A show I really enjoyed was one of those rare productions
that made me forget that I studied theatre, therefore the pesky little critic
in my head was shut off, and for the duration of the performance I remained
completely enthralled. I apologize to the other MFAs who have repeatedly heard
me talk about this performance. I saw it in Chicago in a tiny black box theatre
with no set, hardly any lighting effects, and very basic costumes that made me
wonder if the actors were simply performing in their street clothes. The show
was Mojo Mickybo; it had only two
actors who played numerous roles, but mainly focused on two boys growing up
during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. One was Catholic and the other
Protestant. Through the show, the turmoil around the boys began to change their
relationship, and a friendship so innocently and passionately based on their
mutual love for Butch Cassidy and the
Sundance Kid started being torn apart. The connection the two actors had
with each other, and their ability to transform themselves so truthfully and
seamlessly into other characters while at the same time building this compelling
friendship, was profound. The fact that they couldn’t and didn’t need to hide
behind any design elements was even more impressive; actually, I think having
anything more than the bare-bone structure would have taken something away from
the performance. It struck me too how beautifully it was all staged. There were
absolutely no arbitrary movements, I was never confused about where I was even
though there was no set, and there was a stunning cinematic quality to it. I was completely wrapped up in the
lives of these characters in a way that I had never experienced in the theatre
before and really haven’t experienced since.
I
had a much more difficult time thinking of a performance that informed or convinced
me of something true, and I find it upsetting that I don’t know that I have
been involved with or seen a show that has made me feel this. And since the
question is dealing with finding truth, it seems profane to try and fudge the
answer. However, this question did make me think of a particular episode of the
podcast, This American Life, that I
listened to a few years ago. So I listened to it again to refresh my memory.
This episode talks specifically about a performance of Hamlet, even more specifically about the performance of Act V, the
violent climax. The unusual thing about this production of Hamlet is that it was performed in a prison, the Missouri East
Correctional Center. So, this bloody play of Shakespeare’s that follows the
indecisive Hamlet as he hems and haws over whether or not to commit murder was
acted out by men who actually have committed murder and are living out the
consequence of it. Agnes, the director, whose theatre company is now solely
focused on these prison performances, talks about the inmate actors: “These
guys call it like they see it, and it’s true. Dead true.”
As
the podcast goes on, Jack Hitt, who leads us through the story, talks to some
of the men involved. He comments that these men “have an intimacy with the material
that doesn’t exist anywhere else.” His interviews with them are incredibly
interesting and, often, incredibly poignant. Danny Waller, playing the Ghost of
Hamlet’s father, says that this character really spoke to him, because he felt
like the man he killed was speaking through him in this role. In some ways, the
role helped him deal with and understand his past. The man playing Claudio
talks about his soliloquy of regret and shame, and how he hoped that when his
wife saw him perform it, that she would see his own regret and shame at what
his actions had done to their lives. The fight in the graveyard between Laertes
and Hamlet was staged not as a sword fight, but as a knife fight, which many of
the men were very familiar with. Laertes’ death was an extremely somber moment,
taken very seriously by all the inmates who came to watch the show.
Sometimes
we hear actors say that they like acting because it gives them a chance to wear
someone else’s shoes for a while, to express emotions we don’t usually get to
express so overtly, and to forget about their own life for a while. I’m sure
that this is also something these prisoners experienced. However, it struck me
while listening to these men talk about doing the show and dealing with their
characters’ actions, that sometimes the most powerful thing about acting isn’t
getting the opportunity to escape from yourself. It is finding the opportunity
to discover something new about yourself, or to deal with and let go of
something you are holding on to that you cannot seem to find a way to let go of
or deal with in everyday life. Sometimes, it is only through living in another
person’s skin for a while that allows you to see things from another angle. It
is easy sometimes to forget how powerful theatre can be and the affect it can
have not only on the audience, but also on the actors themselves. It truly has
the ability to transform the way you view the world and yourself, if you let
it. This podcast was a healthy and much needed reminder of that, of why we do
what we do.
Here is a link to the episode. It’s long, but definitely
worth it:
To answer the second question as briefly as possible, I
think there are more similarities than differences between performances
offering some kind of truth and performances that strive for documentary
“verbatim” or naturalistic reality. In a sense, every performance is
endeavoring to present a truth of some kind. Some truths may be more profound
than others or may reach further to reshape a truth. Often times a truth can
surface or be reshaped just as effectively, in not more so, in a fictional,
unrealistic show. Would the prisoners at the Missouri East Correctional Center
have gotten more out of just sharing their personal stories in a verbatim
documentary style than they did out of performing Hamlet? I don’t know, but in listening to them talk about the
process, it seemed to me, that the distinct similarities between the script and
their own actions combined with the distance that the Shakespearean text
allowed, provided them with even more freedom to express everything they had in
them to express. On the other hand, would I have come to the same realization
of truth about their performance had I just seen their Hamlet and not listened to a documentary style podcast about it? Who
knows, perhaps it was the combination of the two that made the truth effective
for both the prisoners and me. Martin brings up a good point in “Bodies of
Evidence” in regards to documentary theatre: “Governments ‘spin’ the facts in
order to tell stories. Theatre spins them right back in order to tell different
stories . . . There is no ‘really real’ anywhere in the world of representation.”
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