I’m not trying to derail the progress of the scene breakdown. I was cleaning a room and got distracted. Maybe this is more appropriate for the Lichtenbergian site since it represents divided attention; I don’t know. It does touch on theatre art, however, so…
I wrote a speculative little thing a while ago in which I tried, yet again, to synthesize two of my interests: performance and psychoanalysis. Yes, I know; I’m pretty predictable, but don’t begin chanting the Te Dium just yet. And no pained sideways glances. Have a look at it and see what you make of it.
I’m not much interested in being asked questions beginning with What did you mean by…. or entertaining editorial observations; as exposition and improvisation, it is what it is. Rather,I think there are occasional passages I’m quite proud of because of the way they articulate some pretty arcane Lacan concepts in everyday language. Also, I want to inspire new thinking on performance issues. To my mind, nothing I’ve offered is shattering original, just another stirring up of the familiar into a slightly unfamiliar brew.
Useful for Coriolanus? Not a bad question. It’s not my agenda in encouraging you to read it, but if it inspires, why not. Too eccentric? We can only hope.
A HOLDING FORTH ON THE QUESTION “WHAT’S THE FIRST THING YOU ASK ME TO DO?” DWELLING PRINCIPALLY ON THE FORM AND IMPLIED MEANINGS OF SUCH A QUESTION, PARTICULARLY AS IT PERTAINS TO DOING THEATRE ACTIVITIES IN REHEARSAL WITH THE GOAL OF ARRIVING AT “THE NEW” AND ALL THE RISKING OF PRETENTIOUSNESS AND SELF-INDULGENCE SUCH AN ASPIRATION ENTAILS, FEATURING IN ADDITION AN APT LINK TO MEET SOME OF OUR NUMBER’S APPETITE FOR LINKS IN GENERAL AND WHICH INCLUDES, IRONICALLY ENOUGH, A SET OF INSTRUCTIONS FOR “DOING SOMETHING”
I think maybe take a look at the link first:
http://www.lacunagroup.org/marc/?page_id=58
(yes, only one of my little theatre papers, no fun Flash or Java action, no subtly pansexual cosmologies)
My reluctance to offer things to do is very much rooted in my creative concerns. Every set of instructions comes with a set of wishes, desires, fantasies, that the instructor is also imparting or insinuating. I’m not trying to avoid such things, by no means. I just want that tangled cluster, too, to be part of the working material. What was Peter Brook truly after when he told Helen Mirren to run about the space swinging that staff about like a helicopter blade, and who wouldn’t be after the same thing or at least something similar in such a situation and with Helen Mirren ready to comply? (Please don’t send letters upbraiding me for implying anything un-transcendent or sexist about Peter Brook…or about Helen Mirren…)
We can’t jettison the authority of the Master, but we can play with it creatively.
So what do you want, louder or softer?
Louder. HARDER.
No teeth.
Just gum. Talk about fantasy.
Dale’s response is powerful from a psychoanalytic perspective. It is implacable. It is the deathmask, the visage of the Absolute Master. Eternal. Unswayable. The final answer for us all.
MARC: (Reading the lumps of gum beneath the chair with his fingers, as if they were braille) “Have I a hope or half a chance…”
I’ve found it. We can stop working. More when I get home in a week.
“I have found it.”
The Master has spoken!
I promise you, you’re going to be very excited about this. But not until after we do Coriolanus.
Should I announce Coriolanus in the newspaper? Are we looking for any “outside” blood?
Let’s try to fill it “in-house” first. Let me seriously talk to Laurel about NCTC’s co-hosting the show, i.e., rehearsal space and maybe a performance weekend.
And of course we can always rehearse in my backyard.
That sounds good. They (NCTC) could even keep the money, if we’re gonna charge at the indoor version of the show.
MARC: (Now alone; crawls out from under the chair) “…of maybe even just one dance with you…ooh, ooh…would you just politely–” I think I’ll stand here. Maybe a Fred Astaire thing with the chair as Ginger…Arms. Extension…(continues working)
DALE: (re-entering) Sorry. Had to pee.
Ginger? I liked Mary Ann. And I couldn’t tell if the Professor was supposed to be hot. Hot. And Ginger won’t be hot in the mouth, too.
Must we choose? Why not both?
The Master says: YOU MUST CHOOSE!
I love sword and sorcerer epics where some basso-profundo chieftain gets to say things like that.
An aside on “the history of film acting.” Watch Ginger Rogers in some of the films she did after her stint with Fred in which she honed her comedienne persona. Very “method” in her approach, I think. Before there was such a thing. Forthright, casual, truly sexy, always playing with rhythms slightly outside the classic Hollywood thespian give and take of the time. Please don’t be boring by telling me what a gay observation that was. I defy augury.
Hot in the mouth. I have no idea what that means in the context of our current exchanges. But it’s a great phrase. Just ever so slightly awkward but also honest. It could inform a great deal as we try to get out of our heads and out of our “bodies.”
Ginger hot in the mouth. Duh. Sorry. Try Red Rock for ginger hot in the mouth. Tried it last night mixed with Crown Royal. Not bad. Who’d of thought.
“Don’t be boring” = The Master’s Directive?
I live to bore.
Let’s assume that the bore enters somehow disguised. Bore more and risk revealing.
MARC: Dale, bore Jeff.
DALE: (removes pants) The epistemology of nude performance is fraught with vagueness no matter the angle of study.
(removes t-shirt) Performers refer to the artistic “validity” or “integrity” of scenes requiring them to disrobe, but to those for whom the issue is a moral one, such shibboleths are meaningless. They do not cut the mustard, they do not ring true, they do not sway.
(walks up behind Jeff) And for those whose hope is that baring their junk onstage is not some meaningless titillation, what is the nature of that “integrity”? How is the visibility of their pudenda integral to the meaning of their transaction with the audience?
Indeed, can we as audience actually look at anything other than the nude performer’s genitals? (removes boxers, holds them) Or if we look away, can we still see them? Or rather, do we not censor our own retinas and see everything except the performer’s naughty bits? Can we truly see a “nude performer”? Can we witness a “nude performance”?
(stands motionless behind Jeff)
Motionless?
I reach for the saddle and spurs and hand them to Dale.
DALE: Very funny. Seriously, though, if we were performing this, I’m thinking you should wait a moment, then slowly and silently collect my clothes, then stand behind me. Enigmatic? Interesting? Or just me embarrassing myself? (puts on boxers)
I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us for CORIOLANUS. I saw Matthew at Target today and he is very much IN.
This is not really changing the subject. I’m expecting us to approach the material … sideways.
[I don’t think this had anything to do with CORIOLANUS, just this other thing I’ve been reading. Just so everyone can breathe a little easier about the Shakespeare. :)]
So what on Earth have you been reading, Dale?
[It’s a surprise. If Marc remembers to stop by this weekend to take some stuff home for me, I’ll give it to him and he can explicate.]
DALE: (gathering clothes) Try it again? What do you think? Marc, you’ll let us know, won’t you, if we do anything that looks “symptomatic”?
Is Dale poised between two meanings of “bore,” wondering which to enact?
Jeff, where did bore come from?
There’s only one sort of “genital” one can see from the stage if the performer is standing. Complicates epistemology?
The possibility of disrobing returns on many occasions, doesn’t it?
DALE: Can we possibly talk about what I did as performance in the context of whatever it is we’re trying to do here? Boring? Intriguing? Worthless? Repeatable? Good? Bad? Ugly? I just took what I thought was a pretty bold step here and if all we’re going to do is whirl away into textual discourse, it certainly won’t be worth my psyche to try any such again.
[Really, guys, if I had done this for real in the studio, and I wouldn’t discount the possibility if I were you, I’d expect some kind of legitimate feedback.]
Okay, all jokes aside.
I’m having a terrible time getting around the fact that we are TYPING IN WORDS rather than performing on a stage. To me, it is in no way equivalent. TALKING about being nude is in no way equivalent to the actual act.
So, to me, what we write on a board can never really be “performance.” It’s just text.
You might then respond, “Well, what about scripts, then? Are those just texts?”
Well … yeah. Until they’re actually performed, they’re just dead texts. Which isn’t to say that we can’t be moved, enlightened, inspired, etc. by what we read. That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that it’s clearly not PERFORMANCE.
In other words, I’m not sure that my reaction to Dale’s nude scenario “on the page” would have any relationship at all to my experience of the actual event.
But, playing along, I do think that we don’t really “see” nude performance. We just can’t get past the fact that — “Oh my God! Those people are NUDE!”
Or maybe that’s just me.
And I don’t think of myself as a prude. Just sayin’.
To be sure, what we’re doing here is (supposed to be) a simulacrum of what we would do in the studio if we were able. In fact, I stated that back up at the top. This is not a performance. It is us imagining ourselves in a room and transcribing what we do and say in response to what the other people have transcribed. It is a substitute for not being able to hash this out in a studio for another two weeks.
Part of what I had hoped would happen here is that we leave aside all commentary and discourse and meta-thought and just do. We seem unable to do that, however.
Using my nude thing as an example, if Marc had actually said, “Bore more and risk revealing,” then my sudden flight of fancy would have sprung off that. If we were keeping to the format I had envisioned, then your response would be to what you heard and saw me do, instead of the “literary” response you gave, which if you think about it, would not be possible if we were actually in the studio, since no one has said the word “motionless” at all. It’s something I did, but I didn’t say it.
Likewise, when I ask for feedback on the nude stunt, what I imagine is one of you responding with what you would actually say to me, in the room, right then, as I put my clothes back on or not. Those responses might be, “Geez, Dale, don’t do that! What if someone walks in?” or “Not cool, dude!” or “Okay, I’m seeing where you’re going with this, but you’d need more to drive home your point with an audience, not that you’re going to get that audience around here, however,” or “That was awesome! You’ve got balls to do that. Do it again and let me see how we can play with the ideas.” Or something that would have flowed out of our playing around in the studio.
Perhaps it would be easier just to wait and get together for a solid Wednesday night’s work. I promise to keep my clothes on. Mostly.
I reach for the toolbox, which was hidden under my chair.
I open the toolbox. There is a scraper inside.
I begin scraping off the gum.
JEFF: Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
Jeff pushes the jangly toolbox into the direction of Marc and Dale while he conitues to scrape.
It’s about time someone started using a tool. A sharp one at that.
We contrast talk of a hidden tool with one out in the open being put to use.
Why remove the gum?
I find what we are doing very interesting. And speaking just for me, I’m trying to do in this blog exactly what I’d be doing in the space. Dale, I truly am trying to take my musings on psychoanalysis and performance and put them into something concrete, but be patient. I have no model; I’m discovering as I go.
To me a symptomatic atmosphere consists of these very perplexities we are grappling with and being annoyed by. I am intrigued by your way of taking up “reveal.” I did take it seriously and responded in the way I felt I might respond. You listed all the ways you wished we had responded.
As a teacher, you are scolding somewhat. But that too is interesting. Jeff’s response is interesting. We feel a need to define a few terms. What do we want to see? I’m being patient. We’re trying to move toward the new. It’s happening.
I rummage around in the toolbox. Clank clank clink.
I pull out a ham sandwich. I take a quick whiff, then stick it in my mouth.
I continue to scrape the gum. It begins to come off.
I open up the bread and place the gum nearly on my sandwich. I continue eating.
In-between bites, I continue to scrape.
Jeff (to Marc and Dale): Sandwich?
DALE: No, thanks. What kind is it?
(puts pants and t-shirt back on, sits and watches Jeff rummage.)
MARC: I was six or seven. That summer a man started building a house across the street. After the foundation was laid and the frame was up, I would walk across the street and wander through the skeleton of rectangular spaces while the man continued to work. Once I remember he was eating lunch. He had a tin of sardines. I sat and watched him open the can with a key, pour out the oil, and eat the sardines with saltines. If I pay close enough attention, I remember thinking, if I am still and diligent in my watching, if I am earnest, he will offer me some. And he did, finally. It’s bizarre to think back on it now. Who eats sardines anymore? Do people eat sardines? Wasn’t it strange that he offered me sardines? That I willed him into offering just by watching? Little slimy fishes.
JEFF: (to Dale) You wouldn’t like it.
I stop scraping. I put aside my tool.
I look at Marc.
I reach into my tool box and rummage around.
I pull out a can of sardines.
I toss them to Marc.
I close the tool box.
I go back to scraping the gum from the chair.
One thing nice about the way we’re going about this is that we can continually review what has been said or done and begin to make charts or maps that will then provide a blueprint for making a piece.
The psychoanalytic wager is that in addition to our “performing,” interacting, creating, questioning, is another scene, another stage. Each of us acts with our own other scene in play. It is a scene beyond our conscious control and behaves out of reach of our desire to deploy or regulate. Where it is, we are not.
The scene is individual and subjective at first. As we explore, we offer bits and pieces of meaning which perhaps touch upon this Other scene (all bits of meaning do, even if only remotely or through covering or complication). Our gaffs and goofs and stalling can, of course, touch upon that scene more directly. Those, too, are part of the mix.
Each of us offers our own meanings as well as responds to the meanings of others as we play and explore. The idea of a symptomatic atmosphere is that we begin to share constellations of meaning around the bits we share. We begin, perhaps, to implicate one another in our other scenes. What might this mean?
To an extent, all we have to go on are these bits we generate. But we can only begin to speculate about the unconscious stuff by reviewing and then pushing forward with possible manipulations based on our reviews. Ultimately, I believe we are trying to create a performance event that somehow draws the audience into our same shared shadowy atmosphere. And we can be led to making some really interesting choices and decisions based on our dwelling with these shared meanings.
Let me try to give an example of how to play with meanings and find new connections.
Dale attempts to demonstrate his frightening, authoritarian voice and speaks to Jeff as if Jeff is a student. As an authority, Dale offers that he can see what is hidden, or at least sense the presence of what might be hidden. The gum under the chair. This notion of being able to see what’s hidden gets worked through in another way later when Dale, in response to my deployment of “risk revealing,” explores the vicissitudes of becoming naked in front of the audience. Did my use of “reveal” pick up on the notion of “seeing what is hidden?” My motive was to nudge Jeff toward unpacking more in connection with his “dare to be boring” comment. It inadvertently activated Dale’s interest in what it means to reveal and conceal and to know it has taken place. Perhaps. This is just a proposal of linkages. I have left out a great deal of complexity just to give a quick illustration. Everything we add to the mix unfolds numerous possibilities. The sardines memory was triggered by the appearance of gum under the chair and the “gross” idea of eating it in a sandwich. But I also use that story because I believe it says something about my nature, about a certain kind of passivity. I earlier alluded to a “paralysis.” It also touches upon the notion of people sharing something “disgusting.” And how I fancy myself as someone more inclined to both offer and receive something disgusting. The ambiguity of Jeff’s scraping comes into play here. Is he harvesting? Cleansing? Aggressively cutting into the proceedings? Is he exploring the notion that he can somehow remove the hidden secret that Dale, as Master, could perceive?
Our choices also touch upon the drives, those things “beyond the body” in a psychoanalytic sense. Think of the ways we have engaged the eyes, the mouth, the ear. Jeff’s choice to act silently with his toolbox is interesting. It can be interpreted as a strong instance of anal aggression. The drives are in play; they too are a part of our shadowy scenes.
A long digression. But I was very excited while cutting the grass the other day and I went into a revery concerning how even with the small network of ideas we’ve begun to explore, we could make some fun playing choices. A play? A performance event? Something very concrete in terms of presence and action, but something that triggers an unsettling mystery.
The mug was a pure imaginary reflection of the letters of gum. I tried to play with this further when I made a speech that covered the same territory as Jeff’s riff on gum but backwards, and “inverting” his choice of meanings.
MARC: I find sardines to be quite hot in the mouth. (pockets the can) I’ll save these for later.
Last little thought, I promise. I’m trying to crack something open for us, I think.
Why do I dwell on “meanings,” maps, charts, links, words, linguistic nuance, even when what we are about in performance is actions?
The Lacanian turn in psychoanalysis was to assert that this activity on the Other stage obeyed not the laws of “biology” but language. It’s a bold, non-intuitive claim, and one that is hard to “prove” without giving, also, a taste of the psychoanalytic experience as a referent. That’s very difficult.
What I would say is this. What do symbol systems allow us to do? Very simply, they allow us to PUT THINGS INTO PLAY. And because of the nature of such systems, some of the play is autonomous. We have conscious influence, but the system also runs on its own, employing an integral system of movement, transformation, “energy” (Freud had no other way to think about it at the time). Let’s use the old fashioned term libido just because it is very evocative and has a useful condensing aspect. Our libidos rely on symbolic operations to…function. It is not purely “cellular” or “instinctive.” In fact, to the extent that we can acknowledge the workings or vicissitudes of a libido, we are acknowledging something that is defined by the reality of symbolic activity, of things PUT INTO PLAY.
So when we explore, and then review and re-express, we are using “meanings” to portray the very simple truth of our drives and desires AT PLAY. We are attempting to discern some of those hidden, autonomous, symbolic exchanges that allow us (as libido, if you will) to be.
Obviously, I am not talking about the propositions of medical science, but neither am I poo-pooing them. I am not talking about a more traditional “psychological” approach, but I don’t dismiss that either. But I digress at this point.
Marc said poo-poo.
I stops scraping.
I rummage around in the tool box. I find find a roll of duct tape.
I pull off a strip of it and approach Marc.
I place the duct tape firmly over his mouth.
I put aside the tool box, pick up my scraping tool, and go back to scraping the gum from the chair.
I begun to hum a tune. It’s faintly familiar to Marc and Dale.
MARC: (Thinking: “It’s for my own good.” Looks gratefully and adoringly at Jeff the way a dog would)
This one might resonate. We can take up any fragment of our work as if it were a dream specimen. That’s what I did with some of Jeff’s activity. I began interpreting bits of it as if it were my own dream, letting it provoke associations, memories, etc.
I know Jeff has a certain interest in dreams and possible Jungian and Campbellian interpretive strategies. Could be inspiring.
MARC: (in an effort to resist introducing more props, begins manipulating himself as if the tune provokes thinking of himself as a set of Lincoln Logs)
DALE picks up the tune.
JEFF: (continues scraping; voice also scrapes) Two things.
First. Scrape is fight. Playground fight. Boys getting into it. Punch him in the mouth. Can’t punch him. Trying to be a good boy. What an asshole. Gonna scrape his mouth off.
Second. Scrape. Snape. Snape. Severus Snape. Dale’s second self. I’m Dale’s second. We’re on the same side. Sever us. Cut ourselves off. Don’t want to play his way.
Jeff continues to hum.
I put aside the scraper. I open the tool box. Take another bite of my sandwich as a I rummage around.
I pull out a knife.
MARC: (approaches JEFF; tries to lick his face; prevented by tape)
DALE: (grabbing Jeff’s wrist) There’s a formula here that might be useful. GUM=WORDS We could use that as a secret source of ideas when we start to build our piece.
JEFF (to Dale): If you don’t mind, I would like to spread this gum onto my sandwich.
(noting Dale’s still-firm grip on his knife-bearing hand).
Please.
I circle the chair a few times, then sit and wait.