A while back Ian said something to the effect of “there is no such thing as Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Rather the thing we call the Ninth is a question.” He was making a clear parallel between the composition of an orchestral piece of music and the playscript. Written work for the theatre is not literature and does not exist on its own. Certainly good writing has strong literary qualities but it is not, or rather should not be, intended to be read except as a tool to get to performance.
I have heard a lot of writers of late bemoaning the lack of full productions of new works in favor of staged readings. It is a shame, because there is no way in a staged reading to get a full sense of the kinetic potential that a play hold within it. This is why things like SPF are so wonderful. A playscript is not a dynamic thing in the same way that a map is not. They each may be beautifully rendered, but until you are traversing the countryside searching for your destination among the hills and trees and sunlight, you do not know the true beauty that the map points to.
I believe fairly strongly that whatever does not appear in the dialog of a text is not inherent to the play. It might be quite important to the script, and it may serve a necessary function of setting the production in the right direction but unless it exists in the words spoken by the characters it is not necessary. If a scene needs to be set in a cafe one of the characters will say at some point, “My, what a wonderful little cafe this is!” Or some other bit. But more often than not what is needed is an emotional context in which the performers must negotiate their relationships.
One of my favorite stage directions comes from Charles Mee’s Big Love
This is Italy:
rose and white.If Emanuel Ungaro had a villa on the west coast of Italy, this would be it:
we are outdoors,
on the terrace or in the garden,
facing the ocean:wrought iron
white muslin
flowers
a tree
an arbor
an outdoor dinner table with chairs for six
a white marble balustrade
elegant
simple
basic
eternal.But the setting for the piece should not be real, or naturalistic.
It should not be a set for the piece to play within
but rather something against which the piece can resonate:
something on the order of a bathtub, 100 olive trees,
and 300 wine glasses half-full of red wine.More an installation than a set.
It is midsummer evening–the long, long golden twilight.
The beauty is not in the literalism, but in how it so clearly evokes a visual style. Wim Wenders talks about reading stories as a young child and coming to the realization that the real life of the books came out in the spaces between the letters. In those places left open to the imagination. So too must a text for the Theatre be left open to the imagination of the actors, director and designers. This is not in any way to say that any one of these people’s opinion should trump the language. What it is saying is that the language is best served by being approached as a proposition, a question, rather than a definitive statement.
Tenessee Williams understood this fact quite well. He knew that in the end what is on stage in front of an audience is far greater than the language itself. Thus, he was able to see Jo Mielziner‘s designs for A Streetcar Named Desire and rewrote the play to more strongly reflect its life on the stage. But this same example is a warning to designers and directors who would too soon abandon a playwrights intent. Several of the lighting effects that generated critical praise in the original production came directly from the written playscript.
The final product on stage is not the creation of any one individual, but rather the result of a collective negotiation between numerous people striving for the same goal. The making of a play is a constant negotiation. Ideas are brought forth and tested in light of other ideas. One pushing the other slightly aside, or transforming the meaning of another to match some new form. It is a beautiful and organic thing to watch happen.
I personally find it most interesting when the elements do not all mesh perfectly. When the whole does not fall into the hypnotic seduction of false empathy. Rather, to see the various elements stand a bit apart from one another in a constant negotiation between text and subtext, between the real and the imaginary. Because in the end, those lines are not so hard and fast, even in our daily life. The life of the mind is not a different thing than the life of the body in society.
Mielziner’s design for Streetcar is a perfect example of this merging of the life of the real and the life of the mind. We all must negotiate, as Blanche must, the interior life and the exterior reality. Sometimes they are harmonious and sometimes they come into sharp conflict with one another. It is this negotiation that is at the heart of the text and is also visually manifested in the design.
I have garnered for myself a reputation for unconventional lighting. That reputation has caused me to be hired for several projects where the producer or director wanted an “unconventional” approach to the lighting. I have written about this before. Is my work unconventional? Some people thought it was. Just as it was considered by some unconventional to light a dance with only bare lightbulbs. To me, I was just trying to understand the text. Attempting to get at the core of the spacio-rhythmic structure of the piece. I certainly do not try to be unconventional and I hope I am not “always” unconventional. Rather, I simply try to translate the structure of the work into a visual language that can enter into dialog with everything else on stage.
Tags: design, jo mielziner, lighting design, negotiation, playscripts, playwrights, rhythm, stage directions, unconventional lighting, writing
The quote wasn’t mine personally, Lucas, but came from somewhere else (which I credited), but I hesitate to bring up the specifics, as I like your rephrasing of it as much as the original. And as usual, bravo on everything above.
And how odd. Just before reading this post I had been rereading a short play of mine, thinking of posting it in my blog, wondering if it was too long, too obscure, etc.
The play deliberately has nearly no stage directions inside itself, with one long direction beforehand that is both very specific (“here is where you might see this happening”) and very vague (“but it doesn’t have to be that way, that’s just the mood”).
I see it, oddly enough, given your example, as in a cafe. Synchronicity happening, you’ve tilted me in favor of posting it.
Glad to have helped you tilt. I’ll take a look at the play when I get a chance.