JULY 18
Is it just me?

This week I found myself in one of those excited, day after the show, theatre conversations. Two friends had seen Tom Holloway’s Don’t Say the Words at Griffin, and there certainly was conversation enough to debate the play at length. I have yet to see the production, but the subject of their talk intrigued me. For what they considered to be an excellent production with stunning performances, they could not seem to meet at an understanding on what the whole thing was about. They debated every detail of the story and what they thought was happening on stage. Neither could agree on what character x was doing or thinking or whether this or that was real or fantasy – basically both were completely befuddled. One friend said she kept looking to the other faces in the audience, trying to ascertain whether they understood and she was just on another planet. She was heartened to see the face of Cate Blanchett looking a little strained, still intent. We’ve all seen productions that do not seem crystal clear to us at the time, even days later. It’s that feeling of “Ok ok, I think I know what’s going on here... wait, nope you just lost me.”  

Mystery. Questions left unanswered. I think every good show should leave something for the audience to take away with them to savour, something that lingers. At the other end of the spectrum, some productions leave you with a sense of bafflement and a concern with your own intelligence. The interplay between playwright and audience member is so important, yet many writers seem to excuse clarity for mind-bending conceptual work. In my years of writing plays, I have learnt that whatever words you put on the page, you must understand each one. Years ago I learnt that if you don’t know why a character does something or says something, you’re in big trouble. Even if you leave your first act hanging on a will she/won’t she cliff edge, even if you don’t show the audience the outcome, you yourself must know what happens.

I was staggered this week to hear of an emerging playwright who wrote quite a cryptic play that was having a workshop. The playwright wasn’t able to articulate his own work and both director and actors were more than a little confused. When one actor decided to raise her hand and ask whether her character was dead or alive, the playwright told her this was unimportant. It seems to me that such writers are creating plays that fascinate themselves, and are largely self-indulgent. Audiences in such circumstances long for a shred of plot, character, symbol to grasp onto. Anything that won’t insult their intelligence. Recent reviews of Manna at Wharf 2 seem to cry out in support of this. Staging productions is a reciprocal thing. One can never forget that the work will be viewed by an audience that ranges in age and culture, and that they will have to navigate their way to make individual sense of the piece.

I recently read an interview with playwright Van Badham, in which she stated that playwrights were part of the entertainment industry. Funnily enough, it is something I had never considered and I think it’s something that many forget. Bottom line is, we are writing for specific audiences. I have heard writers being asked who they write for, and have answered “For myself.” In my book this is a major cop-out. I consider theatre something that exists between the audience and players. Sure we may never gauge what audiences will respond to our work, but we should always keep in mind who we imagine might sit in the stalls. At any rate if we are entertainers, we should be honouring our audiences and setting them off post-show blissful, traumatised, saddened, questioning - anything but intellectually insulted. I have seen some stunning work that really works our ability to interpret, but those pieces always have a point, something to say, to raise for thought. Call me old fashioned, but I’d prefer at least a shadow of a narrative over self-indulgent theatremaking.


Read Last Week's Straight To The Point