Monday, May 19, 2008

REFLECTIONS ON "AGON" THE CENTRAL ELEMENT OF "CONTEST" IN WESTERN DRAMA

The spirit of contest in Ancient Greece.


Aien Aristeuein (Ever to Excel): During a battle between the Greeks and Trojans, Diomedes is impressed by the bravery of a mysterious young man and demands to know his identity. Glaucus replies: "Hippolocus begat me. I claim to be his son, and he sent me to Troy with strict instructions: Ever to excel, to do better than others, and to bring glory to your forebears, who indeed were very great ... This is my ancestry; this is the blood I am proud to inherit." (Iliad 6. 208)

Aien Aristeuein: The World of the Hawk

The Homeric heroic world, as it comes across in the Iliad and the Odyssey, is a predominantly aristocratic, warrior-culture whose mentality is largely governed by power in its naked, immediate form. Aretē, a key word in understanding the Homeric hero's behavior, points to the ethical ideals of the aristoi (noblemen, aristocrats) -- significantly, the two words seem to have a common etymological root -- and it emphasizes the agonistic nature of their values. Although it is usually translated as "virtue" or "excellence," aretē in Homer can more accurately be rendered as "prowess in battle" and is geared toward those qualities that are most needed in a warlike society, such as physical strength, valor, endurance, and so on. Homeric aretē also has a second meaning, describing intellectual rather than physical abilities, but again in a competitive context: for example, Odysseus is praised as being aristos in counsel, that is, because of his ability to bring about, through skillful manipulation or cunning (mētis), his own party's success in war or peace. In the Homeric world, therefore, power presents itself as agon or competitive play. This means not only that contest has an important function in Homeric society, but also that the hero sees his relationship to other humans and to the divinities, as well as to existence at large, in terms of a universal game of power. Hippolochus' valedictory words to his son Glaukos, "Aien aristeuein kai hupeirochon emmenai allon" ("always be best and excel others," Il. 6.208), repeated by Nestor, who this time puts them in the mouth of Peleus as the latter sends his son Achilles off to the Trojan War (Il. 11.784), aptly express the Hellenic aristocratic ideal of life, based on play as contest.

Before examining the various forms of agonistic play in the Homeric epic, it would be useful to recall briefly the semantic history of words such as agōn and aethlos. In Homer, agōn designates "an assembly with games or contests," "the place where the games are held," and the "competitors or the potential competitors" themselves (any member of the assembly may join in the competition). Some dictionaries list "place of assembly" as the original meaning of agōn and "assembly to witness games" as a secondary meaning. A closer look at the Iliad and the Odyssey, however, shows that the agōn semantic group is almost always used in connection with games or contests. Out of the twenty-three lines where agōn appears in the Iliad, sixteen relate to the funeral games held in Patroclus' honor (book 23), whereas in the Odyssey all six lines where the word appears are in some way associated with games. G. G. P. Autenrieth lists the Homeric meanings of agōn in the correct order: (1) assembly, especially to witness games; contest, games; (2) assemblage or place of assemblage of the ships; (3) place of combat, arena, including the space occupied by the spectators. At the outset, therefore, the word agōn clearly holds a central position in the Hellenic vocabulary of play. In post Homeric times, agōn becomes increasingly abstract, designating only the game or the contest itself. It gradually transcends the sphere of athletic games, extending to such abstract contexts as law, politics, warfare, eros, rhetoric, history, philosophy, and literary criticism; even in these contexts, however, its connection with the notion of play remains firm.

In turn, Homeric aethlos (Att. athlos) specifically signifies "prize-contest," but it can also mean "combat in war" as well as "toil" and "hardship," such as Euristheus imposes on Heracles (Il. 8.363). Like agōn, athlos turns increasingly abstract and in the classical period the two terms become interchangeable: both of them can denote "athletic contest," such as the great Panhellenic festivals. At the same time agōn undergoes an ethical polarization, acquiring negative meanings; like athlos, it can signify "hardship" or "toil," for example, in agōnia. This polarization appears approximately at the moment when, in certain Sophists and in Plato, paidia comes to denote not only "children's play" but also "play" in general. It is the moment when philosophy separates play from agōn, that is, from violent contest and power -- a separation that took place especially in the context of the Platonic theory of education (paideia) and that was adopted and perpetuated by subsequent classical scholarship. It can be concluded, then, that the semantic development of agōn and aethlos equally reflects the shift in emphasis from an archaic to a median mentality in Hellenic thought, where the aristocratic notion of contest undergoes a process of ethical polarization, acquiring an increasingly ambivalent emotional value.

In the Homeric epic, play as agōn governs the transactions among heroes, among gods, between men and gods, and between mortals and Moira. Heroes relate to other heroes in terms of a competitive game, the goal of which is to establish a relative hierarchy (primus inter pares) within the aristocratic group. This hierarchy, however, remains highly unstable. The hero ceaselessly worries about his order of rank in relation to his peers and about "what people will say," because success is labile by nature. He constantly has to prove his aretē in battle and in the assembly, constantly has to remain in the public eye. For instance, after his quarrel with Agamemnon, Achilles cannot afford to stay away from the battlefield for too long lest he should be forgotten, a fate worse than death for the Homeric hero. He has no moral scruples in enlisting the help of his mother, Thetis (even if this means bringing almost total disaster upon the Greek camp), in order to make sure that his comrades need his services. Moral scruples (in the modern sense, arising from the notion of ethical responsibility toward fellow humans at large) are irrelevant in a heroic society, where intentions count less than performance, and where performance is judged largely in terms of success and failure. Achilles is less concerned with the common good than with his own timē (fame, reputation, but also sphere of influence), which depends only indirectly upon this common good. (Actually, the welfare of the Greek camp can only be, and should have been, Agamemnon's concern, being part of his timē as the commander-in-chief of the army.)

From, "God of Many Names: Play, Poetry, and Power in Hellenic Thought from Homer to Aristotle" Book by Mihai I. Spariosu; Duke University Press, 1991

So, what does all of this mean and what relevance does it hold for working with actors? Movies (Fiction and Non-Fiction), plays, "reality shows," and certainly Game Shows, as well as most all forms of 'Western' entertainment, growing as it does out of the soil of a compulsively competitive Greek culture, inherits agōn/contest/conflict, as a given; to the point, whereby, “no agōn, no entertainment” to the 'Western' viewer, for the better or for the worse.

And so, one might approach all drama today from the standpoint that ALL characters' "super-super-objective" is to WIN (something).

What do you think?

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"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."

Saturday, May 17, 2008

PABLO PICASSO

I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it. - Pablo Picasso

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"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."

Thursday, May 15, 2008

KIM CHUEH: TERRIFIC YOUNG ACTOR


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"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."

Friday, May 9, 2008

ON GIVEN CIRCUMSTANCES

Sincerity of emotions, feelings that seem true in given circumstances -- that is what we ask of a dramatist. -- Aleksandr Pushkin

"This expression means . . . the story of the play, the facts, events, epoch, time and place of action, conditions of life, the actors' and régisseur's (director's) interpretation, the mise-en-scène, the production, the sets, the costumes, properties, lighting and sound effects -- all the circumstances that are given to an actor to take into account as he creates his role." -- An Actor Prepares

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"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."

Thursday, May 8, 2008

ADAPTATION/DOCUMENTARY MARATHON


Just came home from watching two-days of movies made by the students who I'll be working with next year.
What a pleasure. Each film, springs from a keen mind and filled with heart. Subject matter and execution so in keeping with meaningful and engaging -- movie making. In this time, when so much popular entertainment fails to satisfy, these two days have been like an oasis. What an inspiration. -- Thank you.

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"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

KONSTANTIN STANISLAVSKY:CREATIVE WORK WITH THE ACTOR; A DISCUSSION ON DIRECTING

KONSTANTIN STANISLAVSKY
Creative Work with the Actor; A Discussion on Directing
From: "Directors on Directing" by Toby Cole, Helen Krich Chinoy; Bobbs-Merrill, 1963. ( .pdf version)
K. S. STANISLAVSKY: . . . I am told that we must create directors, but I must say that this question has never been clear to me. My experience tells me that you cannot create a director--a director is born. It is possible to create a favorable atmosphere in which he can grow. But to take Ivan Ivanovich and make a director out of him is hardly feasible. The true director comprises within his own person a director-teacher, a director-artist, a director-writer, a director-administrator. What can we do if one has these qualifications while another has not?

If the director realizes that "I possess certain elements and lack others, but I shall try to acquire more, and in the meantime give the theater all I have"; if he does this with discernment and helps create a collective of directors--this might, to a certain extent, compensate for the absence of all those elements in one man. . . .

One thing is clear to me: there are directors of the result and directors of the root. We must distinguish one from the other. We need directors of the root. This is one of the most important requisites for the Art Theater.

The first seeks immediate results. . . . He often takes two--three-five substances, mixes them in the retort to see what will happen. Sometimes what happens is not what is required. "How can I, the director, fix it? I can add to these elements the inorganic substance opopanax . . . I can say to the actor 'Make a good try in this passage . . . otherwise they'll blame me as director.'"

This method of work I consider a crime. If you drop opopanax into a retort containing organic substances everything will begin to boil, hiss, stink.

Hence, one or the other--result or root.

Another thing: "I, as director, produce a play and that's all." Or "I produce a play and in the process create an actor." There is a difference. The director might make a play without worrying about the actor. He can get the actor full-fledged. However, one must first create an actor's company--the plays and the theater will follow as a matter of course.

It is possible to "make" a play, to "model" a play to prove yourself a director. The actor can pass muster by a certain cleverness . . . but nothing significant will come of it so long as the actor is oblivious of the word "organic." Many have forgotten the difference between the organic and the inorganic, theatrical truth and organic truth. . . .

The question is whether you can prepare an actor with whom I can talk about his role so that, like a piece of clay, he could feel the pressure of my fingers. Not every kind of clay is fit for sculpture and it is not every actor you can talk to about art. But if we set aside this first moment, we start everything by compulsion. If a director foists upon an actor his own, the director's thoughts, derived from his own personal emotional memories, if he tells him "You must act precisely so," he does violence to the actor's nature. Does he need my emotional memories? He has his own. I must cling to his soul like a magnet and see what it contains. Then cast another magnet. I want to see the material side of him. Aha! Now I understand of what living emotional material he is constituted. There can be no other. . . .

But there is still the sequence and logic of the emotions--what about them? How can we speak of the logic and sequence of the emotions? I do not even know to what university I should turn to learn about the inner logic and sequence of the emotions. How to understand them? How to record them? I say this is not necessary. The business of an actor is to act. You play Romeo. If you were in love what would you do? Take your notebook and write "Met her at some spot, she did not look at me, I turned away offended." In this way you can fill a whole volume. You recall your life, you transfer your emotions to your role. This passion, love, you analyze into its component moments of logical action. All of them together constitute love. . . . To all the stages in the unfolding of the emotions there will be corresponding logical sequences. Along these stages you will step into your role, because you took from your own life everything that concerns love and you transfer it to your role. These are not merely bits of Romeo, they are bits of yourself. . . .

N. N. LITOVTZEVA: And when do you give the actors the necessary words?

STANISLAVSKY: That is the most difficult moment. I try at first not to give any words at all--all I need is the plan of the action. When the actor has mastered that, a certain line of action has matured within him which he begins to feel with his body, his muscles. When this happens the actor realizes where he is going and why. He reaches a moment when he must act for the sake of something. That is a very agitating moment. . . . I give them the words when they have to act with words. At first they can act only with thoughts. And when I see that they understand these thoughts and that they also grasp the inner logic and sequence of these thoughts, I say: "Now take the words." Then they will have a different relation to the words. They need the words not in order to memorize them by rote but to act them out. They put the words not on the muscles of their tongue, not even in the brain, but into the very soul whence the actor strives toward the super-objective. 1 Then the words will become super-effective.

The correct actions and the correct thoughts have been established.

Now you are nearer to the essence of the role. You have a base on which to stand.

But can you succeed without through action? Definitely not. This is achieved gradually, not in a formal but in an absolutely correct sense. . . .

V. G. SAKHNOVSKY: . . . Supposing that a favorable combination of circumstances makes it possible to organize an ensemble. Is it enough to train the group technically and professionally or would you make other demands on it, as for example, that the actors should be capable of analyzing the phenomena of life, that they should be broadly cultured, that they should be abreast of their age?

STANISLAVSKY: I am surprised that such a question is put to me at all. Can there be any doubt about whether we need an actor with a wide or a narrow horizon, an actor who is intelligent or one who is stupid--by all means, the broadest outlook, the most cultured. . . .

E. S. TELESHEVA: Must you explain the super-objective to the actor? Do you yourself define it before work begins?

STANISLAVSKY: I am afraid to make a definitive decision prematurely. There must be something of a hint first. I know where I am going-to the right or to the left. But I am looking for a device whose logic itself will lead us by the nose to the point where we must say: this is definitely the super-objective, there can be no other.

Suppose you play a certain scene. What is your objective? I want to know what you are driving at. I say to the actor: "Start playing and proceed." The first objective has been dissolved in the new--it is no longer needed. Let us take the next fragment. I discover a new circumstance. Now the foregoing objective is no longer useful. It has been dissolved by a more powerful solvent. My attention is already drawn to the fourth fragment.

Thus you go through the entire play till you reach the super-objective. If you found an actor who was so thoroughly steeped in the super-objective, who understood it so profoundly and completely that this objective swallowed all the fragments and all the subordinate objectives of the play, a most powerful through action would result and the entire role would be created largely unconsciously. Every great objective destroys and absorbs in itself all the preceding smaller objectives which recede into the subconscious. They no longer burden your mind. You take the super-objective and everything only serves to bring you to it.

LITOVTZEVA: Then the path is from the minor objective to the super-objective?

STANISLAVSKY: . . . Every important objective commands your attention completely. You do not have enough concentration to perform consciously every step of the way. Your own creative nature does it. That is true creativity. Organic nature itself, with which you cannot meddle, is the creator. But not every super-objective is capable of awakening our nature to creativeness. Suppose that my super-objective in Hamlet is to show the profligate mother in conflict with her son who deeply loves his father. Can such a super-objective satisfy? No, because I brought it down to a trivial level. I reduced it to a philistine idea. If I base the super-objective on a profound conception of life, that is a different thing altogether.

Imagine that I have the following objective. I am convinced that I, Hamlet, must cleanse the entire court, the entire world of evil and I must involve in this objective all the people around me in order to save my martyred father. I have undertaken an unequalled objective, but I fulfill it. You understand what torture, to be unable to fulfill an objective which could save my father. This overpowering objective facing a man who struggles and tosses about trying to accomplish it will of course move you more strongly than the other. . . .

I say to the actor: "Give me what is in the play, but give it to me so that it is true to the very end." Let him go over it ten times. He can don his costume only when he is one with the role and the role is one with him. But heaven forbid that the image be molded when the actor is not yet warm, not yet pliable. This is harmful to the role. The role is not yet one with him and he is not yet one with the role. That is a moment which we often miss. If, however, you want to achieve a full blending of the actor with his role, then sit him down with you at the table. He will appeal to you himself. "I have a line on the role--I would not like to spoil it--what given circumstances do I still lack to breathe more life into the role?"

I. Y. SUDAKOV: To be ready to mount the stage how many of these given circumstances does he need?

STANISLAVSKY: He will not enter the room until it is made alive by the given circumstances. The actor will beg you for it because he must place himself within the role. He will think: "They say I entered the wrong way. But how should I enter? What should I do? I don't know yet to whom I am going and where I came from."

"Let us talk about where you came from."

"And where did I come to?"

You tell him: "Play so that I can believe you," and he will have to go through the same process all over again.

SUDAKOV: And if he had buried his father that day, he would enter differently.

STANISLAVSKY: If he buried his father--that is one thing. If he returned drunk from a tavern-that's another. If he came from his bride--that is still a third.

He will not know how to drink a glass of tea unless he knows where he came from and why.

SUDAKOV: Then the life of the image will result from the evaluation of the given circumstances.

STANISLAVSKY: The result will be the life of the human body. But that is a trap. The question is not in the life of the human body. In order to create the life of the human body we must create the life of the human soul. From it you create the logic of action, you create the inner line, but give it form externally. If you go through three-four acts in a given sequence the appropriate mood will come naturally.

A moment arrives when from the fusion of the actor's personal inner truth with the truth of the role, something transpires. His head swims in the literal sense. "Where am I? Where is the role?" And right there is the beginning of the amalgamation of the actor and his role. The mood is yours but it also flows from the role. The logic of the mood is inherent in the role. The given circumstances are from the role. You cannot tell where you are and where the role is. There is complete amalgamation. And that is the moment of unity. . . .

SUDAKOV: You follow the line of the play.

STANISLAVSKY: I follow the facts of the play. I take the actor as such. He places himself in the given circumstances of the role. He has to create a characteristic image. But he remains himself. Whenever he withdraws from himself, he kills the role. You live with your emotions. Remove the emotions and the role is dead. You must remain yourself in the image. If I walk around with a sick leg am I a different man? Am I different if bitten by a bee? These are external circumstances. . . .

We are analyzing all the procedures, all the possibilities which take us to the threshold of the subconscious, which generate the subconscious reactions. The most powerful are through action and the super-objective. What is our present objective? Take two-three-four-five cues. You say: "I want to attract attention" and someone else will say "I try to understand what I am told." The first objective has here been swallowed by the second, and the third will swallow the second, and all of them will be swallowed in the end by the superobjective.

If now you find an actor who adheres fast to the super-objective and follows through action all the subordinate objectives will be resolved subconsciously.

LITOVITZEVA: It is not clear to me how each preliminary objective is swallowed by the subsequent one.

STANISLAVSKY: For example:

"What dost thou say?"

"Nothing, my lord: or if--I know not what."

What is Iago's objective?

LITOVTZEVA: To arouse suspicion.

STANISLAVSKY: And Othello's?

LITOVTZEVA: To understand Iago's hint.

STANISLAVSKY: And what is the next objective? Othello laughs at

Iago's words "Nothing, my lord." What then happened to the first objective? It was swallowed up by the second. Let us go further. You have a powerful objective:"to sacrifice life for the ideal woman." If your every sentence supports this objective you will realize how ridiculous it is to permit suspicion to fall on Desdemona. How you will laugh! But if you come upon some plausible circumstance cunningly contrived by Iago you will become perplexed. Everything will appear self-evident precisely because I cleave strongly to the superobjective and the through action. . . .

SAKHNOVSKY: The director read the play as attentively as the actor. Then the director and the actor met and followed the organic line of action which you speak about. What next? Do you go through act after act, scene after scene? What will this lead to? When does the question of the super-objective and through action arise?

STANISLAVSKY: You indicate approximately some kind of an objective. But the super-objective will not be found in a long time. Perhaps only at the twentieth performance. However, you do suggest to the actor a temporary super-objective. He will make use of it. This objective is not final. It indicates for the moment the necessary direction, not far from the truth, yet not the truth itself which will emerge from the study of the role in one's self and one's self in the role.

SAKHNOVSKY: And when will through action appear?

STANISLAVSKY: All the actors in a body will suggest it to you. If you plan it alone it may be right formally yet wrong as living experience. The actors themselves will prompt you: "Here it is, the objective, this is about where we must look for it." Let us look for it together with the actors. . . .

L. M. LEONIDOV: You deduce the super-objective from indications by the author. But if we both play the Bailiff must we both have the same super-objective?

STANISLAVSKY: The same one but it is somewhat different in your case. Yours is pinkish blue, mine is pinkish green.

LEONIDOV: We walk along different corridors but we arrive at the same spot.

STANISLAVSKY: That spot is in your imagination and mine. The difference is there because each is the result of the difference in our entire lives, in our emotional memories.

LEONIDOV: In the life of the Bailiff?

STANISLAVSKY: It has become your life. In your reflection it will be somewhat different from mine.

LITOVTZEVA: How then can we go on if we do not immediately know where to go? We can lose our way.

STANISLAVSKY (passing a finger around the rim of a tea glass): Here is a circle. In the center is the super-objective. It is the circle of your life--the role. Life begins here and death. You take this section of life (indicating part of the circle). You know the past, you have prospects for the future. You must find your way to the super-objective. You know it is somewhere around here (points to the center of the glass). You proceed from here, from your simple action. You know that the super-objective is somewhere up there in the airless space. Presently you pass around the circle and determine the center. In the final analysis you must explore what constitutes the center, the essence, the soul of your role. . . .

LEONIDOV: Can an actor concentrate the entire length of four acts? Or are there still other factors?

STANISLAVSKY: Great actors like Salvini or Yermolayeva can. YerU00AD molayeva requires no other factors. From beginning to end her attention is concentrated both on the stage and behind the wings.

LEONIDOV: The most important thing is that on the stage no word is to be mumbled. Every sentence must be pregnant with thought. But to what extent is this possible through the length of four acts?

STANISLAVSKY: You may live with the super-objective but that need not prevent you from talking to someone between the acts about an unrelated subject. You do not thereby depart from your line. The line of physical action has a staying power; you may return to it very easily. Of course, if such a line is lacking, there will be trouble.

I have in my studio only God knows what talents--but they know how to pay attention to their work. When I said to them: "I give you just three problems: you meet, you look each other over, you get married," they told me this lightened their task so much, they had no trouble playing their parts. I found new adjustments, new situations. They made excellent actors.

LITOVTZEVA: Did you give them the mise en scène?

STANISLAVSKY: The worst mise en scène is the one given by the director. I watched them standing with their back to me doing something. I heard everything and understood everything. I could not invent another mise en scène like it.

I want to create a performance without any mises en scène. Today this wall is open and when the actor comes tomorrow he will not know which wall might be open. He might come to the theater and find that a pavilion is differently placed than it was yesterday, and all the mises en scène are changed. The fact that he has to improvise a mise en scène adds much that is unexpected and interesting. No director can invent such mises en scène.

Translated by Louis Lozowick

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"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

ACTIONS: THE ACTORS' THESAURUS


After some conversations with students about the approaches from this semester, I did some research and found this book. I ordered it, and find that its approach bares a startling resemblance, to the "line-by-line" approach that I demonstrated for a bit, once in class. Aside from that, it's a very rich resource for a practical way to communicate with actors in their native language: action. (Amazon Link)

Book Description:

ACTIONS: The Actors' Thesaurus is a vital companion for actors in rehearsal—a thesaurus of action words to revitalize performance.

Actors need actions. Actors cannot ‘act’ adjectives, they need verbs. Verbs are an aim to achieve, an action to perform.

‘Actions’ are active verbs. ‘I tempt you.’ ‘You taunt me.’ In order to perform an action truthfully--and therefore convincingly-- an actor needs to find exactly the right action to suit that particular situation and that particular line. That is where this book comes in….

ACTIONS is a thesaurus of active verbs that the actor can use to refine performance until s/he hits exactly the right one to help make the action come alive. ACTIONS: The Actors’ Thesaurus by Marina Caldarone & Maggie Lloyd-Williams has gathered together the (formerly) dogged-eared photocopied lists of action verbs from greenrooms and rehearsal rooms and put them together in this pocket-sized thesaurus. All with a view to helping actors get to the heart of meaning and to a great performance. This thesaurus of action words is indispensable in developing mood, line readings, and acting choices for each and every line.

From the Publisher
This new book just released by Drama Publishers gathers together -- for the first time -- the acting community’s –- formerly — secret lists of action words and makes them available in an organized and comprehensive format.
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"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."