Revealing Us to Us

BY James Bohnen

Here’s a scene from a play:

A middle aged couple sit in silence, smoking, with the radio on. The man turns up the radio and they argue heatedly, but we can’t hear a word. They stop talking. Their two daughters come in. One reveals magically that she has four eggs. Everyone reacts with pleasure except the father. She then produces a pack of American cigarettes. Again, real pleasure from everyone except the father, who refuses onE. They smoke, and laugh at the father when he finally takes one of the cigarettes. He grabs one of the eggs and smashes it on the floor. The mother protects the other eggs. The father turns the radio up very loud and sits and smokes. The daughter who didn’t bring the eggs finds a spoon and cup and carefully scrapes the egg off the floor. The lights go down.

Not one word is audible in this scene, but a powerful family and cultural dynamic is established for the audience step by step. It is heartbreaking and illuminating. It is the first scene of Caryl Churchill’s Mad Forest, her play about Romania under Ceausescu.

Here’s another:

Two young men have a ferocious sword fight. We know a lot about them. One is a valiant warrior, battle tested and accomplished. By rights, he should win this fight easily. The other is something of a profligate, clever, agile, but with much to prove to himself and his father, the King. They fight on and on, and suddenly the warrior is mortally wounded. So far we could be in any audience at any number of plays, good and bad, that include combat. But then a remarkable thing happens: this warrior who has never philosophized, does just that as he lies dying. In a speech beginning with the surprise of losing the fight

(“O Harry, thou hast robbed me of my youth.

…But thoughts, the slaves of life, and life, time’s fool,

And time, that takes survey of all the world,

Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy…”)

we glimpse the deeply complicated man he might have become, and it makes us cry.

But wait. Shakespeare isn’t finished yet. The victor then eulogizes the vanquished by musing about spirit.

“…Fare thee well, great heart.

Ill weaved ambition, how much are thou shrunk.

When that this body did contain a spirit

A kingdom for it was too small around.

But now two paces of the vilest earth

Is room enough.”

It takes away our breath and both breaks and expands our hearts.

The humanity of the two warriors humbles us. The idea that a broken egg must be saved allows us to feel want in a way that must shock and sensitize. Theatre works when it reveals us to us.

There is a pact that must be formed by directors and actors to sift for the clearest truth of whatever writing is before us. Our job is to learn the music in the writing so well that when we play it, we hold the audience on a taut string. This music includes the words, the gestures, the silence. Rhythm is all. When we attack a script with discipline and rigor, and play it with delicate ferocity, we give ourselves the chance, just the chance, to make good theatre. What more should we desire?

James Bohnen is the artistic director of Remy Bumppo Theatre.

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