Pushing Boundaries

I have mentioned in previous blogs that I am grappling with ideas of responsibility to the audience, how we position the audience as performer-creators, and what the limits might be of what we can demand from our audience. Last night's scene study class allowed another opportunity for me to give this consideration, as we were joined by Dominic Johnson, performance artist and lecturer at Queen Mary, University of London. [http://www.dominicjohnson.co.uk/Dominic_Johnson/Introduction.html]

It is very simple to see performance art, particularly that which contains self-mutilation of some kind as facile or sensationalist. I think this is selling it short, as there is something very engaging to be taken from these pieces, whether we feel we agree with them or not. Dominic's work is highly detailed, engaging very specifically with questions and challenges posed by theatre intellectuals, and in creating a language of images does not allow the viewer to sit back. His work engages specifically with questions of our comfort; why do we accept some things and not others, why is boxing okay, but piercing on stage crossing a line? In many ways, Dominic's talk with us raised more questions than it answered, however what I can say definitively is that is has pushed me into a further examination of where my limits are. I think (and this is rather tentative) that what causes me to step back is the potential for chaos, of unexpected danger. Contrary to social mores, I tend to accept performance art which is planned, rehearsed, safe in its execution and reject boxing for its chaotic and limitless nature. But then what of the things that lie in between? Physical theatre or dance, for example, are willing, consentual abuses of the body, which although practiced could go horribly wrong. Why is this still okay to me?

And in doing all of this, where does this position the audience? What is the difference between an audience who has purchased a ticket specifically to see a performance artist in a theatre space, and a clubber who sees a performance artist, perhaps unexpectedly? What considerations must the creator have, or is this difference, this subversion of expectation precisely the point?

It seems that I accept the aestheticization of pain. Time for more thinking.

context

Today's Scene Study class raised some interesting questions surrounding identity and art. . . specifically to do with what identities we (as artists) create, challenge or reinforce through presentation of plays. In particular, this was raised in relation to staging old plays, the baggage of literary and performance history that comes along with them. The main focus on the discussion was Othello, looking at a 1960s version with Laurence Olivier in black face, while another was with South African actors in Johannesberg in the 1980s. Looking at some critical texts on the idea of gender or race in performance, we discussed the implications of staging decisions, and the results these can have for informing stereotype.

This raised a few things for me. . .
- part of me wants to say that art is for art's sake, so what the hell are we worrying about this other stuff for.
- The rational part of me replies, knowing that there is always responsibility of the artist in representing anything, and particularly in representing something that has gained certain significance for a community or group.

So then how do we merge these? I think that the main focus needs to be artistic integrity, but that merged with this needs to be a conscious acknowledgement of what the stage images are doing to the audience, and how they will be received. Audiences at different times and places will bring context that must be acknowledged in the production. A failure to do this is a failure as an artist. Our main role is to interact with and respond to the world as we see it; this can take many forms, but must necessarily account for audience response.

Reflections - The Audience

I have been spending quite a lot of time thinking about the audience. Clearly, without the audience, we really can't have theatre. Until there are people out there, taking in your words and gestures, everything is just a rehearsal. The give and take between performers and between performer-audience are what make live theatre unique and enjoyable; the sense of risk that something could go wrong, the sense of profound connection with those around you. Increasingly among the avant-garde (and even in the mainstream) there has been a push to involve the audience in new ways. Immersive theatre experiences, although still relatively un-common in Winnipeg, are de rigeur here in London. Even companies as "mainstream" as Headlong, producing with the National Theatre, try to take steps at making the experience in some way interactive for the audience.

Our presentations at RADA played with this to varying degrees. Some groups had the audience sitting on the floor, some had them sampling treats, while still others had them participatinig in the violence against a character, pouring food and liquid over an actor bound to a chair. With each of these experiences, I questioned several things:
- when did this work for me as an audience member?
- when it did work, what was it about this that worked?
- when it didn't work, why not?
- regardless of efficacy, what was this doing to the audience member? And did the group creating the piece seem to know or intend this impact?

I spent likely an equal amount of time watching the audience as I did the production. How were they reacting? What were they happily taking on, compared to what got their backs up or made them uncomfortable?

What I found (almost overwhelmingly) was that when these moments of audience participation worked best, they felt like there was no other way to do it. I could not, as an audience member, think of another way for the message or the scene to be conveyed. The times when it didn't work were times when it didn't feel necessary, where the action felt as if it wasn't done for the sake of the production, but just for the sake of it. Indulgence, at times.

Oddly, some moments which, if described, would feel gratuitous, were just fine - they worked. While conversely others which may sound like they would be ok simply felt over the top. What it comes down to is intention and thought; has the company really thought through what they are doing, why they are doing it - can they justify the choice artistically and as it relates to the text. The times when this didn't seem possible, did not resonate.

Simultaneously, I have been been performing in an immersive theatre event called You Me Bum Bum Train. I can't reveal many details, other than that it is an opportunity for the audience member to be the focus of the show, experiencing various things from the absurt, to the unusual, to the mundane. I have been in a couple different scenes now, and had a chance over my several nights performing to gauge the various reactions people have to the different kinds of scenes. It is really fascinating to watch people who really buy into this audience power, and those who really shut down...along with all gradients in between. I actually admitted to a fellow cast-mate this week that if I just heard about it, I probably wouldn't want to go see this kind of show. Even going to the audition I was nervous, thinking about the awful kinds of audience participation I have seen over the years. But this specific production gives such ultimate care to the emotional ride of the passenger - in fact they call the performance a ride - each scene, and the succession of them, is carefully crafted to take a person through the highs and lows of human experience, but with a sense of safety that allows them to play.

I have, despite my initial worries, ultimate respect for the creators (Kate & Morgan) of this amazing experience, and only hope I can one day create something as truly special and experiential as they have.