International Conference

"Directing and Authorship in Western Drama"

Acadia University  

“Ensemble, the Method, and All That Jazz”  

“Ensemble, the Method and All That Jazz”  
PREFACE

What exactly does Ensemble mean? What exactly is “The Method”?  How together have they changed the role of the actor, director, writer?   I’ll explore these questions drawing on my personal history at the Actors’ Studio under Lee Strasberg. I began there as an actress, went on to become one of the few women in the Directors’ Unit led by Elia Kazan and ultimately followed Edward Albee as Moderator of the Playwrights’ Unit.  I introduced actors’ exercises to writers and directors (talk about Jazz!).  I adapted “Conversation At Midnight”, a blank verse play by the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay, which was the first ensemble piece of Studio work to ever be performed for a public audience; and gained in the process as my mentor, the great writer James Baldwin. I also want to pay homage to a woman without whom the Actors’ Studio would never have existed let alone developed and changed during the heady times I was involved: Cheryl Crawford. She was a member of the Group Theater that ultimately gave birth to the Actors’ Studio and in addition she was a leading Broadway producer.

“Ensemble, the Method and All That Jazz”   
An Edited Transcript of a Conversation with Janine Manatis 
Interviewed by Anna Migliarisi

A:  One of the central questions posed in the collection concerns the moral and legal rights and responsibilities of the director in theatrical production.  Since you knew both Kazan and Williams at the Studio, I was curious about your understanding of their working relationship, particularly as it pertains to the ending of “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof”.   Some of the literature on the subject suggests Kazan coerced Williams to change the ending.    

J: (laughs) He may well have!  Why not?  He probably did, but he did it in the service of the play.  However, anybody in their right mind knows the differences are negligible, they say the same thing; he just changed to some degree how it was said.  The play ends exactly the same.   It was just a shift in emphasis or nuance.
  
In point of fact Kazan makes the ending absolutely clear, he takes out ambiguity.  He doesn’t leave it up to us to guess; he clarifies; he does not change; he does not alter Williams’ meaning; he does not rewrite; he does what a good director does, and that is, he brings the truth to light.  

Williams did not suffer – he benefited - from working with Kazan.  People have their personal conflicts.  Sometimes relationships over the years remain very pleasant and sometimes they don’t.  There are personalities that are difficult.  However, that did not prevent the working relationship of Kazan and Williams to continue, leading to “Sweet Bird of Youth”.  Nor did it prevent Tennessee Williams from becoming one of the founding members of the Playwrights Unit at the Actors’ Studio, where his one-act play “Night of the Iguana” was work-shopped and developed into a full length Broadway production.  This work was done by Frank Corsaro who over the last twenty years has been directing opera using the same creative process.   One of the things that is profoundly true, both of these men were major talents.  Tennessee Williams was a great writer, and Kazan was a great director.   Their conflicts, in my opinion, are made too much the focus. It is too much like gossip, not like honest inquiry.

Who says that this demanding process is without its fire?  Who says that it is without its conflicts, the clashing of egos, of desires, of preferences?  Who says it shouldn’t?  To make it about that is a mistake.  We should make it about the results:  Were they good?  Were they meaningful?  Did everybody benefit? 

People use conflict as an excuse to back off from the requirements of this work.  People use the idea that conflict is a reason to quit, when in fact it is a reason to go on.  Out of conflict is born resolution.  The fact is Tennessee Williams didn’t quit; he went on despite whatever difficulties there may have been.  Whatever the differences between these men, I know, I don’t just believe, I know they had the utmost respect for each other.     And that is what matters, what made the relationship and its contribution to modern theatre so brilliant and so lasting.

Therefore, the business of who owns the play is moot.  Because what is really important is that the play lives.  And therefore it most certainly honours the playwright, and it most certainly honours those who have contributed to making it live.

And please tell me, is there anybody, anybody who does not know that Tennessee Williams wrote “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof”??

A: Perhaps we misconstrue the term collaboration - that it means everybody is supposed to be really nice to one another.  

J: Collaboration is give and take; sometimes you give, sometimes you take.

A: So what you’re saying is there is more fluidity - you can’t always determine who makes the decision.  

J: That’s not true.  You cannot always determine the source of where the idea came from.  But if it is a piece of material that is being directed, it is ultimately the director’s choice.  It does not imply that there is total agreement.  There is a huge amount of fluidity in the process; it is the process that is fluid.   

The distinguishing factor in ensemble work is that everybody involved is creative because they truly do contribute.  That’s where we get insights because we recognize in ensemble work that it is not, no matter what the playwright has written, to be an illustrated idea.  On the contrary, it is to be an illumination that is brought by the individual actor that only that actor can bring.   The director’s ultimate job then in the work, in the orchestration, is to be the Great Chooser.  

A:  I love your definition of the director as the Great Chooser.    If that’s true, where does that leave the writer?  

J: I can tell you this, when I became head of the Playwrights’ Unit, even though I was surrounded by great writers like: James Baldwin, Norman Mailer, Lorraine Hansbury, Arthur Kopit, Terrence McNally, Jack Gelber, Eleanor Perry, the one thing I knew was that even though they were at the Actors’ Studio, they really didn’t know anything about the craft of the actor.  

I said to them, in effect, you come to the sessions, you see the acting, but you don’t really know (as in able to use) the work.  So we are now going to begin writers doing actors’ exercises.  You’ll learn how to work with actors, to get rid of some of the paranoia of the playwright, to be open rather than protective.  Ensemble work at its best brings a spirit of cooperation as opposed to a spirit of competition.  Everybody is there to serve everybody else, and to serve the ultimate goal - the play - to the very best of their ability.   

The answer to how do you find out about acting was not through discussing and critiquing, but was to do the exercises, scenes, text (their own and others), and discover what the actor experiences, what the actor needs to do to bring to life the writers’ creations, words, stories,  characters, relationships.  In this way you come to know what it takes to act.  How it’s not so simple.  It’s not just understanding the meaning; it’s not just the brain mind.  It’s body/mind/spirit.  It’s totality.  You can have all the knowledge in the world and not be able to do it. They found out, much to their amazement, how hard it was, how wonderful it was, and how it changed how they wrote.   

Of course all the playwrights wanted to become actors!   They all just absolutely loved it.  

A: The core of the training then for the director as well as the playwright centers on the work of the actor.

J: At the Studio the principles for every aspect of directing and playwriting had to do with acting:  The actors’ work, exercises, methodology, the fundamental principles back to Stanislavsky, Lee’s version, the use of the self, the accessing of one’s own experience, one’s own authenticity, one’s own ability through the exercises and through the explorations of the self, to bring to a fiction that which you have to offer, that which is not based on pretense, not based on an idea, or anything external, but which seeks to bring what is internal and  yours and yours alone to whatever the subject may be.  
The writer begins to really value the contribution of the actor, realizes that the actor isn’t trying to deprive him/her of something, but rather to enhance.  So when they sit down and write dialogue they speak out of a different more organic place.  It is far more personal, far more authentic.  When the writer is open to the contribution of the actor, there is not a feeling of loss; there is a feeling of gain, a plus and not a minus.     

A:  So who has ownership of the text?  Is this is the actor’s line, or the director’s idea, or the playwright’s?  There are ethical and legal implications.

J:  In my opinion, it’s not a viable question.   Because at this moment the answer lies in the copyright laws, and unless those are changed nothing can be done. The whole spirit of it needs to change.  

A: Is it possible for a writer to write a great play if they don’t have a clue what an actor does?

J:  First, let’s lay aside the word great, and use the word good.  It’s hard enough to do that, especially if you are not educated or experienced in the world of acting.   And are we talking about talent, about commitment, and passion to tell a particular story?  Then I assume if the writer came to that sort of circumstance from an open and honest place they could write a viable piece of work.  

A: Even though the advent of the method as seen for example in the production of “A Streetcar Named Desire” changed the course of modern drama, the distortions of the method and what it’s really all about prevail.

J:  Yes and that’s what drives me crazy.   It is so tiresome.  For some reason the concept of “method acting” has become confused with self-indulgence, a lack of discipline and being appropriate only for certain kinds of stories and characters.  In fact it is the opposite of that.  It is probably one of the strictest ways of working.  It makes specific demands.  It is a discipline.  Because it is not about pretending.  It is about authenticity, honesty, courage, and the willingness to be personal, to be what I call “naked in public”, which is a defining factor in all good art.   It is the home of originality.  

And interestingly enough, despite all of this old and misguided prejudice, you will find at the top of everybody’s list of favourite actors: Al Pacino, Jack Nicholson, Meryl Streep, Albert Finney, Diane Keaton, Sissy Spacek, Sean Penn, Deborah Winger, and dare I say, Sir Lawrence Olivier; and directors/writers: Arthur Penn, Lina Wertmuller, Ingmar Bergman, Robert Altman, Woody Allen, Martin Scorcese, who are practitioners of a way of work that is denigrated under the name of “The Method”.

To work in a genuinely ensemble way implies generosity of spirit, humility.  But as soon as you say humility people that want to run things think loss of control. However it doesn’t have to be that way.  If you are an actor and I am a director and you do something completely different from my idea, from what I want, I need to be able to say, “Wow, never thought of that.  Let’s do that then.”  Because the very nature of true ensemble work is to give to the play everything you have to bring in terms of the acting, the directing, the concept, the vision.  It is a venture, a joint effort that we all get together on and do the best we can. 

Democracy!
 
A:  I’m still shocked by your saying that Lawrence Olivier is a method actor!

J:  (laughs!)  But it’s true.  As a footnote, he came to the Studio as an observer a number of times when in New York.

A:  In essence by everything you have said, the director is only one part of the process; he may make the choices, that is his authority.

J:  Huge authority.  Huge.  But that authority has come out of all the exploration. 
Some directors feel it’s a loss of power, of “their” vision, when in fact it’s a gain, because there is no way you lose your initial core concept or interpretation that made you want to do the material in the first place.  The process just helps you do it better.  And if you have any modesty at all, you will realize you are only one person, and there are all these other talents who are there, and you’re a damned fool not to take advantage of it! (laughing)
And it seems to me – sorry about this – the other forms of directing style are incredibly boring.  What is truly creative is never boring.  If you don’t want to be bored to death as a director be a method director!   

A:  (laughs) But isn’t the text still the starting point of the theatrical event?

J:  It has to be.

A: And the actor is the way through which the text will be realized?

J:   Absolutely.

A:  Do you believe that a play can be edited or cut even if it has already been written?

J:   You can still cut, if you’re me!  

A: When you do cut, do you not have an obligation to the playwright?

J:  You don’t do it recklessly.  You only do it to make the script the best it can be.   

A:  Isn’t it presumptuous to change a published work?

J:  A lot of things are written.   That doesn’t make it sacrosanct.   Maybe if the playwright were there he/she might agree with the changes.   It is possible for a writer to see something new that they didn’t see or think of when they originally wrote it.  You’re not changing it just to change it and make it say something it doesn’t mean to say, but to enhance that meaning, to bring about more profoundly, more interestingly, and more entertainingly.  

Rewriting is not just changing words around.  It is an organic process.  Most rewriting is done by changing this scene to that scene, by putting something before this or after that, as opposed to organically discovering what needs to be rewritten, changed, developed.  Most rewriting is artificial.

A: What do you mean by organic?

J: Organic is the exploration of all the ingredients of a play in seeking the truth with the playwright, the actors, the director in what we call rehearsal.

A:  What an important task and project that must be to make those kinds of decisions. 

J:  Once again, it comes about through the process.

A: One might argue that certain texts do not lend themselves to the method.  Shakespeare, for example.

J:  In other words there is only one way to say “to be or not to be – that is the question”? 

A:  Only one approach via the text – the text  - in other words.  Say what is written on the page.  

J:  The text tells me how to say “to be or not to be”?…  It is a soliloquy – it is inner thought spoken.  How do we know what his inner thought was? 

A:  How it is uttered.

J:  How it is uttered is how he Feels!   Maybe he starts out by thinking the whole idea is funny; maybe he’s in a rage.  Whatever he is, he’s not just saying the words empty of emotion.  

A:  This is where some may say the rules of prosody apply.    

J:  Even if you followed the commas and semicolons, the iambic pentameter, you could still do it as differently as there are people on the earth.  How narrow, how dull, how silly.  I can hear Shakespeare now, a method writer/director, laughing!   

A:  From a directorial POV approaching Shakespeare with the method – beginning with the text – how would you do…  let’s say Hamlet? 

J:  First of all I’d cast.  

A:  Did you work on Shakespeare at the Studio?

J:  Yes, in the same way.  

But never mind Shakespeare, what about the Greeks?   One of Kazan’s dreams was to produce “The Trojan Women”.  As a matter of fact he brought into a session of the Directors’ Unit a whole scene from “The Trojan Women”.   He wanted to show that the Method applies to that kind of classic play. 

Drama has to do with illumination – saying, take a look, shine a light on it, look at how awful we are, how great we are, how human we are - that’s its purpose.  The Greeks taught us that.

A:  What about comedy?  

J:  Where does the false concept come that the Method only has to do with deep revelations?   Oh, you don’t think Charlie Chaplin is “real”?  That doesn’t belong to the world of “the Method”?   In fact it is the Method because it is genuine, because it is true to what it is.   Then comes taste, you like it or you don’t like it, it’s not your kind of thing, but that’s different.  You don’t have to like genre, that kind of writing, that subject, that’s perfectly fine.   It doesn’t make it any less valuable.  Charlie Chaplin’s work was social commentary.   He chose that form because it was innate to his way of expressing his personal and political beliefs.  He was smart enough to know that one of the most powerful ways of delivering a message is through humour!

A:   So true!   Another approach that is perceived to be the antithesis of Method is Brecht, where the actor does not empathize with the character, but demonstrates the character to the spectator.  The actor doesn’t become the character.  There is a distance.  

J: Even if the goal were to keep our distance, let’s not get too emotional because people won’t take in the philosophical concept… let’s say the character is detached about what he/she is saying, they’re more dispassionate.  You can be very authentic and be very dispassionate.  That’s not “Brechtian” then? 

Lest we forget the name of the company that Brecht created and wrote and directed for was called The Berliner Ensemble.   I saw their productions of the “Irresistible Rise to Power of Arturo Ui”   --  and “Playboy of the Western World”…  

A: Al Pacino did Arturo in New York. 

 J:  The work was nothing like what is written about, or what people say is “Brechtian”.  The work was real, it was the Method if you like, meaning it was authentic, it was true to its nature.  If you write a play like “Arturo” it has certain demands.  It was about Hitler in a metaphorical/satirical way as in a Charlie Chapin version.  It is real within the context of its reality.  “Playboy of the Western World” is an Irish lyrical play done in German.   I don’t even speak German, but I found the production deeply moving and believable.  It is hard to reconcile what I saw with the concept of what is considered “Brechtian”.  And as an aside, when Brecht fled Germany to the United States, he stayed on Central Park West with none other than Lee Strasberg  (laughs!).    

A:  So what you are saying is that the Method is applicable to any genre. 

J: Yes.  Most definitely.  

A:  What about Beckett?  He gives you the blueprint of what he wants and how he wants it to sound.  So how would you direct “End Game”?

J: I wouldn’t (laughs!)   Or I’d do it my way…

A: And get sued!

J:  I doubt it would be worth that!   I would want to ask him,  “Mr. Beckett, with all due respect, why do you write for the theatre? Why do you write plays? Why don’t you write novels or short stories? I saw the original production of “Waiting for Godot” in New York with Bert Lahr and Zero Mostel.   It was brilliant, unique, moving, funny, tragic theatre.  But it wasn’t what you would have said you wanted.  Yet it expressed all the things that I believe you intended as a writer. Why do you write for a medium that demands people and then you don’t want them?   I don’t understand, you’ll have to explain that to me.” And I’m sorry he’s gone.   I don’t know what he would have said.   I can tell you there is the world between what he wanted and what they did, but they did not distort the play, they brought it to life, and did, really, what I believe Beckett had written. 

A:  So what I hear you saying overall is there is a real need or cry for getting back to the notion of a true ensemble, in which all members contribute and have a sense of confidence, confidence without arrogance, and it is via the collective responsibility, via the ensemble that will bring the text to life.

J:  And confidence comes from security.  You cannot be confident without being secure. It is a result of being secure. You are in a circumstance where you are allowed to bring forward that which you have to bring forward without fear of judgment.  You are exploring and you have a right to explore, you don’t have to be right.   

For exploration to be worthy of the name, for ensemble work to be really at its best, it has to be congruent.  We hear very little about congruence.  Congruent means from the inside out, not from the outside in; congruent means to be whole; you walk the talk; what you say is what you do.   It is important that our words are reliable, and the actions that we take express who we really are.   

A:  In an ensemble there is an assumption of a shared vocabulary and that is one of the things that contributes to congruence?

J:  Yes, because if we all work in that way and the director gives a direction or makes a suggestion or asks for something, you know what he/she means.   It is so valuable because it makes things easier, moves thing along, instead of intellectual explanation (a lot of words), whose point of reference may have little to do with the results you are after.  The result is little or no valid communication. 

From my perspective, training and experience, the director, from the first audition to the final day, says let me see what you have to offer, you the actor, out of your take on what the writer has written, let me see what you bring, let me see what is there.    

A:  I love that…  So the Method is totally congruent in a sense with the text as well. 

J:  In my work, the starting point with any text is the question:  Where am I in this?  How does the actor learn to access ‘where am I in this’?   We do the work.  Which provides what?  Insight. Surprise. Revelation. Truth.  The sum total of which is Originality. 

Traditionally there has been the belief that there is more or less only one way of creating a play.   That concept has been about a director’s interpretation of a play that then proceeds to have actors illustrate what the writer has written and the director has conceived.

To try to say this is “The Way” is misguided.  What defines ensemble work is that within that “one way” (ensemble) there are many ways of arriving at the ultimate vision that the actors, the writer, the director are seeking to accomplish.   The hallmark of which is a unifying way of work in terms of casting, vocabulary, methods of exploration, that in the end illuminates what the playwright has written, in a way that is meaningful, authentic, enlightening, and that contributes to our vision of the world.