Storytelling in Performance

"Above all else, make sure we understand the story."

I can't even comprehend how many times this note has been given to our Group Interpretation cast after a rehearsal. This year, our group is performing an adaptation of Markus Suzak's "The Book Thief" as a contest piece, meaning we will be performing at sectionals this weekend at Fremd High School. The piece is whimsical, dark, beautiful, and above all else—long.

Ms. Robinson has cut sections of the piece five times now, and we are currently still about one minute over the thirty-minute time limit for the contest piece. In any piece of writing, play, or other art form, timing is obviously crucial to success, but I have felt so crunched for time on stage in my life. As a result, our directors have decided that the story must shine above all else, and many of the beautiful details found in Suzak's original novel have been cut.

Still, the plot of our version of "The Book Thief" is hazy at best. The language of the piece is incredibly succinct, so even minor cuts have large plot implications. When we performed the piece last night, we were told to "Treat the audience like they're kindergardeners. Make the plot shine above all else." At first, this note made sense to me; we actors must above all else get across the story. But during our next run through, I began to think—at what cost? 

In retrospect, this sharp focus on clarity of plot has been an issue for many of our previous productions. During "Of Mice and Men," numerous plot details were tossed out to make the story more clear, and acting was made secondary to plot. 

Is plot the most important aspect of a story? "Treat the audience like we're kindergardeners." ---> Can we still derive the same meaning from a performance even if we're supposed to treat the audience in this way?

Where does beauty in a performance lie? In the plot-work or in the details? How can performance be used as a mechanism for learning? Is it more effective than other conventional methods?

'Havoir of the Visage

Before walking on stage, we are often told to "put on a performance face." This could entail smiling beyond belief, smirking heinously, or moving any other combination of facial muscles to craft an emotion. When in the scene, however, we rarely consider the notion that the character him/herself may be putting on a performance face as well. Often times, actors and audiences alike seem to blindly trust the characters on stage, accepting them for nothing more than face value (no pun intended!). This, however, can be dangerous.

As in the case of Shakespeare's Price Hamlet, a character can easily fool another actor, an ensemble, or even an entire audience. This misunderstanding of identity is a form of irony that can easily trick audience members into trusting untrustworthy characters. For Hamlet, it is often unclear when Hamlet is "acting" mad versus when he is truly losing his wits. To describe this form of theatre-ception, or "acting within an act" (I know, I'm super clever), Shakespeare uses the term "visage."

Hamlet's real self is not the "visage" that he assumes when he is acting mad. I have grown to think of this visage as like one of many masks worn by ancient Greek actors; the actor's true identity is hidden behind the visage, but the audience is only exposed to this "false self." In many ways, the actor is lying to the audience. How, then, should the audience reconcile this theatre-ception? How can the audience still comprehend the actors' true emotions?

In many cases, trust is necessary. It takes a keen eye to decipher theatre-ception, especially when the audience is not expecting it. To add insult to injury, these are paid actors on stage—their job is to be good at acting the part! Therefore, looking beyond the "visage" is sometimes impossible. I try to search for context clues from the language (which is more readily available in Shakespeare's case), body language, and facial expressions. How does the character react to others around him/her? Is he/she clearly "putting on a show"? In the end, to quote my drama director Ms. Robinson, "Trust the process." Trust that the author or director will show you what needs to be shown, and hopefully the visage will unveil itself. The subtleties of Shakespeare—in Hamlet in particular—are often hard to comprehend, so leave the hard word for the actors; sit back and enjoy the show!

Performance and Discomfort: "The Book Thief"

Every two years or so, Glenbrook North Theatre performs some sort of contest play—a short play intended to be performed competitively. GBN contest plays have a valiant history; in the last seven years, all four of our contest plays have qualified for the state contest, and all but one have placed in the top three at state. This year, we hope to live up to this daunting legacy with "The Book Thief," based on the book by Markus Zusak. If you are unfamiliar, "The Book Thief" follows the story of young orphan girl named Liesel Meminger in Nazi Germany, her morally-grounded step-parents, and a runaway Jew named Max who hides in Liesel's basement.

Rehearsals have been going well thus far, but it is often difficult to glaze over the emotional reality of the show. The Holocaust is an incredibly touchy subject, especially on the North Shore, and we often feel uncomfortably reciting certain lines during rehearsals. However, our theatre director Ms. Robinson specifically picked this piece because she believes we owe it to our Northbrook community. Do the shivers that race down our spines as the entire cast recites "Heil Hitler!" in unison truly serve a greater purpose? Is yelling "Die Juden!" at the top of our lungs serving a greater purpose? I believe so, but many would disagree.

Max and Liesel in the basement, discovering the liberating power of words

After passing awkward glances at each other and feeling each other's discomfort at the raw hatred present in the play, we cast members feel uncomfortable yet accomplished. When it's all said and done, this show's purpose is to make you feel uncomfortable. Nazi Germany was a dark moment in history, and the discomfort was—and is—real. Perhaps partially to keep myself sane (and justify why I torture myself with eight-hour long rehearsals), I like to think that this show is serving a greater purpose. Theatre is beautiful in itself, but it is also beautiful beyond the walls of the auditorium. People must not forget what happened in Nazi Germany, and live theatre is a visceral and impactful way or reminding people of the past.

It's one thing to read about the Holocaust in a textbook and another thing entirely to experience it first-hand on stage. Movies are nice, too, but for me, live performance is the only thing that does the trick. People who say that GBN should not perform "The Book Thief" say so because they feel uncomfortable. Good! Our mission is accomplished. If you go see our production, which I highly recommend, I hope that you leave feeling uncomfortable as well [in a good way]!