Posts Tagged ‘storytelling’

Post-Narrative Storytelling and Rugged Individualism

Friday, June 11th, 2010

One thing I often take issue with in terms of American style theater is the narrowly defined focus on storytelling. Often the story is reduced to the events surrounding a lead character and their actions upon other characters. The focus is on the egoic structures centered around a very American notion of individualism and identity. I understand why it exists as this focus permeates American culture to the exclusion of most else. It is also the aspect of American culture that I least resonate with.

Bloodshed, slavery, and genocide aside, the idea this country was founded on was not the individual against everything but a more collectivist community. As the preamble to the U.S. Constitution states: We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

This is the intent of the Constitution. A collective act to create a better world for those who acted and future generations. The idea of the rugged individualist is more a historical accident born from the Western expansion of the American Empire. But as this country evolved, and moved towards practical concerns and away from its idealistic origins, the focus and intent of the culture was changed along with it. Thus we arrive at the present moment where the legacy of that rugged individualism is infused into every nook and cranny of the American experience.

It manifests in the work we see on stages as well as more pop-culture. Not only do these ideas present themselves in the literal narrative of written text, but also in the visual storytelling; scenic design, clothing, lighting, sound, and so forth. Too often the focus, as a function of the typical American disposition, gets placed on the actions of the character to the exclusion of everything else. Much like “Secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves” gets extracted from the rest of the constitution in a vain act of ego inflation.

While this can be fine entertainment, and certainly is a reflection of one aspect of American culture, it fails to express the fullness of that culture and, like much of American politics, ignores the founding dream upon which this nation came into being. We have lost our core belief as a country. As a result, our nation, our culture, and the world suffers.

To focus only on the egoic actions of the lead character(s) ignores the social context in which these characters exist. Social relationships are ignored or mitigated in terms of significance. Forget about social context. A set is nothing more than a representation of a place in which a person acts. Even when abstracted. The very thought of scenography as, perhaps, a resonant chamber against which actions might echo and reverberate is all but ignored.

There are two American theater artists I can think of whose entire process breaks down these problematics and builds a new potential vision of culture. Anne Bogart with her viewpoints method gives us a vector to reclaim collectivist social space within a theatrical context. The other is Richard Foreman. Probably my favorite theater maker in this country, he understands how the entire design, from scenery, to costumes, to lighting, to sound, must all work to provide a context in which action occurs. The action on its own is of no significance if it is not placed within a context.

Foreman’s notions of design as the construction of a resonant chamber could be linked to the Heideggarian notion of Thrownness. That is, an individual is born, or thrown, into a particular socio-historic context prescribed with various rules of behavior, social norms, expectations, customs, and ethics. From out of this thownness the individual must find their authentic Self. Their true way of being. Returning to a theatrical setting, the actions of a character, be they actor, singer or dancer, make no sense unless they exist within some context against which they act.

To simply “tell the story” of the lead character is to fall prey to the trap which ensnares American culture and politics. It is to see the individual as more important than the group. The now as more important than the future.

To fully embody the self we must transcend our culture. To transcend does not mean to leave behind. It means to fully incorporate it and build beyond its capacity. Foreman has done this through writing which I would characterize as falling firmly in the American romantic tradition. Yet he has taken those ideas, particularly the notion of the individual self, to such a far degree that it has moved beyond its origins and into a whole new mode of theatrical experience. His staging and scenography is a transcendent act.

In discussing theater so extensively here I do not mean to imply it is the only mode of performance which suffers from this problem. Opera and dance too are firmly entrenched in this egoic mode of storytelling. The trend in contemporary dance to tell rather pedestrian stories about the choreographer’s mundane experience is another manifestation of this. Long gone are the days of Martha Graham’s focus on myth or Steps in the Street which firmly places the individual within a social context.

American Opera is typically one of the worst in this regard. The excessive use of followspots to “tell the story” of the lead singer is a failure on the part of the creators to move beyond textual narrative and embrace a fuller notion of storytelling. Although in that world there are some escape vectors. The design work of John Conklin provides us with an American designer whose work transcends typical American storytelling.

With the traditional American mode of storytelling we miss out on some great theatrical opportunities. Real people doing real things are not interesting on stage. Realism and naturalism are far better handled by film. American performance, by and large, has forgotten the essence of true theatricality. Spectacle is certainly present, but theatricality, that magic of liveness, where things happen which are only compelling because they are live, is rare.

Perhaps we need a return to origins. Just as this country could stand to read through the constitution again and truly soak in what was actually said, so too could we, as creators, rediscover what makes live performance unique and compelling and return there. From that more solid foundation we become better able to move forwards and create strong and powerful works which engage our audiences and transcend their beliefs as to what is possible.

Towards an Understanding of Visual Dramaturgy

Monday, April 19th, 2010

The first step to becoming a visual artist is to develop one’s visual thinking. Once you can think visually you can begin to devise an approach to a particular creation. If you are a designer, there is a bit more than just visual thinking that must go on. You must approach the text (be it the words of a play, the movement of a dance, or the music of an opera) as a kind of translator. A translator from the verbal, kinesthetic, or musical into the visual.

Visual translations, like linguistic translations, can occur on several levels either discretely or simultaneously. One of the biggest issues in verbal translation is with poetry in verse. The translator finds themselves with the conundrum of staying true to the literal translation or to the verse or to the “poetic intent.” Any combination of these may be used and each will result in a different translation.

Chinese Tong poetry for instance works with its particular meter because the language it was developed in is tonal with few to no polysyllabic words. Thus translating a Tong poem will, almost by necessity, compromise either the meter or the meaning. And meaning is tricky on its own. The word “Love” in English is a large word that encompasses many meanings. In Greek they have many smaller words each with their own unique nuance. Agape and Eros mean very different things, yet would both be translated as Love, in English.

These problems arise for the designer just as, if not more, strongly than for the verbal translator. Is it more important to literally set the play in a drawing room or should the emotional tenor of the piece be of primary importance? Do we concern ourselves with an exact replica of 4:30 in the afternoon or was the writer’s intent to have a softening of the light? Are the corsets from the period appropriate or is the idea of a woman constricted by social norms of primary importance and thus the corsets should be exaggerated and extreme?

Any number of questions may arise in the pre-production phase wherein these questions can, should, and I would argue, must be asked. We are asking our audiences to spend a not insignificant amount of money and a good chunk of time. Thus it is incumbent upon us to go as deep with the work as we can go. To ask all the questions necessary of good translators such that we may give our audience the truest, to us, interpretation of the text.

Anyone can memorize lines, but it takes a depth of analysis and rigor to be a Marlon Brando. So too can anyone design scenery, but only a mind wholly committed to the dramaturgical rigors of visual translation can be a John Conklin. As lighting designer Jennifer Tipton once said, “only 10 percent of an audience notices the lighting, but 99 percent are affected by it.”

The issues that designers face are not just “details that only they would notice” but the very foundation of the subconscious experience of the audience. There may only be one guy during an entire run who notices that the uniform is two years out of date, but it will color his experience of the piece. And, as live entertainment is a collective and communal experience, it will affect the experience of those near him and ripple out and through the audience. God, as they say, is in the details.

As lighting designers our job is doubly difficult. Not only do we have to reconcile our visual language with that of the text, but we must also integrate it with the vocabulary of the scenery and the costumes. Since our work in many ways comes last, the set is on stage and the performers are in costume when we begin lighting, it is even more critical that we look deeply into the needs of the text and understand the visual language at play before us. Our visual reading of the production design will give us a direction to approach the larger question of translation.

Of course we would have been involved in the design discussions from an early stage in the process, but it becomes critical that we read the work before us anew and note any shifts and changes our translation will require with the addition of the other visual elements. We must stay fresh and in the present. Then we can alter our translation in response to the shifting performance as we move through the text in rehearsals.

It is a balancing act. A four dimensional puzzle that will be completed, one way or another, when the curtain rises on opening night. The audience wants to be transported. For them to be transported we must become translated.

The Art of Storytelling

Monday, June 2nd, 2008

This series of videos is necessary viewing for anyone involved in creative pursuits.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Visioning the Cyber Monk

Sunday, May 6th, 2007

Revisiting a story I worked with less than a year ago is an interesting process. Antigona is a VERY different play than the Antigone I lit last November. Where Anouilh is concerned with the futility of action, Wanatabe explores the burden of duty. Reducing the performance to a single actor really helps to focus and condense the storytelling and illuminate the themes in the story.

The Gandhi quote from yesterday further illuminates these ideas of duty and justice as they relate to the play. The idea of non-co-operation as not only not in conflict with ones duty towards a government but is in fact an active part of ones duty towards it when the government acts in violation of its duty toward the populace.

Wanatabe’s Antigona explores the duty one has to act in the face of injustice. It is a sharp and precise text. Where Anouilh is like a clouded morning fog that slowly dissipates, Wanatabe strikes right to the heart of the matter. Visualizing these two texts, the differences becomes apparent at first hearing the words. Sharp lines and shadow beg for presence with the words of Wanatabe. It is cruel and harsh.

Wanatabe brings the text back to its ancient and classical roots while at the same time propelling it into a wholly contemporary setting. It becomes in a way timeless, or rather out of time. The Narrator exists like an archetype or a god divorced from time, like Cain marked for eternity and cursed to wander the Earth forever in debt to the God he disobeyed.

There is nothing old about the Anouilh text. It is so fully of its time that in many ways the text can not escape its historical predicament. There is no movement in the text that allows it to propel past the historical incident of its first writing. It can exist as an entertaining and fascinating exploration of an historical time, but at least in our current historical setting it does not and can not achieve escape velocity.

What is Wanatabe’s narrator? Our discussions have revolved around such postmodern notions as simultaneity. We looked at the text as a kind of zero point along a long and ever changing spectrum that extends both forward and backwards in time. Cyberpunk and Steampunk both became areas of exploration for locating the visual style of the play. A visual style that embodies this collision of temporal locations and events is critical to this text.

We are also exploring other texts like Dougals Rushkoff’s Testament wherein a classic story is revisioned into a contemporary setting, telling both at the same time.

And that of course feeds back into the idea of the Narrator as archetype. Contemporary society does not have a narrator per se. Rather we have a weakened form as the rock star or the pop musician. The storyteller translated through 20th century capitalism only to land as the commodified preacher of the 21st century.

Relocating these ideas back to the play we have discovered our narrator to be a kind Cyber-Monk. The rockstar storyteller of a retro-future running parallel to our own world. A perpetual beggar wandering the earth in debt from her lack of action and failing her duty, cursed to wander the Earth and tell her story to everyone who can listen.


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