The Devil and the Deep Rue Sea

First post of the New Year – huzzah! I hope everyone had a good 2009 or that y’all are at least looking forward to the opportunities of 2010. I find myself a might reflective.

As I sit to work on writing a play, I am struck by the role of the playwright (and, yes, I’m procrastinating). It seems to me, to be completely reductive of all of theatre history; a play has either been considered the Bible or a cookbook, metaphorically speaking.

If you think a play is the Bible, then the playwright is God and the play is the word of God. In short, perfection not to be trifled with. For some time (and in some circles today) the prevailing notion was that the most perfect production of Shakespeare was the one you imagined as you sat quietly reading his plays at home (most popular reads of the 19th century? The Bible, followed by the works of Mr. Billy Shakes). It’s not terribly surprising that we want our playwrights to be gods – we want our doctors, our political leaders, even our parents to be gods too. Of course, they aren’t gods – at all - and to insist they are puts a tremendous amount of pressure on a mere mortal. In case of the playwright, this expectation assumes your play must be perfect right out of the gate. If it’s not, the faithful might question your glory, and refuse to worship. Ok, the metaphor is stretching a little, but I think you get the idea. Theatres – especially in our fair city – are loathe to try an audience’s faith with anything untested. So, new plays aren’t done, new playwrights aren’t developed, and modern American theatre falls to ruins like the Temple at Delphi. It’s a theatre blog, I’m allowed to be dramatic.

However, if you think a play more akin to a cookbook or a recipe, then you acknowledge it is not the finished product. You don’t read a recipe and say, “yum, delicious! I am full and fulfilled.” If a play is a recipe, it means you need other ingredients, you need time to make it, and then, when it’s made, you need people to share it with before you (and they) can say “yum, delicious” or “needs salt.” A recipe allows for a new and unique experience each time you cook – the ability to add a little more basil or take out the dairy for your lactose-intolerant friends. Perhaps most importantly, a recipe allows you to fuck it up, cause you can always try again. Playwrights need to be able to take risks, and fail. They, of course, also need to learn from their mistakes – you can get away with mixing up the sugar and salt once. More than once and you might just suck at cooking.

Take playwrights out of the temple. Let’s meet them in the kitchen.

Give Us Your Hands

Sit with me in the theatre one evening, and you will find me a polite and attentive theatre-goer. I will do my best to suspend my judgements till the final curtain. Once we get to the end, however, you may find me somewhat disgruntled, regardless of my opinion of the show. It's those damn bows. I speak of no company or production in particular - the culprits know who they are. (Pause)

I have set out to find the origins of this strange theatre-custom. I have even employed the services of a reference librarian (we're related). We haven't come up with much, so much of the following rant is educated speculation. If you find better sources to the contrary, please elaborate. (Resume)

The OED defines curtain-call as "a call by an audience for an actor or actors to take a bow after the fall of the curtain." What this means, ladies and gentlemen, is that the AUDIENCE, not the actors, are supposed to lead curtain call. Anything else is self-indulgent, ego-massage.

Bowing is (again according to the OED) "a token of respect, reverence, submission." Until the beginning of the last century, actors were considered no better than criminals, so to play before ANYONE they had to show respect, reverence, and submission to their betters. In fact, actors would bow to the audience before every scene, in a sense asking permission to speak.

There is little acknowlegement of the humility of the custom in the self-congratulatory prancing I see more than I would care to remember. I am not suggesting that we should return to those days of gratiutous self-deprecation. To bow more than the audience asks you to is self-indulgant and rude - clapping hurts.