Please excuse the large quote below, but this struck me last night as I curled up in bed with Mamet’s new book of essays on theater. Often in his writing it feels like provocation is the point, and his functional description of an artistic pursuit seems to be intentionally confrontational. Yet there is something very true in what he says here. At the end of the day, especially when in previews, I ask myself a simple question – “Did we make the show better today?” And sometimes the answer is ‘yes’, sometimes its a push, and sometimes its a resounding ‘no’. Anyway, onto the quote:
Similarly the job of the designers… is to increase the audience’s enjoyment of the play past that which might be expected in a performance done in street clothes, on a bare stage, under work lights.
This is a very difficult task indeed, for most plays are better enjoyed under such circumstances as anyone who has ever seen a great rehearsal in a rehearsal hall can attest.
Why is this great rehearsal more enjoyable than the vast bulk of designed productions? It allows the audience to use its imagination, which is the purpose of coming to the theatre in the first place.
It takes a real artist to increase the enjoyment of the audience past that which would be found seeing th play on a bare stage, for the first rule of the designer, as of the physician, is do no harm. And, as with the physician, the rule is quite often observed in the breach.
One thing I think he definitely gets wrong here is the appeal of the work-light / rehearsal room performance. It’s not the design that ruins it, its the fact its no longer new. My friends Brian Mertes and Melissa Keivman used to host a summer retreat at their house for forty of their theater friends. Over a week, we would rehearse and stage a Chekov play. At the end of that week, we would perform it in, on, and around their house for the neighborhood. The Uncle Vanya I did there was one of the most magical shows I’ve worked on. And so I asked Brian, “Why do we rehearse for five weeks when we can do this in one?” And he replied, “The other four weeks are so we can do it again.”
Nothing is as exciting as when you walk into the theater and the set, which you haven’t seen yet, is 90 percent finished. You start to wonder, should we stop here? Is this more raw and exciting than what we’ve designed? And the answer is no. It’s just new to us – so we have a frisson of theatrical excitement. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t finish the set, or the costumes, or the lighting, etc etc. It means we should remember that feeling, try to understand what caused it, and strive as hard as possible to reproduce that in our audiences.
David Mamet on Design
Please excuse the large quote below, but this struck me last night as I curled up in bed with Mamet’s new book of essays on theater. Often in his writing it feels like provocation is the point, and his functional description of an artistic pursuit seems to be intentionally confrontational. Yet there is something very true in what he says here. At the end of the day, especially when in previews, I ask myself a simple question – “Did we make the show better today?” And sometimes the answer is ‘yes’, sometimes its a push, and sometimes its a resounding ‘no’. Anyway, onto the quote:
- David Mamet, Theatre, pg 5-6
One thing I think he definitely gets wrong here is the appeal of the work-light / rehearsal room performance. It’s not the design that ruins it, its the fact its no longer new. My friends Brian Mertes and Melissa Keivman used to host a summer retreat at their house for forty of their theater friends. Over a week, we would rehearse and stage a Chekov play. At the end of that week, we would perform it in, on, and around their house for the neighborhood. The Uncle Vanya I did there was one of the most magical shows I’ve worked on. And so I asked Brian, “Why do we rehearse for five weeks when we can do this in one?” And he replied, “The other four weeks are so we can do it again.”
Nothing is as exciting as when you walk into the theater and the set, which you haven’t seen yet, is 90 percent finished. You start to wonder, should we stop here? Is this more raw and exciting than what we’ve designed? And the answer is no. It’s just new to us – so we have a frisson of theatrical excitement. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t finish the set, or the costumes, or the lighting, etc etc. It means we should remember that feeling, try to understand what caused it, and strive as hard as possible to reproduce that in our audiences.