WAITING FOR THE RENAISSANCE OF THE ACTOR

By Barney Bardsley

(Drama, c.1985)

 

Since the slow and/or temporary disappearance in the last ten years into the USA, Europe, Film, Television and Opera of gifted directors with real vision for the theat e, there is, paradoxically, more and more talk of a 'director's theatre' in Britain. Perhaps this is not a paradox at all considering that more and more spectators, authors, actors and above all, critics, grumble about directors who squander public money in order to indulge in their private 'artistic policies'. The number of mediocre productions, both in the choice of material and its presentations, that came out of the National and the RSC alone this season is, indeed, infuriating. But where is the answer? Who is prepared to take on the responsibility of restoring the high quality British audiences are accustomed to? If all actors were as confident as Simon Callow (see review of his book 'Being an Actor' in the previous issue of DRAMA)the actors themselves could take over. But, so far, there have been few cooperative ventures with success stories to tell. So who will replace the director? Need directors be replaced? We started investigating this question in our special issue on Women in the Theatre where we interviewed two actresses of a different generation and from different backgrounds. The question itself is too complex of course and there are no easy answers so we shall continue our investigations in our forthcoming issues. Now Barney Bardsley questions two actors, Alan Rickman in his late thirties and Kenneth Branagh in his early twenties.

What has happened to the modern actor? S/he seems lost in a maze of pressures and pigeonholes which characterize theatre in the eighties.

At one extreme there are the vast bureaucracies of the Royal Shakespeare Company and the National Theatre, where an actor's body sometimes seems trapped on the distant stage, a polished instrument of expression but with little sense of adventure or real control.

At the other end of the line is the experimental daring of the Fringe, where product can be sacrificed to political process, and an actor's unique talents lost along the way.

In between comes the competitive arena of smaller subsidised theatres. Here the combination of ambitious directors and short runs often push actors into simply doing as they are told or getting into trouble.

As for the West End - artistic innovation is increasingly rare. It is mainly filled these days with musical revivals, and plays which seem merely to be vehicles for stars of the silver screen. Too gloomy or bigoted a view? Perhaps. Certainly I have picked on the very worst pitfalls of the theatrical world. But there is undoubtedly a sense of crisis in the life of the actor, and a rising spirit of rebellion in their ranks. This was highlighted recently by Simon Callow's contentious new book, Being An Actor (reviewed in Drama issue 153, page 48), in which he looks at his own professional life, and takes issue with the many constraints he has felt on his creative capacities.

Not since the age of Laurence Olivier or Flora Robson have actors really been allowed to speak up about their art. Although that era was full of elitism and hierarchy, at least there was a frank admission of actors' abilities and - their failures.

Amidst the paraphernalia of modern production techniques in film, television and theatre, little room is left for such serious consideration. Amongst the public what often prevails is either an empty hero worship, or an underlying assumption that actors are actually pretty stupid putty in the hands of omnipotent directors and producers. This view is challenged in Being An Actor

Callow is a flamboyant character - his book full of contradictions and idiosyncracies. But it is effective. He pinpoints the extraordinary ability of a good actor, that of 'giving in to another way of thinking', and of becoming another person. And he asks us, quite reasonably, to pay heed to that uniqueness the core of drama.

How do his fellow actors feel about their work? I spoke to two of them Alan Rickman and Kenneth Branagh. They have distinct styles, and are from different generations, but the one thing they both share is a basic need to take risks for their art. As Alan Rickman put It, 'I like the idea of deep ends, and cliffs'. They both feel a certain frustration with the status quo in theatre, and the way actors are treated.

It must also be said that they share a privilege. Being male still means having more freedom of movement in the world, and, consequently, on stage. RADA, for example, our best known dramatic academy, still takes two men for every woman student. This certainly reflects society's bias. But it helps perpetuate that bias in theatre, which should surely be about change, not stasis? Nonetheless, there is a vulnerability in an actor, which men are normally encouraged to avoid. If he does his job properly, then he will help us understand more fully what it is like to be a man weaknesses as well as strengths. 'Natural' male privilege can be opened up on stage, and its power broken down. At times, the work of both actors touches on these ideals.

Any urge to typecast the two men a problem many actors find in their work, for, as Rickman says, 'repetition is rewarded' soon disappears in conversation. Alan Rickman is tall and dark, with a measured, even detached manner. But underneath there is a deep passion and philosophy for his art.

Both actors have tackled a range of projects. Alan Rickman has played seasons at the Sheffield Crucible, Bristol Old Vic, and the RSC, with recent appearances at the Bush and the Royal Court, and several television performances most notably as the fiendish Obadiah Slope in the BBC's classic serial Barchester Chronicles.

Kenneth Branagh has starred in the Billy Trilogy and the Boy in the Bush for television. He played Judd in the West End production of Another Country and is now with the RSC at Stratford for a two year season, currently playing the leading role in Henry V.

Alan Rickman is a former graphic designer who 'always knew acting was something I would do eventually'. After a stint at art school and involvement in a small design business, he applied to RADA when he was twenty six.

Some people are critical of RADA's intense, hothouse approach, and Alan Rickman concedes that 'you do get hauled over the emotional coals'. Having come to it with some experience of life, however, he felt able to choose the elements in the course which were most useful to him, without being overwhelmed.

The physical life of the actor, fuelled by RADA's rigorous training, was something Rickman immediately appreciated. 'My body heaved a sigh of relief. So much of your life is conducted from the neck up'.

The 'talking heads' approach is still too prominent in British theatre, but it certainly does not attract Rickman. As he says, 'the "stillness" acclaimed in great actors in fact comes from a body so connected to mind and heart that in a way it vibrates. That's really centred acting'.

He cites the agile and graceful Fred Astaire. 'With him', he explains 'you don't look at his feet or arms -- you look here' and he points to a place between his ribs. The centre of inner energy.

Nonetheless, Rickman seems to carry with him a reputation for 'detachment' somehow at odds with all this - part of the tyranny of stereotyping. 'There is', he says 'a blurring between what I am asked to do as an actor, what I can do, and what I'm actually like. It has very little to do with me as a person.'

Indeed, his most memorable performances for me are not the ironic and jaded characters in his repertoire, like, Bob, the varsity lecturer in Dusty Hughes' Bad Language, and Dennis in Snoo Wilson's Grass Widow, but those in which physical joy wins out.

In my mind, these characters live on: Simon, a cool-headed lawyer in the television play Busted, who finally throws off his career in an extravagant poltical gesture, cuts off his hair and flings back his head with glee; and then Gayman, the young beau in Aphra Behn's Lucky Chance, whose passionate pursuit of lust makes him dance, dash into adventure, and insinuate with his body - those long limbs expressing what words will always miss.

The essence of good acting is summed up by Rickman in a quote from dancer Margaret Beals, who talks about 'catching the energy on its impulsive exits through the body'. Feel it - and let it go.'

But what of the theatrical process outside individual characterization? In an ideal world, muses Rickman, designer, director, writer and actors would come to rehearsals with 'no decisions made', the outcome as open and undecided as possible. He sees rehearsal time as a 'conversation' between actors and the script, and would love to see each production grow organically, with the full participation of-all involved.

Pressures of short runs and rehearsals in the smaller theatres squash that ideal. But whatever happens, the performance itself is about 'getting back to the impulse that excited you when you first read the script, and communicating that to an audience'. As he says, 'theatre is not about display i- t is to be given away'.

Which takes us to Rickman's wider philosophy on theatre. In Being An Actor Simon Callow states that 'all theatre . . . is inevitably political. It always makes a statement, even if that statement is only: isn't bourgeois life wonderful?'

Alan Rickman agrees absolutely, but is at first wary about such terms, fearing the implications of words which to many people merely suggest sledgehammer agitprop. He is not alone in this fear. Many actors have a deep rooted dislike of any labels, probably because they are by nature chameleons. Those who do integrate personal beliefs with their work, such as women in feminist theatre groups, are often crucified or ignored by the media, however beautiful or eloquent their work. Reticence on personal sensibilities is therefore understandable, if regrettable.

But as Rickman talks, his underlying ideals come through, almost involuntarily. He recalls a definite turning point in his career, when, after a year at Stratford, he transferred to the Bush to play in Dusty Hughes' Commitments. 'At that point' he remembers, 'my whole working life changed.'

After the wide acres of the RSC, he was now playing in a tiny space, performing a very naturalistic piece on political in- fighting of left groups under the seventies' Heath government. 'If I had not done that play', he says, 'I would never have gone to the Royal Court', which has since spawned some vital and creative ventures for him, starting with his performance as Trigorin in The Seagull under Max Stafford Clark's direction.

Alan Rickman's theatre is not the reflection of 'bourgeois life' referred to by Simon Callow, but theatre as a catalyst. He talks of director Richard Wilson's influence, who worked with him on Commitments, and who speaks constantly of the need for 'openness'. Theatre, concludes Rickman, 'is an act of challenge, born out of a relentless optimism for the possibility of change'.

Kenneth Branagh is of a new generation of actors, also ready to change things. Although only in his early twenties, and barely out of RADA, he has shot to frightening and meteoric fame.

Presently playing Henry V at Stratford - one of the youngest actors to fill this part - he has already been offered an array of television, film and theatre parts. He faces choices which show his considerable talent, and responsibilities which he handles with a professionalism quite beyond his years.

He is an enterprising person a businessman for his art and a shrewd judge of the best opportunities on offer. This showed through even at thirteen, when he approached his local newspaper with plans of being a journalist, and complained that a kid's eye view was necessary. He was promptly given his own space for book reviews!

Journalism faded into the background in his late teens. He got involved in a school performance of Oh What A Lovely War, and knew then that 'acting was what produced an incredible amount of passion and enthusiasm in me'. Unlike Alan Rickman, he went straight from school to RADA, soaked up the experience like a litmus paper, and being young, leaned far more on the institutional framework than did Rickman. But he too used his time there to the full, and appreciated the chance to develop a range of skills.

He has had the luxury afforded by talent of working in all three acting media already. For Alan Rickman, television and theatre 'feed each other', but Branagh is less enthusiastic about television work. He finds uncomfortable the technical awareness necessary in working with several cameras at once, something which intrudes on his acting. Film is much more relaxed, he finds, and of course there is nothing quite like the theatre. 'It's so immediate'.

Of the roles he has played so far, Billy in the Billy Trilogy and Judd in Another Country stand out as controlled, yet emotive performances. In both, he portrays young men bound up in their integrity, and saddled with a sense of responsibility beyond their years a situtation not a million miles away from his own. But it was the offer of a lead role at the RSC which has really stretched him, and he is disarmingly frank about how much he still needs to absorb. When talking of technique, he says, 'I still haven't worked out an approach. It changes as I learn more'.

Playing Henry V has been a burden - 'the worst thing about playing a part like this is people's expectations of you', and a pleasure - 'when I started. with Henry, I really felt a window opening, only to realise how many more windows there are. He feels he has matured along with the part, giving fuller performances now than at the beginning, This is where the luxury of long nuns in the large subsidised houses pays off. If only smaller theatres putting on new plays, had money to support their young actors to the same extent.

How did Branagh prepare for the role of King Henry? 'It's about getting inside Henry's 'henriness', and sorting out the similarities and the differences. He's young, I'm young. We might share a certain wildness . . . But I haven't been fighting since I was twelve, and I've never ruled a country . . .'

To complete what is lacking from his own experience, Branagh draws on imagination and daring - basic acting requirements which take skill and nerve. He has both qualities in abundance.

He is less philosophical than Rickman about the deeper meaning of theatre, keeping himself on a tight rein in interviews. This is hardly surprising, given the destructive delight critics have taken in judging his performance at Stratfond, when his age was used predictably, and quite unfairly, as a stick to beat him with.

He feels that theatre is 'to get people thinking' as well as to entertain them. And on the question of actors' ethics he says, 'I have turned down things which have distorted subjects about which I feel strongly'. Sadly, he refuses to be drawn on what they are.

He is reticent, too, about politics in theatre, in favour of a more elliptical approach. Sometimes this takes him into the area of TV Drama such as the Boy in the Bush series, and sometimes into the more vital and sensitive arena of power and treachery, as in Another Country and Henry V. He seems less rooted than the more experienced Alan Rickman but those roots have plenty of time to grow.

At the end of Being An Actor Simon Callow adds a short and polemical 'manifesto' in which he spearheads one particular breed of people as the fundamental problem for actors in modern theatre: the directors.

He notes the demise of 'worker' participation' in theatre, along with the recession, and records the rise of far more hierarchical structures, with a director often reigning supreme.

Callow's heartfelt wish is to '. . . restore the writer . . . and the actor to each other, without the self-elected intervention of the director . . . We don't need an interpreter'.

What do Kenneth Branagh and Alan Rickman think about that? Branagh 'applauds Simon for opening up the debate', and agrees that not enough praise or responsibility is given to the actor. As he says, 'actors can do almost anything. It's a question of igniting their imagination'.

He also feels that some director do manage to bring out the best in preformers - Adrian Noble at the RSC for example. He works with what the actors give him'. Branagh lays more blame on the critics - and I am one who has fallen into this trap for not crediting the collaborative nature of theatre: its combination of directing, designing, writing and acting.

Alan Rickman also emphasises a need to share in the creative process, and notes that pressure of time in smaller venues makes directing particularly competitive; As he says, 'We need directors who allow themselves to be vulnerable - who are prepared to say 'I don't know.' Small chance, in the present climate.

Unlike Callow, both Rickman and Branagh both still see the need for a director's presence. Rickman, using a designer's vision, would himself like to direct, 'using the stage as a piece of rock to be hewn out'. But he does not want that to ever preclude his acting.

Nor does Kenneth Branagh. He has ideas of starting his own company in an out- of-town venue, in which he would direct for a time, but then 'step down before megalomania set in', and encourage other people to take on the role.

Which brings us to the wider question thrown up by Simon Callow's book. What is happening in theatre? Is there a resurgence of vitality among actors, even as the curtain comes down on GLC and Arts Council subsidy, and artistic adventure is smothered by Thatcher's regime?

Both the men I talked to feel that there is some hope stirring. Kenneth Branagh, with his ideas for a new company in which 'actors will have a great deal more say', is adamant. 'Our generation', he says, 'has to create an alternative'.

He is frighteningly scathing about aspects of the Fringe - surely the most profound radical push the British theatre world has ever had - since he feels that 'many of the best ideas have been creamed off'. In his eyes it has ceased to be a real altemative, and the self-exploitation it has engendered is no longer acceptable.

He is also critical of the way reviewer's attention is focused almost entirely on the larger theatres. Mainstream media bias and unimaginative critics have a lot to answer for - plus a lazy theatre-going public which cannot see further than the RSC or the National.

If Kenneth Branagh sees hope in a post Fringe movement of actors, then Alan Rickman still believes in the consummation of the ideals which that movement represents. He says: 'I'm of the generation who can't really believe that it isn't all still going to happen'.

Pockets of energy exist, with people fighting hard against the clampdown. The Women's Playhouse Trust took its first production of The Lucky Chance to the Royal Court in July (with Alan Rickman taking part and directed by Jules Wright), and looks set to found its own theatre, run by women who are experts in their field. (See Drama issue No. 152, page 13.)

The RSC has taken a well advised risk, in casting a young man in a leading role at Stratford, and is also working with Louis Page and Robert Holman, both fascinating and innovative young playwrights. The Fringe is now producing visual and physical theatre hitherto underexplored in this country, in which performer like those in Three Women, Bloodgroup and the Cardiff Laboratory Theatre cross the line between dance, acting and mime. Then there are Kenneth Branagh's ideas for a brand new company.

What we need now, more than ever, is the passion of Fringe experiments, a ruthless pursuit of funds and sponsor, plus a powerful upsurge in actors' expertise and energy. Particularly appealing, in this time of tunnel vision, is the idea of a 'renaissance' woman or man, who breaks the barrier between writing, acting, directing, and designing, learning the value of each, but the dictatorship of none.

'Theatre', says Alan Rickman, 'is its own pebble or rock, which is thrown into water. Everything depends on how many ripples are made. If the rock is big enough - It may create a tidal wave'. The fundamental question is who throws the rock, and why?

 

 

 

Originally on KelClancy's Page