The Actor and the Space (eBook)

It seems to us that our most important job as theatre-makers is to encourage the flow of life on stage. So it follows that we need to think a little about what the experience of being alive is like.

Is it possible to make a useful generalisation? Well, this one has proved reliable over the years: life is largely about trying to fix the space. From the very moment we are born, we are already trying to make things better. We can’t breathe, so we take a gulp of oxygen. We feel hungry, so we scream to get fed. When we are wet, we cry. When we are cold, we snuggle up to our mother’s breast. When we are uncomfortable, we wriggle. We will do this even before we can focus our tiny eyes enough to see the world around us.

To begin with, we don’t have words for all these different feelings. But as we grow, our parents help us to label them as distinct experiences, called ‘hunger’, ‘discomfort’, ‘fear’, ‘rage’, and so on. We dislike these bad feelings, but they are tremendously useful. If hunger didn’t feel horrible, we would starve to death. These bad feelings keep us alive. They also give us something to do. And doing is the very stuff of life. If the baby ever stops wriggling or struggling to fix a bad feeling, and is awake but completely still, it’s a warning signal to their parents that something is wrong.

We have structured this book around a series of keys. These have helped us solve problems in rehearsal. The important thing about keys is that they are not sacred principles. They are only tools. Whatever you do, please do not turn this into a rule book for making a play. These keys are not sticks to beat yourself with in rehearsal. But when we feel stuck or discouraged it can feel a bit like being locked in a room. Hopefully one of these keys will unlock the door and release you. So let’s take this as our first key:

A character is always trying to fix the space.

This fixing will go on for our whole life. We never stop trying to make the space feel more comfortable. When we see a bully in the playground, we hide. When we come in from the rain feeling miserable, we put the kettle on and make toast. When the floor gets dirty, we clean it. Even in our smallest actions, we are always trying to improve the here and now. Of course, some of our solutions are more sensible than others. And even ignoring one problem, let’s say a leaking roof, probably means you are busily fixing something else as a distraction.

But we are condemned to keep on trying to fix the space until the last question about when the next dose of morphine is due. All spaces are different, very different, but they all have one thing in common. No space is ever ideal. Every space needs to be mended, however slightly. Indeed, advertisers make fortunes selling us perfect spaces. Not because they exist, but because we would pay anything to have one. Sadly, humans can never swim in totally calm water; there will always be some turbulence.

The space is never neutral.

Let’s think about sandcastles for a moment. There are at least three things that are fascinating about sandcastles. First, small children don’t need to be taught how to make them. Indeed, adults who try to teach them are normally sent packing. It seems to be one of those primordial games we are programmed to play. Secondly, ‘sandcastle’ is a misnomer, because it’s not really about the ‘castle’ bit at all. The simple cylinder of sand shaped by the bucket gets scant attention.

The structures that really interest the child are the runnels and walls and moats that surround the castle. The child delights in watching the waters gurgle round, wondering at the almighty sea being harnessed and controlled within their structures. Thirdly, and most importantly, the child prefers to build the castle in the tidal area where the water is coming and going. They choose the spot where their sandcastle will be destroyed by the tide. They choose the annihilation of their own creation.

Strangely, of all the many things that disappointed me as a child, coming back the next morning to find my sandcastle washed away was not one of them. Like most children, I cheerfully set about building a new one. Yes, there are a few ultra-sensible children who build their sandcastles to last for ever, way up on the dry sand well above the advancing line of the tide. Few beachcombers bother to inspect them except for dogs with loose bladders. Children tend to ignore those sophisticated structures, with their posh flags and dry battlements, erected away from the destructive power of the ocean. They’re built on water-free territory. Frankly, these castles feel safe, boring and dead. Most children prefer to watch the castles that are right on the edge of the tide. These are temporary, under threat, and therefore alive.

This is a game all about fixing the space. The children build their sandcastles in the in-between space between safe and dangerous, at the very edges of their power. They are bartering with the immensity of the ocean. This in-between space is thrilling because it is constantly changing. The tide keeps creeping up and down the shore, and so the rules are in flux. The children are caught up in a shifting contest of control over two things: time and space. They are exerting a tiny corner of control over the immense ocean, in a tiny corner of time when the tide is in just the right place for just the right fraction of the day. Just enough time to make a sandcastle, before it yields and is dashed to pieces by the waves.

This is the pattern of our lives. The space presents us with a series of challenges, sometimes small, sometimes overwhelming, and we are constantly trying to manage them. We must make peace with the fact that the world is always going to be more vast, more chaotic, more arbitrary and more powerful than we want it to be. We’re just struggling to control the little corner of space and time that we happen to be standing in. We’re trying to make ourselves feel safe. Just a bit safe, for now, at least.

Of course, another big part of the challenge is that the space around us is always changing. Nothing ever stands still. In fact, nothing can stand still. Everything is moving. Even a rock is just a very monotonous vibration. Everything, without exception, is in a process of change. And because the space is always changing, our attempts to fix it never finally work. We can never truly be in control. Our sandcastles will always be washed away.

Children who build sandcastles can therefore teach us a lot about acting and art and life. It’s all to do with facing destruction and accepting loss, and understanding that the only place where life may exist is in the narrow borderland between order and chaos. Children find life by building their sandcastles in the dangerous space and not the safe one. All characters in all scenes are making sandcastles on the edge of the shore. They are playing with a tiny patch of control, in a massive, continuously changing world. All the energy and life in any scene comes from this ever-failing struggle for control over the almighty space.

The space is always changing, so the character is never in control.

Let’s look at the rehearsal of Macbeth with Irina and Alex. As with every character, the Macbeths spend the whole play trying to fix the space. And, just like children building sandcastles, they soon discover that after every attempt, a new wave comes along and destroys their efforts. The space refuses to remain fixed. Their sandcastle is never secure. They start the play trying to control the space. They seem somehow dissatisfied because they are not king and queen. So they fix the space by murdering Duncan and putting themselves in his place. As soon as they do that, they discover that the space doesn’t feel more comfortable after all. So, they fix it again, and again, and again. They won’t stop until it finally kills them (and a lot of other Scots). This endless sandcastle-building is happening in every second of every scene.

Let’s look at the famous ‘dagger’ speech with our actor Alex. This is a moment just before he murders Duncan, as Macbeth lurks waiting for his wife’s signal. It will help Alex to think that all scenes essentially have the same pattern: they are a chain reaction of the characters trying to fix the space around them. The space changes faster than Macbeth can keep up with. It’s always hurling new problems at him which he must fix. He tries to come up with solutions, but ultimately they always fail. He never achieves full control. This is his text: