worker, a lover, a patient, a victim - we go through a
new experience where we learn a whole new definition. We gain not
only information, but wisdom. It will change not only the
relationship with our boss or our partner, but it will affect
everything we do.
Plays are the same. Find the right units and it will get to the
very core of the characters and their involvement in the action.
Yes, it is important to learn how much time and effort we need
to develop longer scripts and work with bigger casts. It is important
to learn how to plan and manage the rehearsal period so that
essential parts of the play and elements essential to the production
are not short-changed as we respond to the cacophony of voices
wanting our attention. But we need to recognize that insight into
our choice of investment will have a great deal to do with our
success.
Most plays are saved, not by having all the time and materials
we want, but by recognizing where to best invest the time we have.
By understanding which materials are essential and which are
luxuries.
Use Your Magic Wand
Remember, as you move to larger and more complex
productions, it is often clear that a great deal of work has yet to be
done, but what comes first? That is the primary job of the director
in management and organization: discovering priorities. What do

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we need to develop now to get us to the next step?

My graduate student directors used to talk about my "magic
wand." When I would make my rounds, coming into rehearsals to
see where they were with their productions - how they were
working and what success they were having in bringing the script
alive and finding its unique style- there would usually be some
particular problem they could not solve. Some moment that was
simply untrue or some barrier to the carrying out of the dramatic
action or making the world believable. Often I would make a simple
suggestion or work briefly with the cast on a particular moment. If
I was able to remove the barrier, the improvement in that moment
would affect a great deal more of the play. "Magic," they said.
Like all magic, there was a simple explanation: If you find the
real source of difficulty and solve the problem, it will affect the
whole. Remind yourself how this works with the human being.
Sure, we have to attend to every part of the body, but if something
is seriously wrong with the heart or with the brain it is going to
affect all of us much more profoundly than if it is something wrong
with our finger or our rib. When it comes to human illnesses, we
take for granted that we have to sort out priorities. In an accident,
we check for heartbeat and breathing. We stop the bleeding. We try
to protect the spinal column from unnecessary movement. Then we
go on to see what else is injured. For the production that often
means we have to go back to something very basic just when our
inner clock says it's time to polish the play or when we are
scheduled for tech or dress rehearsals.
Don't be shocked if you discover one of your actors - maybe
all of them - still doesn't understand certain key moments or if,
very late in rehearsals, you have to spend time freeing an actor from
rote memorization. Always look for the blocks to believability and
significance and attend to the need. It is never too late to try to make
the action happen. Even when you must go ahead with planned
tech or dress rehearsals, somehow find time to schedule rehearsals
which address the blocks. Remember, it may be only one actor who
is the key. Work with him for an hour and everything changes.
I know of a fewgroups who will rehearse a play for six months
or more. The cast begins to repeat run-throughs of whole acts and
then of the entire play over and over again. They begin to substitute
perfecting .mechanical details for experiencing the action of the
drama and raising the stakes. When the production opens the
audience may provide a shot of adrenaline and actors may
rediscover the story and the joy of playing it, but if the depth of

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exploration has been missed the work soon goes back on automatic
pilot. Should you have that rare opportunity to rehearse for an
unlimited time, or an especially extended time, the problem shifts,
but priorities are equally important. To endlessly repeat superficial
work may make some moments smoother, but without the
stimulation of an audience, without having addressed priorities,
without discovering which is the heart and which is the brain, those
run-throughs all too often drain the very life out of the cast.
Musicals with Trappings but Little Theatre
Musical comedies are probably the genre where the director is
asked most frequently to accept responsibility without extensive
preparation. Each spring, all over the country there are musicals
produced by groups where the "director" has had little practice in
discovering and experiencing the action of a play.
What happens? Usually, the mechanics win out. You have to
sing the notes. You must be able to dance- at least some. So here
are the steps you have to learn. The scenery has to be changed and
when it is ready actors have to be in place. They exit here - like
this. And so it goes. There is a lot of memorization of detail. Lots.
Frequently, a strong conductor or musical director may make
the music admirable, a choreographer may- although less often-
find enough dancers to provide dances which are joyous and
invigorating to audience as well as performers, and good designers
may capture our attention with imaginative settings and costumes.
But the directing? More often than not, the director will have done
well to help non-acting singers become reasonably comfortable and
less self-conscious. If they sing well, if the orchestra is skilled, the
music will probably carry the show. The costumes may provide the
most remembered visual image or it may be the lighting when the
water comes up out of the fountain ''right here on our stage."
The point is, such work barely taps the power of the theatre to
move us by digging into the human experience. The best musicals,
singing and all, will tap that human experience. Pavarotti is not
only a great tenor with a beautiful voice. When he sings he gets us
to the core of what is happening to a human being.
The Effect of Schedule Expectations
Most producing organizations will have developed their own
standards for rehearsal time. If you suspect you need longer than
their usual practice, you will need to negotiate that before accepting
the director's role. It is important that actors and support crews
have as clear an idea as you can give them of your expectations.

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Conversely, it is equally important you know their assumptions.

The usual academic theatre organization will take six weeks of
evening rehearsals (using four hours each night) to prepare most
full-length plays and two to three weeks for one-acts. In this
country, most professional productions are rehearsed for about
three weeks. But there are lots of exceptions. Some difficult
productions simply can't be prepared in such a short time. If you
have an experienced cast and they are familiar with the play, or if
key members of the cast are accustomed to working together, you
may need less time. If you use it wisely, you will almost always
profit from having more.
Some of the most important work an actor does on the
production can best be done alone, provided he or she knows how
to work productively. Hence, time away from rehearsals should be
valuable. It often isn't. You must know your cast well to evaluate
how much progress they will make between rehearsals. In some
cases it is simpler to bring all of them to the rehearsal environment,
scheduling some to work with you on a scene while others use the
time to work individually until called for.
One of the serious obstacles in handling a large cast is how to
deal with actors who are present but not involved in the action
being rehearsed. The director should set very specific expectations
for their being ready when needed, but out of the way so as not to
distract actors whose concentration is demanded by the scene being
explored. In most cases, this means keeping the main rehearsal space
free of non-rehearsal conversations and distracting movement.
A strong ensemble is often more important than any individual
performance. It is no accident that most team sports call for our
using no more than a dozen players at once. If cast size goes over a
dozen or so, it is difficult for one person to give each actor as much
attention as he or she needs to be an essential part of the work. One
of the director's biggest challenges is how to keep actors in small
roles involved in enough rehearsals for them to sense how they fit
into the whole play:

• Consider casting a company but not assigning specific

roles until after you have rehearsed the play for several
days. During that time make sure everyone experiences
the action of the play, works with much of the dialog
and begins to appreciate the function of all the roles.
• In many production situations it may be practical to

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The Director's Eye

have actors playing small roles also serve as assistant

stage managers or assistant directors. Sometimes even
using them as part of the running crew will help them
become more continuously connected with the
production.
• Often it is valuable to have an experienced, trusted actor
who will act as a "leader of the chorus" for minor roles.
That person should be cast, in part, because you know
others in minor roles will respect the example he or she
sets for working.
• Take time to work with each actor occasionally, no
matter how small the role.
• In some plays it may be possible to cast an actor in more
than one role rather than increase the size of the cast.
• When practical let an actor in a small role understudy
one of the leads. You never know when you may need
someone to take over a role. Be careful of implying you
will provide them with extensive rehearsal in the role.
You may not have time for understudy rehearsals. What
can often be valuable is for the understudy and the
primary actor to work together in a nurturing
partnership.
• If you have casts larger than a dozen you need to have
trusted associates or assistants- this includes musical
directors or choreographers - whose responsibilities
include developing a committed ensemble within the
larger cast. In turn, you must work closely with those
assistant or associate directors to insure that all of you
reenforce the same values and goals, eventually
bringing the entire group together.
Be careful of the actor who only knows his own thirty seconds
of involvement. He can become a very disruptive influence on the
cast during that other three or more hours of nightly contact
whether it be rehearsal or performance.
Flexibility of Schedules
Give yourself the opportunity to modify rehearsals depending
on what you see before you. With a few exceptions such as setting
times for tech and dress rehearsals well in advance, try to make out

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specific schedules covering only a few days at a time. Yes, if yours

is a producing theatre where actors have many competing demands
on their time, you will need to distribute a general "availability
contract," often at auditions and certainly at the first rehearsal. On
it you will make clear how many days a week and at what hours
you expect actors to be available. Within these available times, as
rehearsals progress, issue specific schedules - I find it best to do
this twice each week. Within even a two- or three-day schedule,
have some blocks of time which are totally flexible. Times when you
can use anyone who is asked to attend that day. Know that you have
time to keep going on a pivotal scene until you get it where it needs
to be. Know that you can come back to a messy scene from
yesterday to continue the work which began to show promise.
Know that later on tonight you can focus on part of a unit until you
can get it to work.
One of the values of assistant directors and stage managers is to
help keep more than one kind of rehearsal going simultaneously. It
is not that you expect others to do the same work you do with the
cast. In fact, you have to be careful your assistants and you do not
give conflicting reactions. What assistants can best do, is help create
several different arenas for different kinds of work and help move
actors from one to the other at the appropriate times.
Assistants can be especially helpful in encouraging the actors to
continue working where repetition is the key. Have them work with
short scenes to improve memorization, to become comfortable with
physical action, or to learn to handle or respond to environments.
They can help with scenes where tempos need to be increased as the
actors become more confident or where the physical intensity or
investment needs to be greater. Often to get a scene started with a
particular kind of rehearsal, then turning it over to another director
with "Run this short unit several times and then go on to the next
one," will free you to move to a more complex rehearsal problem
with others.
If you have developed skills at shifting from one kind of
rehearsal to another during your scene work, let those practices
guide you here. Some of this will need to be scheduled in advance,
but other parts will not. A simple "To be announced" or "Units from
Act I" on your rehearsal schedule will do.
The prim9-ry issue will often be which actors you call for that
day artd what times you want them to be there. Remember, any
actor who is not in contact with the working rehearsals for more
than a day or two will have difficulty getting back in touch with the

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The Director's Eye

work. Even if they have very small roles, they will usually need to
be called a couple of times each week to give them an opportunity
to sense how the play is progressing.
As you prepare your call sheets, you sometimes will need to call
the entire cast, sometimes only the principals, sometimes only the
cast of an act and so on. Within those limits, use a variety of
rehearsal styles to get at the work most important now.
In the next chapter you will be introduced to seven different
stages in the rehearsal progression. It is impossible to put time
requirements on each stage which apply to all productions.
Nevertheless, you will do well to estimate the time you need for
each of these stages as you develop an overall plan for the total
rehearsal period. Pencil it in on your own calendar and share your
general plan with your assistants and stage manager. Hold regular
meetings with these key assistants to keep them abreast of your
progress in meeting the goals. As you make out each distributed
two- or three-day schedule, let these production assistants know
how it fits into the revised overall plan.
Cast and crew members will often become anxious about your
progress. Create a positive atmosphere acknowledging the need to
respond to immediate needs without abandoning the core values of
the production plan.
Summary
Because deadlines pressure us to get it together, because people
let you know when they need attention, the director of the big
production often feels on the hot seat. There are lots of demands for
decisions, lots of problems to be solved, lots of feelings to be
considered.
Unlike sporting events, there is no obvious test where
competition will determine success. The production that is only
managed, often has a "director" who takes great pride in the
company's accomplishments. True, in many instances, the
managing demands are enormous and the determination deserves
praise. But what is missing? Perhaps it wouldn't matter when the
theatre core is shortchanged if we had more quality theatre.
The "managed production" is a little like the candy delivered
by the third grade salesforce for the school fund raiser. When we
know what chocolate caramel pecan turtles can be, those stale,
crumbling chocolates-in-gold-foil are, at best, a tolerated token of
good intentions. If you know what theatre can be, you won't be
willing to offer imitations wrapped in theatre trappings.

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 Chapter 33
Rehearsal Progression
...one man in his time
plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first the infant ...
- William Shakespeare, As You Like It

Americans are notorious for being constantly on the go. Our

fast pace surprises most visitors even when they were warned
before visiting us. We try to squeeze ten hours into five. There is
seldom enough time to do whatever we think we want most to do.
And so it is with preparation of the production. There is seldom
enough time.
We offer excuses. We convince even ourselves. Had we more
time we would have worked differently. But how much time is
really enough? And how can we learn to use what time we have
effectively?
Too often, our preoccupation with time's limitations keep us
from developing essentials. Our haste to see the final product
shortchanges the ingredients. It will surprise some people that
European theatre companies may have a play in rehearsal for a year
or more. What in the world would they do?
There are always two kinds of preparation for a production:
First, we work alone, doing those things individuals can best do
without interference from .others. We work where we can
concentrate without fear of interruption or without needing to
conform to someone else's agenda. This alone time is needed for
actors, designers, directors - everybody in the theatre.
Second, we work together. We work in rehearsal, in production
conference, in technical and dress rehearsals, and in combinations
without recognizable names. We work where one's productivity is
enhanced by the interaction with others, where each of us is made
better by another's presence, effort and experience.
One of the director's tasks is to orchestrate these alternating
ways of working, bringing us together when we need it, giving us
time alone when we need it. The director helps motivate us to use
those times wisely, creatively, productively when they are available.
In short, he directs the company's progression through the

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preparation process. His most sustained supervision will be with

the actors and the rehearsals, but, in a sense, he must remain in
contact with all involved, designers and builders as well. We began
our thinking about this in an earlier chapter on "Rehearsal
Rhythm." Here now, we'll look at this progression in more detail.
The Seven Stages of a Production's Preparation
To help us think about this task, it is useful to see the play's
preparation in several stages. The conventional divisions of rehearsal
usually include reading, blocking and polishing rehearsals followed
by technical and dress rehearsals. These stages are different.
Blocking, as we suggested repeatedly in Part Six, takes place
through several stages. It is evolved. No, what we are talking about
here are stages of development, stages which remind us that a play,
like each human life, is a growing organism, a developing world.
These stages require maturation.
Perhaps it is no accident that, like Shakespeare and his Seven
Ages of Man, there seem to me to be seven stages to this
developmental process. Each of these stages needs to have its own
time, however long that time may be. To omit one of these stages or
to rush to the next without giving each its due attention is like the
development of a human life. If we aren't allowed to experience
childhood when we are a child, you can be sure we will carry those
child-like needs with us for years to come. Of course productions
vary in their degree of complexity, but in most a director would be
wise to give conscious attention to each of these stages no matter
how few the collaborators or how short the rehearsal time.
Stage One: Preparing the Company
It's here we choose our script, identify our designers and key
creative contributors, and hold our auditions. We learn what we
have to work with. We learn who the people are, and to the best of
our ability we learn what they are capable of doing. We learn about
the physical theatre and the theatre organization, its space, its
audience, its production capabilities, its expectations and support.
There is a lot to be done here. Even in the simplest productions
we will have a lot of questions to ask. There will inevitably be some
uncertainties. What should be clear is the need to attend to this
stage carefully. It will be easy enough to be surprised later. Some of
those surprises could be disastrous. To rush on without really
investigating will almost certainly cause wasted time, damaging
conflict and eroding confidence later, when you can least afford it.
In this stage you begin the process of sharing your production

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concept. You start getting everyone "on the same page." No, of
course you cannot guarantee what the final work will be like, but
you can begin sharing models, you can propose boundaries, you
can provide a beginning vision. You can create a climate that
captures their imagination. Most of all, you must begin sharing the
vision of the production you are capable of creating. This last is the
important part: You must begin to see what your company can do.
Not someone else's vision, not what they did in New York, but what
is possible for you.
Stage Two: Getting the Work off the Page
Once rehearsals start your real goal is to bring it "alive." This
means finding moments, perhaps scenes, when the characters
produce real feelings, when the play begins to happen - only for a
brief few lines, but happen it does. Yes, you can read the script
together, talk about the script, analyze the script, but now the script
is coming alive. More than that, the play is no longer contained in
the script, it is standing before us. It is in the actors. Not all of it, of
course, but enough of it for us to feel its heart beating.
As you work now, the immediacy of the work changes
dramatically. All connected with the play will sense it if exposed to
this "life-giving" stage of development. In the best possible worlds,
costumers and scene painters will drop by to see a few moments
"alive." Of course they know the script, they may have worked on
other productions, but now here, in front of them, is a new world,
with these actors, coming alive in this new way. As soon as these
key moments begin to "catch fire" they have the possibility of
transfusing all the company. This is no longer a play we are going
to produce; it is in front of us. Here now. Still growing, but ours. We
can sense. it.
At this stage to have one or two props, a costume piece or two,
even a part of the set, that can be integrated with the action, that can
become essential to the play's "happening," means that shop, that
designer, that builder is included in this early life discovery. Again,
in the best of circumstances, the company will continue to come
together as each sees himself becoming part of this world coming
alive.
Stage Three: Finding the Life in Every Corner
Everything counts. When you read a play you can ignore some
words, even whole scenes. Some characters, if the cast is large
enough, will never be remembered. But when you are producing
the play, one dead moment, one unnecessary line, one meaningless

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The Director's Eye

character, and the rest will suffer. Not that you won't have them. But
ignore them at your own peril.
What this means is once you get the process started, once the
play begins to work in key scenes, you must relentlessly expand the
work, transfusing scene after scene until you have found the life in
every line. Your guide here is simple: If we don't need the line, why
are we saying it? This is not a justification for cutting the play.
Rather it is a rehearsal guide and one you can and should use
literally: If you don't need the words, don't say them. If you don't
need to stay in the room, leave. If you don't need to finish the action,
quit. But, when you quit or omit or leave, it tells us we have more
work to do. More to be discovered.
No glossing over. No decorating of words when we aren't sure
what they mean or why they are here. If we say it, it must be
meaningful. If we do it, it must be useful. All the words and all the
action. Every moment.
The same can be said of the support elements. If we don't need
the hat, forget it. If the set is too complex, simplify it. If our initial
discussion of lighting now appears to have been too amorphous,
this is the time to get specific. If we discover how important it is to
have just one visible tree seen out the small window now is the time
to add it. If we had forgotten that in Act Three we need to see the
lead's costume worn and tattered, not at all like its newer state in
Act One, this is the time to ask for it.
We are seeing the whole now. Not yet all together, perhaps, but
seeing the whole nevertheless. The essential and the peripheral. The
foreground and the background. Nothing must be allowed to go
unexamined. Everything must count. Everything.
Stage Four: Discovering the Layers
Even before all the script has been fleshed out we begin to see
unexpected possibilities. People who were cast for one reason
suddenly surprise us with a delightfully different quality, enriching
the work in a new way. Moments from the first act take on a new
fullness as the actors experience the power of the end of the play.
Stage four is time to make that our primary focus. It is time to
nourish these more subtle discoveries of the links between our
experiences and the work we are creating.
Here's where the great productions evolve. Moments that we
knew were sad, suddenly become sad and joyous and angry and
anxious all at the same time. Characters remain anchored in the
truth ferreted out early, but like real people who are learning life's

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complexities, they add layer after layer, becoming richer and more
riveting in their revelation. We see more clearly which parts of the
fabric need highlighting, which can be allowed to take care of
themselves.
Here is where our continuing lives outside the production yield
new insights. Almost effortlessly, the play is better as we make use
of new feelings, forgotten memories, different experiences. These
added layers should not replace the earlier discovered essentials,
but enrich them.
That is not always easy, of course. The director must monitor
the progression carefully to see that new layers don't distort what
should clearly be "happening" in the production. All the same,
there is incredible opportunity when the cast has explored the
whole and answered the "necessary" questions.
A revival of a familiar play, the long run, preview performances
- all of these provide special opportunities for this kind of
maturation. But so do our final rehearsals, particularly those
rehearsals just before we face the special demands of technical and
dress rehearsals. Here is the growth that comes when there is no
particular problem we ifmust" solve. Here is where the play
becomes most uniquely ours.
Stage Five: Distilling Its Poetry
As we move toward the end of our rehearsals, the artist in each of
us must become more selective. We've investigated and experienced.
We've created and developed. We've searched and enjoyed. Now we
must distill. We must select. For the photographer it is cropping.
For the writer, editing. For all of us, it is simplifying. It is time to
choose the one gesture that takes the place of four. It is time to let
light do it and eliminate the sound cue. Time to drop a wonderful
piece of business we all enjoyed when we found it in last month's
rehearsal, but which clearly is no longer needed.
Technical and dress rehearsals can be thought of as additions,
layerings. They are that, of course. But in most instances, actors do
well to hold their own and not regress during these rehearsals
where support is added. Most of the time, these additions are
attempts to bring to reality visions which were shared two or
three stages ago. They are part of our early creative assumptions.
Now, as we get these support elements before us, as we try to
assimilate ·them with the play which has been off rehearsing in
another part of the "forest/' we are, in fact, suddenly aware that
some of these elements quickly fit, are the immediate answer to our

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The Director's Eye

long-felt needs, and others are foreign objects. True, they are foreign
objects which may make a valuable contribution if given a chance,
but to the cast and director who have seen the play come alive
without them, they are aliens changing the view and feel of our
world;
Almost never do we give ourselves enough time to comfortably
get through this stage in our progression. At the core of the process
is our effort to find the answer to this basic question: We thought we
needed it all - all the costumes, all the lights, all the sound, all the
set, all the props- but now, what do we really need? What can we
really use?
It is an especially difficult time for egos. Too often capable,
experienced, creative artists who have been off working by
themselves away from the rehearsals have developed parts for the
production which are going to be difficult to integrate. The question
then is: Do we spend the energy necessary to accommodate and
utilize these "new" elements (and they are new to the production as
the cast has been experiencing it in rehearsal), or do we modify or
eliminate them to retain the world we have already created?
Actors (and sometimes directors) will be impatient if the
supporting elements cannot be quickly integrated. Designers and
builders will feel discarded if we don't give their work a chance to
make its contribution.
Out of this crucible comes the poetic distillation we all seek. In
the best of all worlds, each person will see his /her most creative
work included as a now valued part of the whole. Almost never,
however, is this true. Someone' s best work won't fit- at least in the
time we have to incorporate it. Here is one of the director's most
difficult tasks: keep the essentials and discard the distractions. To
prepare for this moment you will need to have developed rapport
with every fellow artist that helps them see this as a necessary
decision. Try not to surprise them. Early discussions can have paved
the way for this possibility. Even so, it is often a test of your ability
to survive in a working organization. Remember, it is your job to
turn this prosaic exploration into poetry. To distill the findings of
many days, usually several weeks, into a tight production lasting
two hours, or thereabouts, where everything counts.
Stage Six: Relating to Your Audience
No matter how much you prepare for it, the production will
change as it moves from rehearsals to performance. Audiences
make a difference. They affect the performance in subtle and

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sometimes not so subtle ways. Differences in audiences require

actor adjustments to compensate if the core of the play is to
maintain its impact.
The athlete who understands the difference between playing a
game in practice and playing before an enthusiastic crowd has a
model for this demand. He I she will know that it is very different to
play a "home" game where the stands are filled with enthusiastic
supporters and to play a game "on the road."
Too often we have prepared a wonderful production in the
rehearsal room, only to see it lose its energy and focus as it is
placed before an audience.
Here then, is the challenge: to keep the production growing as
the cast and support crews learn to interact with the viewers and
their varying responses. In most amateur theatre our short runs
make it difficult to nurture this special opportunity. But with
preview performances before official openings, with longer runs,
even with runs of six or eight performances, enormous growth is
possible when we recognize the work is not finished on opening
night.
Of all the stages of preparation, this is probably the one most
neglected in the amateur theatre and even some of the professional
theatre. The contract of the visiting director, for example, is often
completed upon the play's opening, leaving the cast to fend for
itself in trying to learn from the early performances.
The production's style may or may not call for obvious
interaction between the actor and the audience, but of one thing we
can be sure: there is no actor who leaves the stage oblivious to the
audience if it is unresponsive. A comedy without laughter, a serious
play with restless coughing, a near empty house with few signs of
life and the work of weeks is lost. The good director will help his
cast learn to handle the integration of performer and viewer in the
total experience.
Stage Seven: Sustaining the Joy of Sharing
Most of us have been trained to seek the task, whether that
involves learning to audition or display a portfolio. Most of us have
learned to prepare the production. Few of us have had much help in
learning to sustain the production.
Almost every task has the probability of losing its appeal after
we've performed it for awhile. In the theatre where the actor is
supposed to carry out an action as if it had never happened to him
before, this can become especially difficult. No wonder our

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emotional experience seems to be beyond our control in all too

many instances. What had seemed a wonderfully filled scene of
intense emotion becomes increasingly difficult to make special as
the weeks of performing pass - sometimes, in the most naive casts,
as the second or third day of performing passes!
It's a lot to ask of ourselves: That somehow we should be able
to perform the same action over and over and each time find it
exciting and filled with feeling. The best actors (and the best
support crews) are the ones who can sustain the work the most
successfully. In this final stage the director must help the company
prepare for that sustained effort.
There is no one solution to the needs that arise, but one source
of help has been so important in my own work I'll include it here. I
spent much of my directing career with material drawn from
history. Many of these plays told only a small portion of the
available story. As we began to take for granted the information,
even the feelings of the play itself, it was a small step to bring to the
cast an extension of their characters' lives. In the rehearsals
themselves we seemed energized by being introduced to or being
reminded of stories, events, writings that complemented our
immediate script. During the run of the show, as part of pre-show
meetings, we would often start with my reading passages from a
diary, a newspaper account, an essay which seemed to be saying
many of the same things we wanted to say with our play. As the
season progressed the voices added included those of the next
generation - and the next. Others who continued to grapple with
similar concerns. Others who reminded us the battles weren't over.
That the issues of the Civil War or the American frontier were
today's issues. That the struggles of our grandparents and our
great-grandparents were our own struggles. We turned to writers of
other countries and other cultures - all speaking of the same pain,
the same joys, the same discoveries reflected in our own play; only
the names and dates were different.
What I came to recognize was the power in seeing our
production as only one piece of a larger voice, a larger effort to reach
an audience. Wonderful results began to happen: Actors who had
grown accustomed to even enthusiastic praise from their audiences
were suddenly moved by these newly heard voices. Sometimes we
looked at pictures, shared memories, told one another of pieces read
or seen - all of which seemed to remind the cast they were
speaking for many people who wanted someone to hear their
stories. Words spoken during the play were no longer only about

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the events in this play. They now seemed to address the needs of
very different times and places as well.
For us, this final stage came to include our recognizing our
membership in a community- a community of artists trying to
give voice to an idea, a feeling, an experience, and a community of
viewers seeking ways to better understand, seeking relief from too
long days, seeking an alternative to isolation. In short, we were
acknowledging that the best theatre always deals with universal
experiences and archetypes and whatever voices we tapped in our
play could be enriched by turning to others who felt and shared
similar times.
The theatre is a temporal art, but as we find ways to link our
efforts with the work of an almost limitless number of others it
becomes part of something much larger and longer lasting than
ourselves. In immediate practical terms, it makes clear there are
always more connections to be made. We find events and people
who we only now recognize as part of our sharing process, and
they, in turn, gave the work a new relevance - now.
Summary
Early in our directing experience most of us take a certain pride
in simply "getting it all together." To have the cast like us, to get
reasonably favorable responses from audiences and perhaps critics
and, if we're really lucky, to enjoy working, are enough. There are
lots of available shortcuts. Some of those will serve us well. But to
have a rich, alive production that maintains its honesty and
continues to share with audience after audience is a challenge
requiring careful attention to the maturation process. The familiar
urge to "rush to performance" cuts short the potential richness and
sustaining power of a great many productions. However short your
available preparation time, you will do well to nurture the
production through all the rehearsal stages.

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 Chapter 34
The Critic and the Director
ESTRAGON: That's the idea, let's abuse each other.
VLADIMIR: Moron!
ESTRAGON: Vermin!
VLADIMIR: Abortion!
ESTRAGON: Morpion!
VLADIMIR: Sewer-rat!
ESTRAGON: Curate!
VLADIMIR: Cretin!
ESTRAGON: (With finality) Crritic!
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

Most artists aren't fond of critics. Somewhere in our baggage

most of us carry memories of words that cut deeply. A newspaper
critic who seemed delighted with the cleverness of his dismissal. A
teacher who caught us with our guard down. An overheard
audience member who shared with others his disdain for what we
had to offer. All of us have felt anger, resentment. We have felt
undervalued, misunderstood.
Criticism. Many of us heard it early. Whether it came from an
abusive parent or a bully on the playground, it takes a long time to
shake off the hurt from someone who sensed our vulnerability and
went for the jugular. As a director, inevitably you will hear criticism.
If you want to progress, you will need to learn from that which is
helpful and let go of that which is destructive.
Criticism and Absolutes
The first thing to recognize about criticism is that, good or bad,
constructive or hostile, it is always a reflection of the person
offering the commentary. It may seem to be about you or your work,
but it is always - fundamentally - a comment about the
viewpoint of the speaker. Before you let it affect you, you need to
evaluate that viewpoint. If it is a person you trust, a person whose
experience you respect, one who you believe has reason to want
your work to improve, you will need to consider it carefully. Even
the well intentioned critic will sometimes offer commentary on
practices he wasn't in a position to evaluate. Sometimes he will be
naive about the process. Sometimes he will have had a hard day.

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There are very few absolutes in the creative process.

When you can remember that, it will help you decide how to
use the critic's input. Depending on our own journey, we are often
quick to use up validation and praise and slow to let go of negative
judgment. Even the best intended proposals for change sometime
feel like hostile criticism. All of this suggests the effect of criticism
has as much to do with our own processing as with the critic.
Cultivate a Climate of Reporting, not Judgment
If you and your cast are to handle criticism well, you can help
set the standard by avoiding demands. You can be clear that each of
us, experienced or inexperienced, has a choice. Yes, of course, if they
trust you, they will try to change if you suggest it. But make clear
they cannot violate their own values. Tell them when you sense
they've shut down their own ability to recognize when they are
more intimately involved in the world of the play. Help them
understand they cannot improve significantly without this self-
knowledge. Remind them that changing to please the director is not
enough. Having set such a standard as part of the rehearsal
exchange, it becomes easier to give criticism from outside the
production its proper assessment.
In my classes, when we give feedback after seeing a scene, I try
to emphasize the importance of sharing what we audience members
did while the performance was in progress. "I held my breath when
the fight started. I couldn't wait to see how it turned out." "I wasn't
able to listen to the last three minutes. I was so distracted by your
being unable to get the cigarette lit, I only occasionally heard the
words." The actor or director can do with that what they wish, but
if we are honest in reporting our behavior, they cannot deny what
we share. with them. Even if I share my own feelings, "I just have
no tolerance for that shade of green, it reminds me of being sick/' I
try to make clear that my comments are reflections of my values, my
experiences. They won't be true for everyone.
Yes, there are exceptions. As a director there will be times when
I must admit to my cast, "I just like it this way. Do me a favor.
Humor me. No one else may enjoy this as much as I do, but I will
love it if you do it like this." If I have developed a rapport with my
actors I can count on, they usually will good-humoredly give me
what I ask for, even if they aren't in total agreement. And frequently,
there is some shared enjoyment for both of us in knowing it is theirs
to give.

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Who Are the Experts?

In all too many cases we have assumed criticism must be
"expert" to be of value. Not so.
Relatively early in my career I directed a production of Uncle
Vanya in a large performing arts center. As we waited for the play to
begin I could hear the audience around me comparing notes on
Chekhov and sharing third hand opinions gleaned through their
long past literature classes. The haze-of-erudition was everywhere.
At the intermission I was the first out of the row and when I
visited the lobby men's room it was empty. Almost immediately I
was joined at the urinals by a man in jacket and cap who might have
appeared more at home in the cab of an eighteen-wheeler than here
with the marble and teakwood. He seemed in high spirits,
nonetheless. Looking over at me, he said, "That's some story, ain't it?"
I don't remember my reply, but I shall never forget his
excitement. Whatever our weaknesses, whatever my own reaction
to the production might be now, my "critic" gave me exactly what I
needed in that moment: validation that we had put something on
stage which transcended cultural differences and required no
footnotes for it to have meaning. Lots of people saw the production,
a few wrote about it. I don't remember another specific response.
This one I have carried with me for almost thirty years.
Criticism and Learning
If you are an artist, you are probably very clear that most who
write about theatre usually can't produce theatre you respect.
"Leave analysis to the graduate student," was Durrenmatt' s way of
dismissing those who made a career of analyzing and explaining.
And yet, where would we be without the inspiration of the writings
of Stanislavski and Jones? Without Aristotle and Brecht?
There is this game. You're familiar with it in the academic
community. The game is to outwit the system. To fool the teacher.
How do I find out what "he" wants and give it to him so I will get
an "A" even if I miss class or do only a small portion of the
readings? The commercial theatre has a counterpart: What does it
take to please the public? Television networks offer their fall lineup.
What will the public watch on Wednesday nights? How can we
please more people? But the real challenge is to take charge of our
work. To see it as ever-evolving. Co-evolving.
We are forever learners. Not knowers. Learners. And how do
we learn? One of the ways we learn is from listening and seeing the
reactions of others and then discarding what is destructive and

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using what is helpful. That, of course, is the trick. Can we do it? Can
we discard what is destructive and use what is helpful? Ego is the
big issue. Can we tolerate the fact that most of what we have to offer
is no more likely to be unanimously praised than it is to have
everyone willingly and joyously drive the same kind of car or eat
the same flavor ice cream? I used to take comfort in reminding
myself that the majority of people in my audience probably voted
for a different presidential candidate that I did, why should they all
respond positively to my plays?
It's a fine line. How do we grow if we don't learn from the input
of others? And how do we remain true to ourselves in the process?
Critics of Choice
There are two critics you must hear and whose reaction you
must trust: First, you must trust your "gut." That part of you which
holds the deepest wisdom, the most certain insight. That part
which carries your innermost values. Sometimes we have difficulty
listening to that part of ourselves. The part which guides us on our
true-to-self journey. But the artist listens for that small voice within.
He does not go for cheap shots, for exploitation, for easily repeated
formulas. Not when he is trying to do his best work, at least. Yes, his
own viewpoint will change. Change ever so slightly sometimes, but
change nevertheless. It is hammered by life's experiences and the
most affecting of them continue to shape our very core. Do not be
smug about your viewpoint. Allow it to change when the
experience is profound enough, but whatever it says now, heed it.
It is axiomatic then: Your first and most profound critic is you.
No way around it. This "you" is tied to what you know and what
you value. There is another you - "you-pseudocritic." This is the
"you" who sits on your own shoulder fearing the voice of big-
brother. The one who worries about what "they" will say. The "you"
who speaks, not really for you, but for any one of many outsiders
who somehow have been given uneasy control over your work.
Spend as little time voicing these concerns as possible. Stay away
from these inner debates. Trust your own inner voice. If it has
listened well to others you respect, it will have made their wisdom
part of your own wisdom. We may quote respected shapers of our
vision, but if it counts, if it is part of our honest value system, those
opinions are now our opinions. We own them. It is our own inner
voice now.
Beware of your pseudocritic voice which speaks for others
without the experiences which make it part of your own wisdom.

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Work with the guidelines you own.

Here's the second critic of inestimable worth: The nurturing
partner. This may be your spouse, your mentor, your co-worker. It
may be an actor, a designer, the janitor - almost anyone. The key?
It must be a person you trust. Someone whose values you share.
Someone whose insight into human behavior - into life - reflects
wisdom culled from experience. Someone who will speak the truth.
Will tell you if he does not know. Will say, "This is probably
something hard for you to hear, but I think they are right." Someone
whose praise means everything and whose naming of the "weeds"
sends you back to the reevaluation - willingly.
These are the few people - and there will probably be very few
- who you know care about you and your work and whose
reactions are always given without competition or blame or
hostility. In the best of circumstances, you both will recognize the
partnership. It will be clear you give something of value in return.
Even if you are student and teacher or audience and artist, it will be
clear you are a partnership. You each need and value the other.
These relationships take time to develop. When you realize you
have one, trust it. Value it. Seek out that counseL Your growth will
depend on it.
Summary
To grow, we need not only value the artist in ourselves, we need
to free ourselves from the weight of "expert criticism" born of
absolutes. We cannot know what tomorrow's theatre should look
like. Especially now with technology exploding all around us. Who
is the expert capable of predicting what the successful form will be
next year, let alone in ten or thirty years?
What we do know is that we need to be open to growth. We
need to learn all we can from those whose past work might be
models for future efforts. We need to value our hard earned wisdom
and be open to influences from life and creativity wherever they
occur - inside the theatre or out. We need to do all we can to create
a "safe place" to discover, to experience, to share. We need to help
create second chances. We need to seek out those "partners-of-
encouragement" who help us know what it is to be fully alive. Most
of all, we need to let go of fear of failure. Fear we have nothing to
give. Fear there is no one who will understand us. And when our
sharing falls short, we need to face up to it. We need to find a way
to try again. We need to process what we have learned and try
again.

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It takes a while to accept, but the highest rewards may not come
from money or title, certainly not grades. Those more valued
achievements may be held only in the memory. Testified to by that
occasional anonymous man at the urinal and his critique-of-the-day,
" ... some story, ain't it?" Almost never will anyone, even the most
perceptive critic, know as much as you know about the pieces
making up your production. Too much of it is hidden in the process
for that.
So- does the production tell us about the director's work? If
the actors are primary, if the script comes first, can anyone know
enough about your effort to offer criticism?
Yes. Of course. If the production is unbelievable or insignificant,
the director made at least one serious mistake. Maybe it was in
choosing this play. Maybe in casting. Maybe in the vision for the
production or in the carrying out of rehearsals. Maybe he didn't
evolve a style that was practical given the people and materials
available. Maybe he was never able to get his cast to care enough,
perhaps to feel safe enough to find out what they had to offer.
Maybe he never understood what was at the core of the play. Never
understood what happened. And if he did, somehow he failed to
get everyone to agree and become determined to share it.
On the other hand, if the production is great, he may have
contributed to it in a thousand direct and indirect ways. Some of
these you can only know by being there. Some you may guess if you
have seen the work of the actors before, or if you have seen the
efforts of the designers on other productions. At the very least, if it
works, you know the director got out of the way and let the actors
and designers create. Sometimes that is no small accomplishment. If
it all works, and he didn't mess it up, he probably liked what he
saw. Liked the play, knew what it was about, shared it with his
actors and designers and helped make it happen - somehow.
Somehow, helped make it happen. You can almost count on it.
The best critics will understand how this works.

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 Chapter 35
Miracles, Changes and Basics
Leap and the net will appear.
-Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way

As you undertake a variety of productions in differing

circumstances, one thing becomes clear: There are always surprises.
Sometimes they are unexpectedly positive from the moment of their
appearance. Sometimes they're not. We can be overwhelmed at
times. Our shoulders slump as we realize our expectations must
change and our hoped for goals are not likely to be met. An actor
drops out, scenery isn't finished, a key scene is a mess, an actor just
doesn't have it. We've all been there, we've all known that sinking,
desperate feeling. Usually it comes just when we're exhausted.
When time is running out and too many people are committed to
the production scheme to make significant changes - or so it
seems.
And, of course, that's when we need change the most.
The Miracle of Change
I remember dropping in on the final rehearsal of a colleague
many years ago. I watched a cast of what I thought were fine actors
grind through to the end of a dull, uninspired, probably
misconceived performance. I thought ~'~0h, my! What's she going to
do now?" It was obvious the director had to do something. The cast
came back on stage and stood waiting. There was no mention of the
problems· of the play, instead I watched them spend the next hour
rehearsing an elaborate curtain call. I sat open-jawed as the
exhausted cast repeated it over and over, with the opening
performance less than four hours away.
Clearly the director had decided it was too late to change and if
the play couldn't get any better, they would at least keep their heads
up at the end. Perhaps the audience would decide it was their own
fault. They missed something. It's easy to smile now as I recall the
experience. And yet - it clearly was a sad and distasteful time for
all involved.
Change. We sometimes fear it. But change we must. When we
can be honest, we will see when the play isn't working. And so will
your cast. Nearly always. Even if you don't know what else to try,

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you must confront the need to change. Two potential saviors come
to mind. Relationships and accidents. Someplace in every knotted
entanglement lies a hidden miracle, usually several. When you trust
the possibility of finding a better way, you often can let go of
enough of the control to find change. You are never the only
potentially creative person involved in a production. If you are lost
for a solution, look around. Accidents play an important part in any
creative act. Afterward we sometimes forget how often a "miracle"
occurred at just the right time to make possible the success we
achieved.
The point here is be prepared to change. The production which
goes almost totally as expected is seldom going to be one of your
best works. Why? Because creativity is always at its highest when
we're asked to come up with new solutions we didn't know we
were capable of achieving until we saw them begin to emerge
before us.
Your greatest asset is almost always your determination to
bring the play to life. If you love the play, if you are surrounded by
people who love working together, "miracles" will happen. The
trick is to be ready to take advantage of them. To delight in them
and see the possibilities for their carrying you to new and
unexpected places. ("Oh the places you'll go ... " Dr. Seuss.
Remember?) Be alert. Watch for the too tight restraints. When the
production isn't improving, it usually isn't because it couldn't
improve - it's because something isn't allowing it to be free
enough to find a better way.
That "something" may be you.
Having given this opinion to my classes on more than one
occasion, the question which invariably followed was, "What is it
you hold onto? Is there anything you aren't willing to change as a
director?" My answer was always the same, "Yes, there is. The
dramatic action. I never remember having to give up the dramatic
action. Sometimes I may have sharpened the statement of the
dramatic action. May have fine tuned it a bit. But I never remember
having to change what I thought should happen in the play."
Even that is not absolute, of course. If it isn't happening or isn't
significant, you may have to change it. But that's the last resort.
Change what you believe is happening in the play and the whole
play will be different. Certainly I can imagine a time when that
would suddenly make the play not only a very different one, but a
very successful one. What you have to remember is, take that
change very seriously. Know that everything connected with the

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production must be reevaluated if you change your understanding

of the play's dramatic action. But if that's what it takes ... the sooner
the better. Don't wait until there is only time to rehearse the curtain
call.
When I think of my own last-minute changes they include my
first effort to direct a Brecht play - Caucasian Chalk Circle. Large
cast, difficult and complex play with many props and many
costume changes. Many inexperienced actors playing several roles.
We had an excellent theatrical space and a unique setting, but one
which made severe demands on the actors to get in place for
entrances as they rushed down hallways and even out of the building
and back in other doors seeking to keep up with the many scenes.
We had only two complete dress rehearsals. The night after the
first, I remember changing the production from a two- to a three-act
play so we could take another intermission and give the actors
another chance to stop, get organized and begin again. I made a
series of short internal cuts in scenes where actors were floundering.
The scoring of the piece changed dramatically. Even with a largely
young cast, the production became one of my most cherished
memories. They had the opportunity to take a second run at
Brecht's Act I, now divided into two acts, and could keep the action
flowing, where only a run-through before, the original scheme had
simply been beyond them.
A colleague of mine, a professor of sociology who was playing
the Governor, told me much later he expected an armed revolt that
night when I called them together and gave them the changes.
Revolt might have been a stronger possibility than I realized then
and am willing to admit now. What proved to be true though, was
the cast knew the performance was beyond them that night and,
late as it was, they welcomed the change.
I directed several Brecht productions after that, including
another mounting of Caucasian Chalk Circle. They all had far more
experienced actors, more elaborate production schemes, original
music, fine designers - but none of them had more enthusiasm,
nor more commitment to the play than that first effort which found
new life in a last-minute rescoring. In later years I might have
recognized the need for that change earlier or come up with other
solutions, but there's no denying it taught me a great deal about
hidden miracles.
Learnings
Perhaps this is a good time for you to take one of those

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reflective pauses on the journey. To stop for a few moments and

remember what you thought the study of directing would entail
when you first opened these pages.
Chances are it's been more complex than you expected. Life is
like that, of course. Events which count are seldom as simple as we
think they are going to be.
Yes, if you continue to direct, there will be lots of problems.
Different ones for each play you direct. Times where you won't
know the answers - at least in the beginning. That's where the
creativity enters - where the growth occurs. Everything we do has
the possibility of teaching us something. Even those of you who will
never mount a major theatrical production will likely put some of
this to use someday. The theatre and life are too intertwined to leave
your discoveries behind wherever you're going.
We have, after all, been chasing a way of seeing.

You were asked to see and hear:

• To see and hear life around you;
• To see and hear the potential in scripts;
• To see and hear what the actors are doing as they
rehearse;
• To see and hear how that matches with the world
which might be realized;
• To see and hear what audiences gain or might gain
from the production's performance.

As a director, you've been asked to become a creative force. Like

the best parents, the best teachers, the best coaches, the best
executives, the best leaders everywhere - you have been asked to
set priorities. You have been asked to provide direction and at the
same time respect the ability of others to create.
You have been asked to awaken the "artist" in you- that artist
who exists in each of us, battered though it may be, but existing
nevertheless. Awakened, it is yours to use. Value what the artist in
you may see. Seek ways of sharing it. Respect the theatre as one of
humankind's most powerful potential tools. See the possibilities
from using it well.
See your own possibilities.
Basics
As this was written I completed my forty-first year of teaching.
During those years I taught directing or directed students every

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The Director's Eye

year. I supervised an enormous number of student productions and

tried to offer assistance to what now seems like an infinite number
of student scenes. I can say unequivocally, "If there is little life there,
if there is no true passion, no honest witnessing, no undeniable joy
or sorrow it will not keep me in my seat for its two hours no matter
how much skill is evidenced in the crafting of pictures or the filling
of promptbooks. No matter how well organized, no matter how
many critics read or authorities cited, how many theories offered, it
will not do it. For theatre which does not come alive is missing it
all."
Forty-one years made that very clear.
If it comes alive and we know it, and then we want better
dancing, more believable maturity from the Grandpa, a louder bang
at the climax, a better orchestration of the multiple layers - if we
see the possibilities of better craftsmanship producing that- great!
We can always get better. We may be able to learn to do that. It's
possible.
But without the life ... who cares?
Therefore, the "basic elements of directing" seem very clear:

• You must learn to care about the people and events in

the plays you direct.
• You must learn what happens and be determined to
share its significance with others.
• You must select actors who believe in the play and have
a possibility of working together to create its world.
• You must conceive a production in a style you can
manage. It must be within your means, and it must be a
style that will be understood and will affect to your
audience.
• You must relentlessly seek to set up conditions in your
rehearsals which allow the actors to experience the play.
• You must protect your actors from anyone or anything
which kills the joy and life they find in sharing the
events of that play.
• You must encourage anyone who designs or builds part
of that production's world or the costumes or props
which serve the actors in that world, so long as it makes

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that play more believable or more powerful.

• You must keep working at it as long as you can make it
a joyous learning experience for everyone. It will not be
finished no matter how long you work or perform.
That's all right. It need not be perfect, only alive and
important.
Basics.

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 Part Seven Assignments
The Complete Play
If you've read the thirty-five chapters of this text and carried
out the assignments for the first six parts, you've thought a great
deal about directing. Now, you're asked to put it all together by
directing a complete play.
Assignment
Choose a script. That's the first and often the most
important part of any production effort. As you begin the
final assignment in this text, you're reminded to choose a
script you care about- always. If you want to do it badly
enough, you can probably find a way. Before you cast it
and involve your collaborators, think about the ways in
which you can take advantage of the resources at hand,
the people and materials you know well and can use.
Here's a selection checklist:
• Do you care a lot about what the script has to say? Do
you think it's important or funny? Does it reflect a
world you know? Do you have a strong desire to share
it with other people? Are rights to the script available?
• Can you cast it? Do you have access to the number of
reliable actors you need? Do you have actors with the
experiences necessary to play these roles?
• Do you have enough rehearsal time available to prepare
the production?
• Do you have a theatrical space appropriate for its
production?
• Do you have an audience which is likely to respond?
• Do you have access to the support personnel necessary
to help prepare the production? Does it require technical
skill too difficult for you and your collaborators to
provide?
• Can you work within the limitations of the available
budget?

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 The Complete Play

Remember, complete plays come in all sizes. Production

circumstances beyond your control may dictate the desirable length
of the script. If free to choose, you may profit from keeping your
first "complete play" direction a shorter script with a limited cast.
For some this may mean as brief as ten or fifteen minutes. David
Ives has a number of excellent short plays, for example. For others
a thirty- or forty-five-minute play may be the more desirable first
complete play. For a few, you may choose a "full-length" script of
two hours or so. For all: be wary of large-cast, multi-scene shows as
your first complete play directing effort. Shakespeare, Brecht,
traditional musicals are seldom the best choice for starters. If you
don't know many scripts, consider twentieth-century plays or
American classics like Edward Albee's Zoo Story or Tennessee
Williams' Lady of Larkspur Lotion over Restoration or Elizabethan
plays you may have read in literature classes. Chances are, you and
your cast will find the language more accessible and the world of
the play easier to bring to life.
It takes time to find the right script. If you plan to direct often
in your lifetime, it is good to begin now to create a list of scripts you
would like to direct when the opportunity arises. Add new titles
each time you read or see a play which triggers your imagination.
Be wary of reading marathons aimed at finding a script. If you hope
to eventually work as a professional director it can be valuable to
develop a strong relationship with a young playwright whose
scripts might attract producers or producing organizations. Yes,
sometimes existing theatres will seek out directors to direct scripts
already chosen, but when someone else chooses the script for you
be even more careful in testing its likelihood for success by running
through your. selection checklist.
If you have serious doubt about any of the matchups, think
carefully before agreeing to direct the play. If at least one or two of
the matchups aren't exceptionat that too is a reason for caution.
Particularly as you undertake your first few efforts do all you can to
make sure you have the possibility of success. Early failures will not
only make the likelihood of attracting future casts and producing
organizations difficult, they will dull your own enthusiasm for
directing.
One of the realities of directing is that it requires a lot of willing
and a few eager collaborators. Without the recommendation of past
successes, the circumstances under which you are offered a
directing opportunity will usually require overcoming serious
obstacles.

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The Director's Eye

Recruit a Review Panel

Before you cast your play and start rehearsals, arrange for
a small group of caring people who will help you evaluate
your production plan and, following the performances,
the production itself. If this is carried out as part of a class,
the panel might include your mentor and two or three
class members. You too can profit from serving on others'
panels. Whoever makes up your panel, it should include
people whose opinion you respect, and with whom you
can have a comfortable and honest exchange.
Present your plans for the production and see what
modifications might be in order after considering their
reactions. Invite each of them to one or two rehearsals as
the piece is being prepared.

Rehearsal and Performance

Review the suggestions in Chapter 32. Develop and make
effective use of unit divisions and unit breakdown sheets.
Review the suggestions in Chapter 33 which outline the
seven stages of the production's preparation. Use them to
help you plan your rehearsals and evaluate your progress.
Be sure to develop a concept statement including both a
statement of the play's action and models for the
evolution of the production's style. (Chapter 14.) After
using it to share with collaborators during casting and
design planning keep it handy for reference as you
explore possibilities during rehearsal.
Keep a journal of your work. Include simple accounts of
the problems and successes which occur as the rehearsals
unfold. Jot down how you're feeling about your own
efforts as well as the efforts of others. Remind yourself of
ideas or practices you may have overlooked which would
serve you well if put into play earlier next time.
You may decide or be asked to share your journal with someone
else, but whether or not that's true, prepare it as a tool for your own
learning. Expect to review it several times before directing again.
Let it become a useful guide to improved practices based on new
insights.
It is commonplace for productions to require longer and longer

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hours as you near opening. While some find a certain glamour in

staying up nights to carry out tech and dress rehearsals, actors
seldom do their best work when exhausted. All of you will profit
from better understanding how to be more efficient and accurate in
planning for the several deadlines which mark a production's
progress. Even if you have acted in a number of plays, it's still
revealing to have first hand experience with the time required to
carry out any number of directorial tasks. Journal entries which
remind you of the stress you and your cast experienced as you
learned from these first efforts can be invaluable in organizing your
next production.
Evaluation
When your play is performed, watch and listen to your
audiences as carefully as to your cast. We tend to
remember the printed comments of the reviewers because
we know they affect others, but a much broader range of
responses is there for the attending. Consider having your
cast available to the audience for after performance
exchanges. Opportunities to talk informally over
refreshments in the lobby can reveal a great deal you
might not hear otherwise.
Meet with your panel following the production. Listen to
their reactions and share your own thinking about the
production. Afterward write a final summary of the
experience in your journal for future reference.
If you continue to direct for long, you will probably discover
you enjoy change. Sometimes you will appreciate the challenge of a
longer play with a larger cast, but after such a production there is
sometimes greater appreciation of the joys of working with a
simpler play and a smaller cast where more energy can be invested
in working with a few individuals. Work with what fits you best
now - always.

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 Part Seven Summary
The Whole Picture
Part Seven is about graduation. Time to start living. We go
through doors at key times in our lives. Doors which remind us we
are entering uncharted waters. Times where there are no right or
perfect answers. Where we are on our own. Trying to puzzle it out.
Trying to make sense out of our own efforts.
These are the times when we realize no one can ever prepare us
for what we experience - not fully. Our life, our thinking, our
feelings will always be different from those we expected and
different from everyone else's. This final part of Director's Eye
addresses the specific concerns of the complete play. How that is
different from scene work. How scene work can be vital to your
understanding the work on a complete play. But it does more than
that, it suggests this is the beginning. The beginning of creating on
your own.
Nearly every theatre student will recognize the feeling: some
efforts are "exercises." They may be fun, even creative. Sometimes
they reach wonderful heights. But they carry out someone else's
plan. They fulfill the assignment. We may be proud of our work,
may learn a great deal from it, may even look back on such times as
joyous sharings - sharing with peers and mentors. But when we
cross the street with no hand holding ours, when we realize there is
no lifeguard for this swim - something changes.
The assignment for Part Seven may have served as your ending
to a stage of innocence. If so, it also marks a beginning. A time when
you realize whatever you now know is what you have to rely on.
That what you learn tomorrow will add to what you can use next
week. Someplace in this process- if you keep at it- you will sense
what it is to be an artist. Good. Bad. Indifferent. It will come out of
who you are and what you have to share.
Part Seven addressed the possibility the would-be director will
hide behind the manager's craft. Rewarded for coloring within the
lines, he may sharpen his skills at organization and formula
production, but never let his own life out of the box enough to
realize his potential as an artist. He may play it safe. He may never
ask the tough question: What do we have to say and how can we
say it so no one can remain unmoved?
Every script is different and every production company is

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different still. The nurturing and growth of a play from script (and
sometimes from idea) through rehearsal and performance will take
all the insight you can muster if you are to create the very best you
and your collaborators can offer. Chapter 33 provides a framework
for thinking about that evolution. Identifying the inevitable seven
stages of the best efforts is suggested as a way of recognizing when
you have short-changed part of the production's potential, as a
means of laying out your planned time allotment, as a reminder that
when we fail to consciously address life's passages, we are given to
sliding through mindlessly, frequently all too eager to get on to "the
next."
Two themes have recurred throughout this book: The library of
experiences we carry with us is our most important resource and we
are dependent on one another - we co-evolve. Mindful, joyous
discovery and experiencing will continue to deliver unexpected
success if we are willing to stay the course as we nurture a
production's guided evolution.
There is only one absolute critic for the journey, the wee, small
voice within us that declares, "That's true! I've seen it and I know."
The theatre is a very public art. Without final scores to determine
the winner, we can seldom be sure how grand or how awarded our
efforts will be, but we can know when we are willing to declare it
our own "truth." We can know when we feel it alive when it
happens and we care.
The final chapter reminded us there is much to learn. There will
be problems to solve. Plenty. Theatre will change and so will we.
And so, if we can see it, if we can hear it, life will teach us -we will
learn as we go. Will learn tomorrow's answers in due time and
return to them as the springboards for day after tomorrow.
It is a way of seeing that makes the difference. Seeing what is
and where it came from. Seeing what might be and sensing how all
of us would feel if we were able to create it. Seeing what we have to
build it, seeing the gifts others bring to be shared.
In a world measured by quantity, few may be affected by our
work in the theatre, but for those few- what a potential for making
a difference.
Bertolt Brecht, whose plays served as a wonderful model for my
own work, wrote a simple poem describing his thoughts as an artist:

And I always thought: the very simplest words

Must be enough. When I say what things are like
Everyone's heart must be torn to shreds.

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The Director's Eye

That you'll go down if you don't stand up for yourself

Surely you see that.

For many years now, I have ended my classes and

closed my production runs by inviting participants
to sit on the floor around a candle or two -
occasionally a bonfire. In the silence I've asked
them to look around. To look at those other faces
with whom they have shared their memories and
their creations. And then I've asked them to speak
to one another. Simply. To tell each other of
moments they won't forget. Of times shared. To
thank each other for help when it was most needed.
To remind each other when they have made a
difference.

- And they have. Emboldened by the first to

speak, they talked to each other - one to one while
the rest of us listened in the background. Oh, they
spoke at times to us all, but mostly to one and then
to another. They told of surprises and needs filled.
They spoke of anger no longer felt and partnerships
formed that yearn for ways to continue. They
shared fears changed to confidence. They laughed
and cried. But mostly they spoke about what they
had learned - learned about one another and
about themselves. How talented they realized
others were, how wonderful it had been to work
with them.

Out of it came a powerful reminder of the

celebration inherent in the theatre. Coming together
we share life itself. The immediate moments and
more. We share those experiences stored up from
lifetimes of insight. We share our deepest feelings,
our most intimate values. "The theatre is the
dwelling place of wonder," wrote Sherwood.

Yes. Yes, it is. Time and time again.

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 Acknowledgments
Photographs were supplied by or are reproduced by permission
of the following: University Theatre at the University of Illinois,
pages iii, 11, 45, 95, 137, 203; John Ahart, pages 259, 323; Larry
Kanfer Photography, page 323.

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 About the Author
John Ahart, director, teacher,
playwright, Emeritus Professor of
Theatre, University· of Illinois,
began his teaching career at
Heidelberg College, a liberal arts school in Ohio, where he served as
director of theatre and head of the Department of Speech.
At the University of Illinois, he supervised the graduate
directors' workshop and later headed the MFA directing program
for much of his 32-year tenure, directing a wide range of major
works at the Krannert Center for the Performing Arts.
His original production, Head of State, was performed at the
Kennedy Center as part of the ACTF festival and led to the creation
of a new theatre company which the press came to call " ... a national
treasure." He was founding and artistic director of that company,
The Great American People Show, performing at New Salem,
Illinois, for 20 years beginning in the Bicentennial year, 1976. Under
his direction, GAPS was the first theatre to win the Illinois
Governor's Arts Award, presenting more than 1,000 performances
of original works drawn from American history. It became Illinois'
Official.Theatre of Lincoln and the American Experience and was a
model for projects developed by the Illinois Humanities Council
and the National Endowment for the Humanities. Ahart holds a
B.A. Marietta College, M.A. University of Illinois, and Ph.D.
University of Minnesota.
His work as playwright and director received numerous
citations from the Illinois Legislature and the Governor of Illinois
for its contribution to the people of Illinois.
In 1995, he was the subject of the PBS television documentary
Passion for Lincoln.

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