Robert Cohen - Theatre, Brief Version-McGraw-Hill Education (2016)

Theatre 47
by his voice, made desperate from trying daily to cover
up his obvious, increasing failures; and by his gestures,
riddled with the uncertainties of a man who can
no longer distinguish between real-time events and his
memories of the past. Outsized characters, whether in
classical dramas or modern realism, demand outsized
abilities and the capacity to project them throughout a
crowded auditorium. Such characters draw the audience
into the play’s world: they not only “entertain” the audience
but become archetypes of the play’s themes and
ideas. We are not only depressed by Willy’s pain, we
are fascinated by it, and we learn from it as we become
determined not to suffer his fate ourselves—if we can
help it!
Acting virtuosity involves many skills, as discussed
previously, but there are two that dominate: a magnificently
expressive voice and a splendidly supple body.
These are the tools every actor strives to attain, and when
brilliantly honed they are valuable beyond measure.
Throughout history, the actor’s voice has received
the greatest attention. Greek tragic actors were awarded
prizes for their vocal abilities alone, and many modern
actors, such as Patrick Stewart, James Earl Jones, Rachel
Weisz, Helen Mirren, and Meryl Streep are celebrated
for their stunning voices, which may, by turns, be resonant,
mellow, sharp, musical, stinging, poetic, seductive,
compelling, lulling, and dominating. A trained theatrical
voice can articulate complex ideas rapidly and explain
subtleties clearly and convincingly. It can rivet attention
while conveying nuances, both thunder with rage and
flow with compassion, and can, in major moments, hold
audiences absolutely spellbound.
The actor’s use of her or his body—the capacity for
movement—is the other fundamental element of virtuoso
technique. Most of the best actors are strong and
flexible; all are capable of great physical self-mastery
and are artists of body language. The effects that can
be achieved through precise and subtle stage movement
are as numerous as those that can be achieved through
voice: the gifted and well-trained actor’s arched eyebrow,
toss of the head, flick of the wrist, whirl of
the hem, or shuffle of the feet can command electric
attention. But bold movements, too, produce indelible
stage moments: Helene Weigel’s powerful chestpounding
when, as Mother Courage, she loses her son;
Laurence Olivier’s breathtaking fall from the tower
as Coriolanus; Paul Scofield’s audacious upheaval of
the laden dinner table, crashing pewter plates and beer
mugs to the floor in Peter Brook’s production of King
Lear—these are profound theatricalizations that are
remembered long after the deaths of those who performed
them.
Theatrical virtuosity—as opposed to Stanislavsky’s
and Strasberg’s realism—has made somewhat of a comeback
in the American theatre since the mid-twentieth
century, when An Actor Prepares went on sale, the
Actors Studio had its heyday, and Hollywood was brimming
with magnetic Method actors like James Dean and
Marlon Brando. Why have we returned to a more “external”
form of acting?
It is in part because audiences continued to demand,
on the live stage at least, clarity of speech, elegance of
movement, and iconic rather than ordinary characters.
Also, in part, because drama itself was changing. One
of the most influential theatre movements of the modern
age was the “theatre of alienation” of Bertolt Brecht,
which prioritized critical, political thinking over the
search for inner truth of individual characters. Also,
perhaps, theatre has reflected more and more our own
“postmodern” age of social media, big data, and endless
streams of information and sensation. As our lives have
become more nonlinear and fragmented, so too has the
stage, which features multidisciplinary styles, “metatheatrical”
techniques, and a strong comeback for singing,
dancing, circus techniques, direct address, and a generally
“distanced” style of acting in many modern dramatic
stagings. Multiskilled, multitalented, and multifaceted
performers—men and women who can play multiple
roles of both sexes and all ages, in plays with no costume
or makeup changes deemed necessary—are in demand
as never before. Jefferson Mays, for example, played
thirty-seven different roles—both male and female—
in I Am My Own Wife on Broadway in 2003, earning a
Tony Award; and eight roles in A Gentleman’s Guide to
Love and Murder in 2014, receiving a Tony nomination.
An actor is now as often seen as a versatile “performer”
as he or she is viewed as a fixed “character”—and thus
must be rich in talent and performing skills, capable not
merely of depicting everyday life but of fashioning an
artful and exciting theatrical expression of it.
It seems clear, then, that great acting today demands
both the creation of a convincing inner life of the character
and virtuoso skills that can deliver that character with
clarity, precision, excitement, vivacity, charm, a sense of
danger, and a sense of exhilaration—along with a profound
engagement with the dramatic text, its issues and
ideas, and its production. Virtuosity can create performances
of depth, complexity, and theatrical power only
when coupled with the convincing reflection of an interior
self.