THE MEANING OF MOVEMENT ON THE CONTEMPORARY AMERICAN STAGE Thesis for the Degree of Ph. D. MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY John C. Hurd I966 This is to certify that the thesis entitled THE MEANING OF MOVEMENT ON THE CONTEMPORARY AMERICAN STAGE presented by John C. Hurd has been accepted towards fulfillment of the requirements for Ph°D' degree inipffl /- ' /// -.:: (14/1 4 W 1:13., Major prLo/feséor 8/’+ / 66 Date 0-169 LIBRARY Michigan State University L. ABSTRACT THE MEANING OF MOVEMENT ON THE CONTEMPORARY AMERICAN STAGE by John C. Hurd In spite of the opinion and evidence that movement makes a far stronger impression on an audience than either static pictures or sound, there seems to be insufficient use of meaningful movement on the American stage today. The purposes of this study, then, are first to rediscover the heritage and the present state of theatrical knowledge and opinion about the meaning of stage movement, and second to derive principles and methods for taking advantage of stage movement '_s powerful potential. The sources studied are primarily writers and prac- titioners from the theatre. They include certain selected well-known and influential authors in the fields of stage direction, motion pictures, television, dance, and pantomime. The observations of the authors chosen are inductively com- Diled and compared according to subject, and, wherever possible, harmonized to produce Opinion norms of stage move- ment meaning. Additional principles and illustrations [are derived deductively from the norms in order to complete any John C. Hurd gaps in the classifications. The data from stage directing sources include such subjects as composition, picturization, gross blocking, fine movement of pantomime and business, the relation of movement to script lines, and the roles of audience pre- disposition and aesthetic or psychical distance in the reception of movement communication. The additional data derived from related theatrical sources by direct adaptation, by abstraction, and by analogy include such subjects as camera shots and montage sequences, live television's immediacy and spontaneity, dance choreography, and con- ventional and symptomatic pantomime. All the data compiled and harmonized result in blocking, pantomime, and business principles and practices that are relatively consistent with each other and with the sources studied. A system is deve10ped by the study that classifies the movement meanings into four basic categories: abstraction, mimesis, metaphor, and symbol. They refer respectively to meaning derived from formal or aesthetic elements in com-° Position, from imitation of natural and cultural body movement, from borrowing movement in the culture analogi- cally, and from conventionalized movement sign language. The major findings of the study are three-fold. First, many directors, to convey meaning, depend upon the still picture and words to the extent that the existing knowledge John C. Hurd of movement is rarely used to anywhere near its potential; however, a great many of movement's meanings derived from the cultural and theatrical heritage, and illustrated in the study, are already available to the stage director. Second, few if any investigations made in a theatre during a performance have tested directly what a theatre audience understands stage movement either to mean by it- self or to contribute to script meanings; hence, a great deal of what is known and practiced, compiled by this study into norms, can be profitably subjected to controlled testing to discover wherein the meanings lie. Third, even the movement oriented director seems to be restricted to what is currently practiced or to what is scientifically discoverable about present stage movement meanings, but if he will accept the role of creative artist as described by the study he can to some extent supplement the known and the discoverable by creating new movement meanings; he can, by association and familiari- zation, both enlarge and enrich the present meanings until they may eventually reach the proportions of a com- Dlete language of stage movement. THE MEANING OF MOVEMENT ON THE CONTEMPORARY AMERICAN STAGE By John C. Hurd A THESIS Submitted to Michigan State university in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY Department of Speech 1966 g Copyright by Jtnfli C. IiUTu) 1967 1. To Plot or Not to Plot . . . 2. Phases in Plottin MOvement from Guiding Concepts 50 Details. . . a) Summary of the Six Phases . b) Pri mm es of Theme and Ima e: Selection of MeEa hors and S m501s to Eel Create a Movement Pattern. . . c) Principles of Character Relationship:3 YieId- ing Possibil‘ties for Movement’Patterng. d) Pri nprles of ross ovement C. Preparation for B1 locEing Completed MHUTER IV. PLOTTING THE MOVEMENT IN THE CONTEXT OF THE PLAY . . . . . . . . . . . A. Introduction: General Application of Blocking Theory and Script Analysis to Plotting . . . 1. Blockin Order: From Cross to WT to RefIned. Order Degendenfi Upon Principles m 0 e o ' B. Matching Gross Movement to Script Analysis 1. SelectiEEVStage Areas .to Match Meanin of French Scenes. . 2. SeIectIn ng a Sequence of Stage Areas and Reasons for Choice 3. Relating Necessary Movement to Invented Movement in Plottimg 4. Choosing a Scheme for Relating oving and Still Pictures to the Scene . . . . . . . . . 5. Select n Movement and Area 6. to Sh s y Both Thematic and Ps cholo ical Demands . . . Summa : éhecEin tHe Gross PloEting Againsé EHe Script Analysis and Principles 0 Blocking. . . . . . . . . . iv 99 109 109 110 118 131 lh9 150 159 16A B. Composition Elements Analyzed and Defined According to the Authorities Compared. . . . . . . . . . . . . 1. Deriving a List of Composition Elements. . . . . . Mass in Composition. . . . Line in Composition. . Form in Compositigg, . . Balance in Com osition . . Emphasis in Composition. . . Summary: Composi ion Elements Used in Com osition . . . . C. Picturization: Tfie Meaning of Composition. . . . . . . . . . . 1. Introduction: ways Abstract Elements May Contribute Meanin . . . . . . . . . . 2. Picturization at Rest and Its Suggested Meanings, Accordipg_ to the Authors Select§g_. . a Mass at East . . . . . b Line at Rest . . . . . c Form at Re§§_. . . . . d Balance at Best and in Motion. . . . . e) Em hasis at Best . . . 3. Picturization in MotIon and Its Spggested Meanings, According, o t e Au hors Selected . . . . . . . . . . a ne in Motion . . . . b Form in MotIon . . . . c Emphasis in Motigg_. . d Rhythm in Motion . . . 4. Summary of PIchrIzaEIgn_. . NONU'I-P‘UUN CHAPTER III. PRINCIPLES OF MOVEMENT IN THE CONTEXT OF A PLAY. . . . . . . . . . . . A. Introduction: Areas of Concern in the Relation of Movement to Context . 1. Abstraction, Mimesisz Metaphor, and Symbol in he ontex . 2. Contributions of Movement to Context Context to Movement B. Principles 0 e rec or's on ro Over Relations of Movement to Context a o o e o e e o e 0 iii 29 29 31 32 33 35 39 44 1+5 94 94 95 99 TABEE OF CONTENTS INTRODUCTION. . . . . . . 1 I. AREA OF INTEREST OF THE STUDY . l A. Area of Interest in Part One of the Study. . . . . . . . . . . . 2 B. Area of Interest in Part Two of the Study. . . . . . . . . . . . A C. Area of Interest in Part Three Of the Study. . . g D. Expected Values of the Study . I : PART I ESTABLISHING A NORM 0F MOVEMENT PRINCIPLES AND MEANINGS (MAPEHIIL HOW MOVEMENT MAY HAVE MEANING . . . 12 A. Introduction. . . . . . . . . 12 B. Can Picture and Movement Have Meaning? . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 1. An Opinion Poll of Repre- sentative Authors . . . . l3 2. Implicatipns of the P011 . 17 C. Ways Movement and Picture May Communicate Meaning: Abstract and Concrete. A System of Classifi- cation . . . . . . . . . . . 18 1. Meanin of Abstract Formal ElemenEs: COmposition and Picturi- 8 . l zation. . . . . . . . . 2. Meanin of Concrete Con— Cextual Elements: Mimesis, Meta hor and S mbol. . . 19 3. Use 0% AbsCract and Con- crete Ways 0? Communicating b Picture and Movemen . 24 D. Conclusion: Summary of Ways of 26 Meaning. . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER II. COMPOSITION AND PICTURIZATION: ABSTRACT SOURCES OF MOVEMENT MEANING. . . 27 A. Composition and Picturization Defined. . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Matching Gross Movement to Analysis of Character Relationships. . . . 155 1. Introduction: Possible Actor and Actor to Audience Relatigp: ShiESO o O o O O O O O O O O 165 2. Plottin the O ositions: Approach- etrea , Rise-Fall. 165 3. Plotting the Direction the Actor Faces . . . . . . . . 174 Matching Final Ground Plan and Stage Setting to the Gross and Character Movement. . . . . . . . . . . . . 180 Matching the Fine Movement to Gross Blocking, Character Movement, Stage Setting, and Script Lines . . . . 181 1. Viewing Pantomime as a Lan- 8 l 2 gpage . . . . . . . . . . . 2. Viewin Pantomime as Havin Three Moaes of Meaning. . . 187 3. Viewin ‘Pantomime as an Ad unc to Scri nes . . 197 Matching TImIng Co Efie Movemenf: Discerning and Plotting Tempi and Rhythms Appropriate to the Script and the Movement Plan . . . . . . 211 Summary Conclusion: Challenge to Make Pantomime Serve a More Useful 220 Communication Purpose . . . . AUDIENCE RECEPTION OF MOVEMENT EXPRESSION. . . . . . . . . . . . 223 Introduction: Problems and Area of Interest. . . . . . . . . . . . 223 Communication as the End Product of Dramatic Expression. . . . . . 224 How Individuals and Mass Audience 6 22 Perceive. . . . . . . . . . . . 1. How Movement is Perceived and Interpreted Generally . . . 226 2. How Movement is Perceived and n erpreted y he T eatre Audience. . . . . . . . . . 233 ConclusiBHTTA—Cfiallenge to Take Advantage of Audience Predispositions and to Expand the Meanings of Move- ment. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236 PART II NORMS OF MOVEMENT MEANING EXPANDED BY COMPARISON WITH RELATED SOURCES CHAPTER VI. SCREEN PRINCIPLES AND TECHNIQUES ADAPTED TO STAGE MOVEMENT AND PICTURE. . . . . . . . . . . . . 239 A. Introduction: Relating Theatre Move- ment to Screen Arts . . . . . . . 239 l. Interdependency of Stage and ’SCreen. . . . . . . . . . . 239 2. Purpose of Adapting Screen Movement to fhe Stage . . . 240 3. Kinds OT ScreenMovement Tha__ 4 2 l May Be Adapted. . . . . . 4. Methods of Ada tin Screen Movement to The Stag_ . . . 242 B. Screen Techniques Adapted to the Stage: Individual Shots and Sequences of Shots. . . . . . . . 243 1. Individual Shots Adapted to the Stag_ . . . . . . . . . 244 2. Sequences of Shots Adapted to the Stag_ . . . . . . . . . 256 a) Montage as it is Used on Screep_. . . . . . 256 b) Purpose of Screen Montage Adapted te 258 the Stag__. . . . . . 3. ComposifIOn in Motion Within the Screen Frame, Adapteg_ to the Stage. . . . . . . . 291 agEconomy Within The Frame 291 b MCvement Within The Frame . . . . . . . . 292 c) Camera's Point of View Reflected in e Frame_ 298 C. Principles of Live Television Con- sidered for Adaptation to the Stage 306 1. Introduction: Immediacy and pon ane y 0 ve e ev sion 306 D. Relations p e ween g an oun on the Screen: Adapted to the Stage 311 1. Some Relationshi s Between SI HE ana Sound Su ested b EEI'EY“"‘ 'M a] 312 e creen e a. . . . . . 2. S ecIaI ReIaEIonshi 8 Between an oun on agee_. 319 vi E. Summary Conclusion: Screen's Challenge to the Stage Director. 1. Challenge of Analogy . . 2. Challenge of Creativity, CHAPTER VII. MOVEMENT WITHOUT SPEECH: CERTAIN PRINCIPLES OF DANCE, PANTOMIME, AND PSYCHOLOGY ADAPTED TO STAGE PLAY MOVEMENT. . . . . . . . . A. Introduction: Special Contributions of Pantomime and Dance to Dramatic Movement: From The Theatre and Life 1. Theatre's Contributiep; Conventional Lan ua e . . 2. Life's Contribution: Humep_ Behavior. . . . . . . . . 3. Order of Presentation: From Cross to Fine_. . . . . 4. Movement as Expression eg Qemmunication in Dance and Pantomime . . . . . . . . . B. Cross Movement Composition Elements Interpreted By the Choreographer 1. Mass Considered as Densigy . 2. Line Considered as Abstraction Textural Dynamic. . . . . . 3. Form and Balance Considered as Abstraction and Image . . . 4. Emphasis Considered as a Func- tion of Stage Spaee . . . . 5. Rhythm Considered as a Natural and A Musical CFganizer . . . . . . . C. Fine Movement Adapted from the Psychologist, the Pantomimist, and the Dancer: Movement of Individual PeOple . . . . . . . . l. Bod Movement: Three Kinds ComEIneH: Mimesis, MeEapng, Symbol . . . . . . . . . . . 2. Mimetic Movement: Meaning Derived rom mi a ion q_ Natural Body Movemeng . . a) A Psychological View of the Meanin of Bod ‘Meyement: The Dancer_e Interpretation of Psychological Principles Combined With Relate _P§ycho ogica ews_e vii O 321 322 322 325 325 326 326 328 329 330 331 332 335 339 341 344 345 346 347 b) Delsarte: Bod Movement. A ClassiTIea Lan ua e. 356 c)PanEomimistS' and Dancers' Views of Mimefic quy_ Movement . . . . . . . . 375 3. Meta hor A IIed to the Eencer's ngy Movement . . . 383 a) Hum hries' Substitution 0 Parts. . . . . . . . 384 b) Ha es' Kinesthesia Throu h AfistracEion ana Analo 385 c) Erdman's Non-VerBal Poetic 86 Image . . . . . . . . . 3 d) Mesic and Dance Analogous to Script and Stage Movement. . 387 4. Sypbol in Dancer's Body Move- ment: eaning Derive rom Dance "Sign Lan ua e". . . . 390 5. Communication b Bod Move- menE StarEs From RealIty . . 391 D. Conclusion: Fine and Cross Movement Without words, vehicles for Expression or Communication. . . . . . . . . . 392 1. Communication Problem: The ygtrans a a eness 0 Ar . . 392 2. Agdience ReactIOn EC Communi- eetion: Diverse or Controlled 393 3. Centent of MOvement Communi- eetion: Musical and Emotional vs. Ideational. . . . 4. The Dance Trend: Communication der pression . . . . . . . 397 395 PART III CONCLUSIONS: TOWARD A LANGUAGE OF MOVEMENT CHAPTER VIII. A FOCUS ON MORE DYNAMIC MOVEMENT MEANINGS: COMPOSITION, PICTURIZATION, MIMESIS, METAPHOR, AND SYMBOL. . . . 400 A. More Dynamic Composition Through Balance and Flow. . . . . . . . . . . 401 1. Dynamic Use of Balance in Movin Com osition. . . . . . . 401 a) Belance in Time as well as S ace. . . . . . . . . . . 402 b) Effe C on Audience of Apparent Balance and Imbalance. . . . . . . . . 404 viii c) Application of Principles 0 Apparen Balance in Time . 2. ngemic Use of Flow in MOVing. om 08 tion. . . . a) C C _9n inuous Flow In PhySi; cal and Ps cholo ical Nature Applied CO tEe Sta e. . . b) One in At A Time A lied 50 Flow. . . . . c) Flow RelatIonships Between Menta an sical MOVC- ment . . d) Problem in Flow RelatiOn; ships: LaCk of Punchation and Phrasing . 3. Summa Conclusion: . amIc FIow and Balance Punchated and PErased to Mainfain 408 410 411 411 412 416 Im ressionOTCContinuous Life 421 Be More Dynamic MovemenC Meanings Tfirough Mimesis, Metaphor, and Symbol . . . 422 1. Extended Definitions of the _hree Kin S 0 ‘Movement 4 2 Meanin . . . . . . . . . . . 2 2. A IicaEion of the Three Kinds 0 Movement Meanin . . . . . 433 a imesis A lie . . . . . 433 b MeEapHor AppIied. . . . . 441 c Symbol Applied. . . . . . 454 C. Conclusion: Principles in The Use an Creation of Movement Meanings . . 459 CHAPTER 11:. A FOCUS ON THE PROBLEMS OF COMMUNI; CATING BY MOVEMENT. . . . . . . . . . 461 A. The Problems of Aesthetic and Psychical Distance. . . . . . . . . . . . . 461 1. Aesthetic and Peyehical Dis- ance Dif erentiated. . . . 462 2. AudIence Reaction CO De rees of DISEance. . . . . . . . . . 465 3. AtEem ES to Lessen Audience DIstance. . . . . . . . . . 467 4. DisEancIn Devices vs. TReaErIcaI CommunIcation. . 470 B. The Problems of Expression‘flithout Communication . . . . . . . . . . 471 1. Pro osal: Ex ression‘flithout CgmmunIcaEIon IfipossIEIe. . 472 ix ‘Noo. .. K / n u.‘ 2. The Alternatives: Designed ‘COmmunication or Therapeutic Ex reSEiOn. . . . . . . . C. The Problems of The Role of The D. Summary Conclusion:‘Movement Problems EHHJDGRAPHY. Director: Organizer, Interpreter, or Creator . . . l. The Director's Total BespOnsi; bility fer the Art Product. 2. The DirectorTs Total Responsi- bility tofithe Audience. and Directions for Solution . . 474 476 . 477 477 478 . 480 INTRODUCTION I. AREA OF INTEREST OF THE STUDY The central concern of this study is to investigate the meaning of gross movement on the American stage today. By gross movement is meant the larger pattern that is usually referred to as blocking. However, gross movement cannot be studied with accuracy unless its relationship with fine movement is also investigated. Gross movement is intimately related to, and sometimes indistinguishable from, fine movement, or what is usually referred to as pantomime, Sesture, physical characterization, or business. The relationship seems to be organic in that blocking may derive from character movement, and pantomime may be a refined and detailed treatment of the blocking. Both kinds of movement may derive directly from the script or derive from the director's experience and merely be consistent with the script. Therefore, the study of the ground covering moves that are gross movement must include some attention to the moves that are fine. The meaning of gross movement is also inextricably r"Elam-141 to the meaning of the still picture. Not only do the compositional principles of a still picture apply to the conlposition of the stage picture in motion, but actual still ya-.- ,.o‘9.l‘l c .3. 'I”' as—v .nc - . 0U .. ... n “.-‘i .. I _ " 54.4.. ‘..‘ "n. O .. h a.'_. ‘u h ‘t; . - . _ x, . n l'.‘ ‘. - b.- “ v I a - ‘- .u ‘I I '\. . u . ‘\. , . .H ‘_ 'o. q‘ .. w.‘ u \.\ 4: \ v. | ‘ - \ . I I l ‘u t I . « " v" i . Z“ O' ‘ l 't. I ~ 2 pictures on stage may be an integral part of the gross move- ment pattern. For this reason composition and picturization, primarily the meaning of still picture composition, need to be included in a study of the meaning of movement. Gross stage movement also bears definite relationships to, and in many instances borrows directly from, movement in other fields of study. The closest related fields, chore-f graphy and motion picture direction, therefore, are to be compared with stage movement. All three arts have a common heritage and indeed use each others' principles, art forms, and personnel in combination regularly. Practitioners in one field often practice in the other two as well. For this reason some comparison of the movement principles of dance, pantomime, and film with those of theatre can be of special value to the theatre director, both to harmonize their concepts with his and to gain value from their Special findings derived from the common heritage. Also, because many directors, choreographers, and pantomimists depend so heavily on them, some attention must be paid to the Psychologists' contribution to the meaning of gross move- ment on stage . A. Area of Interest in Part One of the Study The first part of the study is devoted to evolving norms of movement meaning directly from the field of theatre, to discover what the present state of Opinion and knowledge 3 among certain acknowledgedand influential theatre authorities is concerning the meaning of stage movement. The purpose will be to correlate, to extend, and to apply the norms in order to derive consistent theories based on those norms. The primary sources used for the norms will be, in alphabetical order, the published play production and direction texts of Curtis Canfield, Alexander Dean, John Dietrich, John Dolman, Samuel Selden, and Milton Smith. Secondary sources include nineteen other texts and over twice that many individual authorities. Their contribution is largely to provide corroboration for, or minority dissent from, the primary sources chosen. The method of the first part is primarily inductive. Data is collected and correlated by subjects from each of the pertinent sources. In every case the dataare summarized rather than quoted in order to present the kernel of the idea on each subject and to present that idea, for easy comparison, in the same order and form as its corollary idea. Once the data are brought together comparisons are made, harmonization is attempted, and conclusions are drawn in an informally deductive method. The attempt is to draw Principles directly from the data or to deduce principles that are consistent with the data. The content of the first part of the study is divided into five chapters. The first chapter discusses how meaning may communicate, if indeed it can, both apart from and within >-~ . . u t .A‘ ’- I I . .u‘ .I . n u n 1 14 suggests that the director must plan all moves and stage pictures in advance to insure that each will have meaning.2 Gilmor Brown seems to feel that movement has a definite function in attention getting but that the meaning largely resides in the grouping of the actors between movements; however, movements have certain qualities, such as strength, that can support the verbal play.3 Canfield feels that the initial placement of characters will give expression to the characters' relationship to each other; the audience will connect the initial placement of characters with the placement of characters at the end of a scene, or movement, and will see a progression or change in relationship as told by the changed picture; the audience should be able to follow the meanings of a play by sight alone; though Canfield is not so sure that stage areas or moves have inherent meanings.4 However, his faith in the potential meaning of the stage picture is intact, for he feels that the director's craft is mainly to make certain that the Juxtaposition of characters reveals what the characters are to each other.5 ———_ 2Herschel Leonard Bricker ged.) Our Theatre Today (New York: Samuel French, 1953 .9 99- 199-245. T 3Gilmore Brown and Alice Garwood, General Princi les fi' Play Production (New York: Samuel FrencH, 1947), pp, “Curtis Canfield, The Craft of Pla Directin New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, n.d.;, PP. 135-1 5. 51bid., p. 166. ’.< .~. . 4 h‘ 4.. °' u., "‘ 0.4. "'C .. .‘It . 'h...‘ -~.._. "I..- q l. v. .' . .. ."V": I . . ‘ . ' . '0: 'I. .,‘ N.“e ‘~ . -., S .- . -.. 4‘“ . .~ I.' n l.' 15 To Dean, picturization is the placing of characters to suggest the mental and emotional attitudes they have toward one another. If the placing is done successfully, the nature of the dramatic situation will be revealed with- out the necessity of dialogue or movement.6 His is the most highly develOped (and probably also the least susceptible of the authors consulted to general agreement) system for the meaning of blocking. Dolman states that the purpose Of movement should be associated or at least consistent with the main purpose of the play. He implies that specific moves can have meanings independent of the rest of the context. Good movements simplify and clarify the script, and some moving compositions may have meaning only when seen in their full sequence; isolated or static moments in a movement sequence may be meaningless . 7 Drummond feels that movement on stage consists of a series of meaningful tableaux connected by moving transi- tions.8 His view, though over simplified when compared with that of Dean, Smith, Canfield and others, is still 6Alexander Dean, Fundamentals of Play Direction (New York: Farrar & Rinehart, Inc” 1941),— P. 203. 7John Dolman, Jr., The Art of Play Production (New York: Harper 8c Brothers, 1946}, pp. 113-116. _‘ 8A1exander Magnus Drummond, A Manual of Pla Production (Newll8fork: New York State College of Agriculture, 1937), pp. . 16 substantially the theory most emphasized by all the authors studied. Hewitt feels the actor should achieve a continuously changing pattern of movement designed to express the character and thought of the play.9 Hopkins says that every movement on stage should mean something.10 Arthur Krows feels that movement should be restricted to what is vitally necessary to change the stage pictures or to carry actors on or off the stage,11 whereas most of the basic texts suggest that movement can be much more valuable when specially designed to help interpret the words of the play. Selden feels that one function of movement is to trans- late into outer form what is usually only felt as an inner response.12 In general his entire book is an exposition of how he feels blocking movement affects audiences or communicates to them. C. B. Purdom also feels that movement can and presumably ought to be in keeping with character and can be planned in relation to the situation of the play;13 while he also feels that grouping and moves should contribute to the —_l 9Barnard Hewitt, 33 11., Play; Production, Theo 3L Practice (Philadelphia: Lippincott, I952T, p. 36 . lOArthur HOpkins, How's Your Second Act? (New York: Samuel French, 1931), p. 15. 1J‘Arthur Edwin Krows, Pla Production in America (New York: H. Holt & Company, 1 1 , pp. 63-55- l2Samuel Selden, The stage in Action (New York: F.S. Crofts & Company, 19417, P- 93- l3Charles Benjamin Purdom, Producing Plays (3rd ed.) 17 interpretation of the play.14 2. Implications of the P011 He can see from this compilation that there is general (though not unanimous) agreement among the theorists and directors of the theatre that both the grouping and the movement of actors on stage can and should have meaning to support a script. However, the writers who give Specific principles and examples of what composition or Specific movements actually convey are few. For most of the authors studied there seems to exist a faith that movement has meaning; for a few there is an acceptance of meaning from only subjective proof . However, there are two basic implications drawn from the cited Opinions: First, that there is, or can be, some definite, decipherable language of picture and movement that generally communicates to the average audience; and second, that movement and picture must be able to have meaning in themselves, apart from the words of a script. The second implication needs some clarification. If stage movement contributes no meaning all its own to a total context of a play there would be no point in Speaking of choosing movement that is apprOpriate to the script. If the context of the play, largely given meaning by the words M (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, Ltd., 1951), p. 80. ”Edwin C. white, Problems of Acting and Play Production (London: Sir Isaac Putnam & Sons, Ltd” 1939), p. 114. ‘ 1 run. . m... , 1"... ’0. . .. '“' ‘... In... 1"". I . Qh‘.. , . ‘n 4 .7 . - I .‘M _ i “M." . O . I 18 of the play, gives to movement all the meaning it has, then any movement would be as apprOpriate in the context as any other movement. The movement in itself would be neutral until the context told the audience what the movement meant. By saying that movement does contribute meaning to the context of the play the chosen authors imply, then, that movement does have some independent meaning to contribute. It is the task of this study, then, first to try to discover according to the authors chosen the meanings that still picture and movement have in themselves, both as abstract compositions and as parts of non-verbal contexts, and then to determine how they can help to interpret a script, that is, what additional meaning they can bring to a verbal and scenic context. C. Ways Movement and Picture May Communicate Meaning: Abstract and Concrete. A System of Classification 1., Meaning of Abstract Formal Elements: Composition agd Picturization Abstract compositional elements, such as mass, line, form, balance, emphasis, and rhythm, seem to convey mean- ings to an audience. No doubt these elements originally acquired meanings by association with, or abstraction from, other contexts known to the audience; however, the result seems to be that meanings now seem to inhere in the abstract elements themselves . ..-.o. ._ ot-ol... - 1'. n. - in" 4 'J‘ 5‘ " ‘. t ‘V . u . . ‘ x I O . s O . . ‘§ \ u 19 In directing a play the director must select com- positional elements to fit his concept of the themes, moods, and situations of the script. In order to choose he must have some concepts of what meanings those compositional elements will contribute to the context of the play. This meaning aspect to composition will be called picturi- zation. Composition, then, will be considered the subject of the abstract formal elements of design and their formal relationships; whereas picturization will be considered the subject of the meanings communicated to an audience by the abstract formal elements and their relationships. It can already be seen, from the realization that formal elements probably originally gained meaning from contexts, that some overlapping is bound to occur in the categories of abstract and concrete meanings. 2L Meaning of Concrete Contextual Elements: Mimesis, Mgtaphor, and Mbol Movements that require actors in the context of a stage in order to have meaning seem to derive from certain relationships: those between actor and actor, between actor and stage, and between actor and audience. These relation- ships include posture, direction of facing, and relationship to stage setting as well as to all the abstract elements of composition . p a I , . I... u u. " a 20 In a sense all Of the meanings derived from contexts are symbolic, in that they stand for something other than themselves, something that is usually in real life off the stage. But the way in which these symbolic moves communi— cate seems to fit into three categories: mimesis, metaphor, and symbol. Although all modes seem to be in some sense symbolic, the term "symbol" will be retained for the third category. a) Mimesis Defined.--First a picture or move may mean itself. Strictly Speaking the picture or move involves an actor who is in a position, or moves in a way, that is supposed to resemble what a real person would do were he in the situation the play represents. This category, called plot movement by Canfield, necessary movement by Smith, and variously, essential, dramatic psychological, and script movement by others, is that which directly expresses what is necessary to the furthering of the plot. For example, walking to open the door and to let in an entering character or sitting down because one is crippled, are classified in this category. Strictly Speaking these moves and positions are a language. They do convey meaning of a non-verbal variety. They signify more than themselves. They are symbols in that they stand for real moves that would really be made in Similar circumstances in real life. Hence, they are the closest moves possible to the real in art. why should this point be made? Because, as most authors agree, no stage move is identical to a real life ...«. :1 ..fl b‘u - I 'vnob . - h-na-olc c 1 - .‘d-v--Q , c I... ..¢ Ia-...\ 21 move. All are at least somewhat distorted if only to make perfectly clear, across the physical distance to the audience, what the real move would be like. So even the simplest "realistic" movement can be seen to be part of a language where the move stands for something other than itself. b) Metaphor Defined.--Second, a picture or move may have an analogical relationship to some other movement already known to the audience. The way the stage picture borrows meaning from its analog this study calls metaphor. The authors studied feel that meaning can be borrowed in a variety of ways to depict both the psychological nature of characters and the thematic nature of the play. For example, all the authors agree that actor positions may indicate affinity for, or Opposition between, characters on stage. Such meaning is variously described as social, psychological, or symbolic. The inner or outer emotional state of affinity, or the verbal context of affinity, is depicted by character proximity. Similarly, inner opposition is depicted by wider separation between characters. Carry- ing this over into movement, physical approach is supposed to signify a mental attitude of approach and a physical withdrawal similarly a mental attitude of retreat. Selden adds to what this study calls the metaphorical classification two more basic moves: rising and lowering, or moving with and against gravity. By analogy, the moves E" I"’ l " ... -nn-o I g... I '14.. O-n. \ :"-I... Ola. 22 can mean triumph or submission, overcoming or being over- come.15 Positions in metaphor may depict the state of being overcome or of having overcome. The category of this meaning, depicting inner emotional states through outer movement, is a level of meaning different from mimesis. The outer form symbolizes the inner attitude; the move or position stands for the felt relationship. This kind of meaning is metaphorical because it is dependent upon a ratio: of doubtful accuracy--A is to B as C is to D. As the mind is to the felt attitude, the body is to the physical move. If the mind feels attraction the body moves closer. Smith adds another variety to what the study calls metaphor. His terms are symbolic move or symbolic position;L6 He calls the process translating the psychological-indivi- dual and the emotional ideas of a scene into physical situations. Translating the "idea" of the scene into movement is really the second subdivision of metaphorical movement. The first subdivision concerns the outer depiction of inner psychological states; Smith's primarily concerns the outer depiction of ideas in the play. Often the two modes overlap. To illustrate, Smith lists oppo- sition, intervention, siding, enmeshing, and pounding. If two characters are in psychological opposition to each other M 15Selden, _p. cit., p. 276. 16Milton Myers Smith, Pla Production (New York: APpleton-Century Company, 19 , p. 101. -.u--. u: ‘ iyuoh.'. .. I-.~.. ‘-.-.,‘ u. . 5-... . . .""-¢.. e b: k: ‘vl. ‘ I... I... D ‘1‘. '- x s ., v - n.“ .l ‘- l‘. .u, . P ' . v.‘ I . ~I i“. ‘9 I n I In: II . . - Q . \ ‘- ‘s‘ 5 23 they move apart and stand in physical opposition to each other; similarly if two ideas of contrasting themes are in Opposition to each other the characters or groups repre— senting the conflicting ideas may move apart and stand opposed. Opposition is closely related to the previously mentioned affinity, or advance and retreat. A character separating two fighters or lovers verbally may also do it physically, depicting intervention; a character changing his mind may change sides and stand with the character with whom he is now in agreement. These metaphors can be extended to include a pacing move for mental vacillation; a static center position for indecision, and a hiding movement behind the character he sides with if cover is needed. Enmeshing, or surrounding, would be appropriate for either a group antagonism or a group reverence for an individual. The body postures, the quality of the moves, and the context Should clarify the specific purpose of the enmeshing while pounding is a sort of thrust and retreat move, not unlike fencing. The dangers of such relationships in the language of picture and movement is that an audience may not be able to read back into the move what was its original metaphor. Whenever a metaphor is employed, without a context, an audience member may pick his own metaphor by which to read the move. Obviously then several other factors must be ..... I .......~ . . n:-«.. . — '-....n.: 'It. . . -‘ no VII.;.. - . o. .'. u>_' -o....... I a ‘N -_ . p. .‘v I . \, D' - v. u \ “. ' f 24 present in a move to give it more Specific meaning. In general, the way in which the move is made, the accompany- ing business, and ultimately the plot situation may serve to clarify the metaphor. For now these examples are sufficient to define the category. The analogical relationship is the important element that separates metaphor from other modes of movement meaning. c) Symbol Defined.--Third, a picture or move may stand directly for another symbol, word, or verbal concept, If a movement has such a specific meaning of a verbal sort the movement would be, in effect, part of a sign language. Hula dancing movement, Noh and Kabuki movement, Balinese movement, deaf and dumb sign language, and certain accepted symbols in some American modern dance are examples from this category. Since there does not appear to be an American theatrical Sign language this third category may have to remain largely empty except as the director borrows from the dance or derives or creates new symbols that may only hold meaning for one particular production. The category of the literal symbol is the ultimate in movement meaning and seems to this study to complete possibilities for the meaning of movement in the context of the play. L Use of Abstract and Concrete Ways of Communicating 21 Picture and Movement 8.) Movement to Support.--A director's stage movement v" m -— , . *l 0". P-un- . . Vic-VIN. - C. . . p ”I hu- , u. .,,'-' , . . "" va‘ 1 iu., o. “ "Cz3.’ . . 25 may support, strengthen, enrich, or underline the surface verbal meanings of the script. The movement may have meaning through mimesis, metaphor, or symbol, but the meaning of the movement is either the same as, or positively related to, the meaning of the words of the script. In such a case the words and moves combine to provide a single unified meaning. The movement supports the words. b) Movement to Contrast.--A stage movement may con- trast with the surface verbal meanings of the script. Again the movement may derive its meaning through mimesis, metaphor, or symbol, but the movement meaning will contradict, or some- how be negatively related to, the surface meaning of the words of the script. Such a move can be called contrasting or contrapuntal. Its purpose can be to editorialize upon the words, to make a comment, rather than directly to support them, or it can be actually to deny the meanings of the words. The contrapuntal move can be used where the inner state, either psychological or thematic, contrasts with the outer verbal form. As an example, the words may sound serene while the character is disturbed. In such a case, the words may sound like an advance but the move can be a retreat. The words may say, "I'm on your Side," but the positions can Show Opposition. The contrapuntal move can be useful in both comic and ironic situations, but for such a contrapuntal use of movement and position to work, it is essential that non- verbal communication can be in fact possible; that moves can pvvv u.. 1 . d .4. an n... “on... u ." U‘.. . no- ..i ii. My - n..- I . _ f 'c.,‘ I .Flo I. l A “-5- U. n a. . 'I o ‘.'~ ,. M5. ; ‘- ' In. ‘ c n .“I II; .‘ I D ‘H . 26 have meanings apart from a verbal context. D. Conclusion: Summary of Ways of Meaning All forms of movement and picture communication discussed by the authors studied seem to be encompassed in the four categories mentioned: abstraction (picturization), mimesis, metaphor, and symbol. Whatever can be communi- cated apart from words seems to be done by a movement either that partakes of certain abstract, formal design elements, that stands for a movement in real life, that is derived from a metaphor, or that is part of a Special Sign language. Of course there are all degrees of distortion from nature and elaborate extensions of metaphor to produce both conventionalized and esoteric styles, but the same basic categories of meaning seem to apply throughout. ‘. O. A d. v D 'II " I 3.. u c n 1 .‘ ". u. I". O. --. I‘ 'u., Q . .I‘II '. h M“. mg...’ 'l CHAPTER II COMPOSITION AND PICTURIZATION: ABSTRACT SOURCES OF MOVEMENT MEANING Chapter one has suggested the ways in which movement and picture may communicate meaning. The first of those ways is through the abstract, formal elements of design, in other words through picturization, the meaning aspect to composition. In general terminology and concepts of composition there seems to be a fairly wide area of agreement among the principal writers in the field of play direction and production. Whereas the actual meaning of some of these compositional elements gives rise to most of the more interesting differences of opinion. In many instances cited the elements under consider- ation were considered by the authors studied primarily as attributes of the still picture. It is this study's contention, corroborated in due time, that most of the compositional elements can be attributes of the moving as well as the still picture. First this chapter will present extended definitions 0f composition and picturization, and then compile the Opinions of the authors concerning analysis and meaning of the compositional elements. 27 -' no u _—- |~ p .0. 0,1. ., ‘ D u... ‘ . sue-iv. v M. 28 A. Composition and Picturization Defined l . Composition Defined According to Alexander Dean composition is a term that should be reserved to refer to the structure or ordering of principles of the stage picture or movement and not to the meaning or communication values.1 Compo- sitional elements of the still and moving picture then will include mass, line, balance, form, emphasis, and sequence. Still other elements of composition are the Spatial- temporal qualities. They include primarily rhythm, tempo, and sequence, elements that differentiate a time and Space art like theatre and a time-art like music from a merely space art such as painting, even though the latter may use time terminology in a nonliteral sense. The techniques of combining these elements into a stage picture, both still and moving, and the elements themselves as the tools of design, comprise the subject of composition. .24 Picturization Defined Picturization, again Dean's term, refers to the creation of stage pictures and movement for the purpose of communicating meaning. It is the process of using com- Positional elements for the purposes of meaning rather * 1Dean, __p_. 933., p. 137- c u “- —-- I __- IOII‘I .- . - . .. '1'“ "‘--... ‘- Duo ,. In . ' u '94,..- 29 than merely for some inherently pleasing effect. In picturization the meaning of the compositional elements becomes important along with such elements as strength, weakness, focus, symbol, image, association, and phrasing. The category of picturization, as well as composition, Dean uses primarily, though not exclusively, to analyze the still picture. For this reason many applications of these principles to movement must be taken from other sources or originated by this study. B. Composition Elements Analyzed and Defined According to the Authorities Compared 1:, Deriving a List of Composition Elements The first task of the director who iS planning to move a play is to discover what tools and techniques of composition he has at his disposal. These fall into categories that are generally agreed upon by most of the represented authors. Dean writes of line, mass, and form,2 as well as emphasis, stability, sequence and balance.3 Dietrich writes of unity, variety, coherence, contrast, Inlance and emphasis.4 He also includes in the term com- position the additional connotation of the meaning of the composition; in effect, he combines Dean's composition and picturization into the one term. The term includes the ___ 2lbid., p. 197. 3IbId.. p. 137. ”John E. Dietrich, PELDirection (New York: Prentice- Hall. 1953). p. 98. p u ..- -9- ..I.-Ia — p t ..r.. ' . > Sun‘v I Ihvv lo- » o s "vn-.... . w.-... . n . " "g- .Il . c . a no... ~ I In . . ‘- ‘u. .‘ , "l.. 1"‘ ‘ Q l . .. - n. - ‘ 's I... . .. -. - .i . . .‘u I: '- . Al I ‘- N. , ‘4 .0 :_-.. ~y ." 3O "artistic and meaningful arrangement of characters upon a "5 stage. The conceptual basis for the two authors is, how- ever, very similar. They both agree that the meaning of the composition is primary.6 Dietrich also includes in composition, rhythm, grace, harmony, contrast and subordination,7 while Dolman writes of balance, proportion, harmony, and grace.8 Smith writes about balance, emphasis, and variety.9 It can be seen that the same terminology for compositional elements keeps recurring in all the works studied with only minor differ- ences in definition of terms; this study proposes the following list to include all the elements suggested: mass, line, form, balance, emphasis, and rhythm. The next task is to determine what these elements are, trying to avoid for the present the temptation to discuss what they do, or what they mean. First are the categories of elements (mass and line) and second are the categories of arrangement of those elements (form, balance, emphasis, and rhythm). "Rhythm", except as it is found as "sequence" in the still picture, will be excluded until a Special section on moving composition. 5&3” p. 92. 62.1312- 7%., p. 103. 8Dolman, _p_. 9113., p. 69. 9Smith, pp. 3:15;... P. 98- 31 2. Mass in Composition According to Dean, mass is the element of composition 1xmt gives the effect of weight.10 Mass may appear light cu'heavy, delicate or gross, large or small. Mass also gives the effect of size. Of course on stage, as else- where, the size of a mass is a function of contrasting masses. A large mass is such only in relation to a smaller mass. A heavy mass is only such in relation to a light one. The effect of mass may be attained by several categories of elements. Color, number, grouping, and stabil- ity contribute as much to mass as does contrast. Bright colors may activate an area or grouping such that the grouping assumes more importance in a picture and has more weight. Mass with a broad base of support can create the ineling of stability and add a serenity or security to a mass. large mass may be created by close groupings of actors, small mass by separating out individual actors fknm the group. And of course scenic elements can create mass, though they are not of central concern to this study. Ifltimately, mass is a function of contrast. A weight is the most heavy or light on stage to the extent that it contrasts with another weight on stage that is lighter or heavier. IODean’ 92-. Cite, p. 198‘ ..4 ' . I bu. - —— o ,. on: o a ..n ~v.... .-..,_ l"-.- v.‘. . ‘ . c...‘ ' .._ m. .1. . 'o. H- 32 3. Line in Composition The next compositional element is line. It is defined by Smith as the pattern made by outlines or edges or where colors come together.11 Dean adds the idea that mass and line together determine form and Shape.12 Where two masses meet, where an enclosed mass borders on a background, where the outer edge of a shape is seen, including the shape of an arrangement of actors or the Shape of scenery and furniture, there are formed lines in a composition. These lines have certain categorical characteristics that are useful in stage movement design. A straight and a curved line are the basic types and may appear in many combinations for different compositions. The straight may be horizontal, vertical, or diagonal; it may be almost in isolation or in obvious contrast to another line. If straight lines meet, angles and jagged lines will result; a straight line may be complete and continuous or broken. The curved line generally may be a segment of a circle or a segment of an irregular curve such as an ellipse, hyper- bola or parabola. Smith (and others) point out, that lines may also be formed in time as well as in Space by the pattern of move- ment traced upon the stage by an actor.13 The action may ‘— 1lsmith, pp. cit., p. 45. 12Dean, 9p. cit., p. 194- 13Smitn, _o_p_. cit., p. 45. .AAI-‘ t u. ‘\"..I- Vtu fit- a I. up .,.. 'I on... ‘Ol n Clio-y .4 "o>-'. u ‘c.-.- v 5.. ..”> b '- I v‘v 33 describe a curved or straight line, a jagged line, or, in conjunction with scenery or fellow actors, provide a pattern of intersecting lines. It is important to point out this means of providing line through movement because it is the beginning of relating principles of still picture composi- tion to a less developed area in the basic texts studied, moving picture composition. 4. Form in Composition When mass is bounded by line Shape the result is form. Many forms of mass and line, or size and Shape, may be grouped or patterned together on stage. The overall stage pattern can be called the form of the composition. The main components of the stage composition are the forms of the emphatic elements and the relatively unused Space. a) Types of Forms.--Dean discusses the overall stage forms as symmetrical or asymmetrical, deep or shallow, and compact or diffused.lu Symmetrical and asymmetrical form will be discussed later under types of balance. Suffice it to mention here that types of balance are attributes of form. The deep form is one that uses a large portion of the up-tO-down stage Space, a shallow form uses relatively little up-to-down stage Space. The compact form refers to the grouping that allows for relatively slight Space between actors. Dean intimates it usually results in an n. lhDean, £0 Cite, p0 2000 .3. .ID: on... \ ~ r nvn-.. b .n. ...- ’ >- “J --oa . . '“' 'I‘. . . fl ;...‘. - \ 'o.~~.. '0... .. --~’-.~ ‘ ~ h a- . , " ~Db ‘fany l ' I '- \ 0“ “- a. n , ...~ .‘ _ 5‘ . ‘o . 1‘ " '- I p,-.. ‘. I.I ‘I s .‘ I .- ~. '- o v 34 unstable composition because it does not have a broad base and because it is usually grouped in one segment of the stage. The diffused form has relatively large Spaces between actors and employs a relatively large portion of the stage. This study suggests that a stage form may be classified by selecting a point anywhere along the continuum suggested by each pair of variables. Such a combination might yield a form of stage composition that was, for instance, almost symmetrical, relatively deep, and some- what diffused. b) Coherence in Form or Sequence.--Dietrich mentions coherence as an attribute that forms Should have.15 Coherence refers largely to the Space relationship between characters on stage, as well as between characters and scenic elements. Dean suggests that such coherence can be achieved by a form of spatial (or static) rhythm. This spatial rhythm he calls sequence.16 In effect, the spaces that separate characters or scenic elements follow some scheme of units. Spaces are all multiples or divisions of some basic unit, similar to the module used by architects. This rhythm of Spaces helps to provide a coher- ence or a sense of all belonging together. Another basic method of producing coherence is through body position and facing. In brief, the positions ‘_ 15Dietrich, _p_. cit., p. 99. 16Dean, _p. _c__i_._t_., p. 184. o o I " _. i ’ ‘ I -ao 0-. ..'_ ’ 4 h“ .Ln ’-o. I . p o‘.‘.' . '~... ..“, . I u , :v.. wk“... A .- d A.._' . o. a. .— n M _ . \ _a~.. .‘4.‘ q ‘o v.._- 1.. § 5 - - ._s o '- \ 35 of actors, and the direction in which they look will, as in good painting, lead the eye around the composition and then back to some emphatic point. 5. Balance in Composition Next are the compositional elements that deal with the arrangement of form in Space and time, starting with balance. There are two varieties of interest to this study: actual physical balance and aesthetic, or apparent balance. a) Actual Physical Balance.--Balance may be variously defined as a state of equilibrium, inertia at rest, or equal and opposite forces or masses. It is perhaps as well expressed analogically by Samuel Selden as any, though all the texts use the same basic metaphor variously called the teeter-totter, see-saw, or fulcrum and lever principle.17 The basic physics formula is weight times distance equals weight times distance as explained by Dietrich.18 Very simply, the principle in physics is that the weight on one side of a fulcrum multiplied by the distance from the fulcrum is equal to the weight on the other side of the fulcrum multiplied by its distance from the fulcrum. In practice this means that the farther a Weight is from the fulcrum the lighter it must be to balance a weight on the other side of the fulcrum. ___ 17Selden, _p. cit., p. 153. 18Dietrich, pp. cit., p. 100. 36 In general there are two balanced design types: sym— metrical and asymmetrical; and two kinds of ways of achiev- ing the balance: by actual, physical mass, and by the impression of importance or the impression of mass. The design types are derived by considering the center of the stage to be the fulcrum. If the right side is a mirror image of the left the stage is in perfect symmetrical balance. If one side is obviously not identical with the other but both sides balance, the stage is in asymmetrical balance. b) Aesthetic, or Apparent, Balance.--Perhaps of more dramatic significance than actual physical balance is the impression of balance. Dean calls this the difference between physical and aesthetic balance. In Dean‘s terminology, aesthetic balance is achieved by weight derived from emphasis.19 Dietrich refers to it as the difference between physical and psychological balance. To Dietrich the latter refers to the equilibrium of contending forces.20 There may be two different principles involved here. In one, weight is given by arrangement; in the other, weight is given by the context of the play. Since this section deals with compositional elements it is best to P413 off a discussion of psychological weights until h 19Dean, pp. cit., p. 189. 2ODietrich, 9p. cit., p. 102. A'.' Vt.... v“. N. _ t '- “V ‘ M" I‘ 37 picturization. Aesthetic weight, however, can exist in pure pattern apart from context. A bright color may "weigh" more than a dark, even though the latter is part of a larger mass. A color or Shape that contrasts sharply with its background may also "weigh" more than a larger mass that does not contrast as Sharply with its background. Contrasting shapes, line patterns, "busy" compositions may all "weigh" more than less internally contrasting masses. Harm colors may weigh more than cool. 1-Apparent Stability. Stable as opposed to unstable masses may weigh in different senses. Dean feels. a mass that appears top heavy may appear unstable and hence have a potential for movement, have a more exciting appearance than a mass that is bottom heavy, or stable.21 For this reason for balance a top heavy mass may "weigh" more than a bottom heavy mass. However, psychological weight may well involve different principles though with similar results. The psychologically stable mass (such as a group of satisfied, resting characters) appears heavy in the sense of dull, complacent, or unmoving but probably will not weigh heavily in the stage balance. It does not have the weight of potential. 2-Apparent Height of Moving and Static Masses. Another aspect of apparent balance concerns the relative weight of R 211368.11, i. Cite, p. 177’ o ....— r ~ 1i ..o~ - a: - v.2... Fun-r1 . ‘ ~-...i.. 'Din». . --...;. 5.1. . In- . n “’u . In...” .,.‘~ .. ... u b 38 moving and static masses or characters. According to Dietrich, the dynamic or emphatic character may outweigh the static character.22 However, it still remains to decide to what extent the moving character is dynamic and emphatic. To decide with any accuracy the subject of emphasis must first be discussed; but suffice it to say at this point that movement attracts the eye and generally may, under certain circumstances, create more weight for aesthetic balance than no movement; however, the moving character may also be psychologically weaker than the stable character and possibly "weigh" less, though attract- ing the eye more. 3-Apparent Balance in Time. when movement is introduced into the problem of balance the field is Open to conjecture. One fairly consistent principle seems to involve a balance that is achieved in time rather than in Space alone. Canfield speaks of scenes progressing from one stage area to another with a Special area set aside for a particular scene.23 Obviously at any particular moment the stage may be off balance as only one small section is being used. However, given the duration of the play, each area is used and the director may achieve a balance in time. A useful device to suggest schematically how such a balance is achieved is imaginatively to place all the scenes on the Stage at the same time and see if the result is an _‘ 22Boyd, 22. cit., p, 102, 23Canfield, 92. 9L” p. 134. o-- so. I.‘ .. u .' 'uI- s 'av... ' .‘o-. 4 u- “ 'Io.‘ .ir ., 5 Ion. it. .." v. ‘ u. l ‘v..“i .“v'. v "v. . ~,. - u... 39 aesthetic, physical, and psychological balance. This way the imbalance of a moment is resolved in time rather than in Space. 4—Apparent Physical Balance. There are several observa- tions apprOpriate to balance of movement in time. One is a.tendency, pointed out by Canfield and Dietrich, of ixnnking of a section of the stage as temporarily being 23 In essence this means that the audience the whole stage. may not feel a stage is unbalanced if the small portion being used at the moment is in balance, the portion that provides the environment for the small scene. Such an environment may be bounded by the actors, a furniture arrangement, lighting, or by scenic elements, and the area may temporarily appear to be a stage within a stage. In effect, this small scene tends to pull the center, or fulcrum, of balance over to itself and to eliminate the rest of the stage as far as having any effective weight is concerned. in Emphasis in Composition Within the balanced form composed of mass bounded by line certain elements can achieve relative degrees of ckmunance. This attribute, called by various authors ibcus, directing of attention, as well as dominance, will hm called in this study emphasis. It is achieved by many _.__ 21‘thid; Dietrich, Op. cit., p. 99. “ our» :- uth~od A. ... 4‘ - at u... p..-. \ . — D.¢-. I n c. -.,. ' \ Iv.¢. . .. I .‘ "u ' ‘5; 4O subordinant elements of arrangement grouped for this study as centrality, convergence, stage area, contrast, sequence, space, isolation, stage level, body position, and restor- ation of balance. a) Emphasis by Centrality.--The most usual cause of focus is centrality. The center of any composition, be it a triangle, semicircle, or line, has potential for emphasis. Of all these the apex of the triangle is most emphatic because it is also at the center of converging lines. b) Emphasis by Conveggence.--The triangle is the figure used by all the authors studied as the basic form to provide maximum emphasis. The apex of the triangle is emphatic because it is at the crossing, or convergence, of two lines, and because it is usually at the center of the composition. The triangle may be regular in shape or broken up into a series of small groupings, arranged either symmetrically or asymmetrically, and still maintain its emphatic convergence. c) Emphasis by Stagg Area.--In Dietrich's discussion of emphasis he groups the elements under the heading of "control of attention'.‘25 Prominent in control is the relative dominance Of the various stage areas. He ranks Humiin order of dominance as being down center, up center, down right, down left, up right and up left.26 Dean M 25Dietrich, _p. cit., p. 113. 26Ibid., p. 108. q-I‘ w " v .ubo‘uoa ' OD’DQ" via-v..- Dab, rn Is In -. "v 9, Q.. ). \ .5. u . 4 1 I...' . ‘. § ‘ cg " . . l. .- .- . . ‘V b... . .__ ‘~ I O I. I. a “a 41 designates the areas the same way27 though he is more concerned with dramatic qualities the areas express than with their relative dominance. The principle expressed by both authors, and others, is that the closer something is to the audience, and to the center of the stage, the more dominant it is. This principle does not account, however, for the suggestion that right is stronger than left. Both authors relate this to the Western habit of reading from left to right; thus the eye seeks the left (stage right) first, making it a stronger area. d) Emphasis bl Contrast.--Contrast is an element that Dietrich suggests may make for emphasis even when the con- trasting element is not in a dominant stage position.‘28 Such contrasts may consist in part of multiplicity vs. isolation, bright vs. dark, movement vs. still, tall vs. short, or fast vs. slow. Basically, however, the point is that the single element that is different from the rest is the emphatic element. e) Emphasis by Sequence.--Identified as the static aspect of rhythm, sequence may take on two basic roles in terms of emphasis: negative and positive. Negative use of it may be had by breaking up a sequence. If a group has regular internal sequential Space relations, something out of sequence is emphatically contrasted. 27Dean, 9p. 93.3., p. 212. 28Dietrich, _p. 91.3., p. 103. 90- 0. D". Ian I u..’ '0'“. l o n~ I!) .. F‘s '- . I ' 1r. 1" I I ,_ 'no. 1‘: 5 PP ». I. n- u 1‘. § t, _ ‘ V ‘0" .r ‘c 42 A positive use of sequence may be had by the use of repetition in the sequence. Repetition sets up a rhythm, and the rhythm sets up an expectancy of continued repeti- tion. The last element in a sequence can be emphatic both because it is expected and because it breaks the sequence. The last person in line entering a room, the downstage left end of a diagonal line, or the third movement in a series of three movements can all be very emphatic. It may be pointed out that emphasis through repetition in a sequence may require combining with other means of emphasis in order to be the most effective. For example, the elements in a sequence may contrast in size with the last element being the largest. A sequence of elements of the same size could result in monotony rather than emphasis. f) Emphasis by SpaceLor Isolation.--Space is an important aspect of sequence, but it is also important in setting objects apart from the rest of the composition, in isolation. If a space is also part of a sequence of regular spaces then rhythm can add to the emphasis by isolation. The rhythm sets up an expectancy; a sudden break in the rhythm, with a large Space, sets up a vacuum, or unfulfilled expectancy. A final element appearing after the vacuum, then, has an emphasis derived from both rhythm and isolation. g) Emphasis bLStage Level.--Stage level refers to height above the horizontal plane of the stage. Subject to the principle of contrast, generally the authors studied are .....- '.I§.A.. .pAO .. hog. v. to I. at u. M... n \ - .'._ vu- .n- (I) l .A n 1:. .1 v... C ‘- .“A u."‘ .‘ "i h..:\ .I "a: I Q“.‘ U. . 'O .- 5. .l A t, J. 'V 43 in agreement that a higher element is dominant and a lower element is subordinate. Colby Lewis shows how Leopold Jessner used this particular form of emphasis so blatantly that critics accused him of underestimating the intelligence of the audience.29 His use of steps to arrange compositions in ascending order was his chief claim to fame. Be that as it may, level is an effective way to achieve focus, when used in conjunction with depth and contrast. h) Emphasis by Body Position.--A body position can achieve strength or effectiveness to the degree that it is facing the audience. Of course, its degree of emphasis will depend upon its contrast with other elements in the com- position, including the direction other actors are facing. i) Emphasis by Restoration of Balance.--In movement, restoration of balance is a device which can stand more investigation as an emphatic tool. Several authors, in- cluding Canfield, mention a stage scene which was planned to be obviously unbalanced. The area which needed "weight" to complete the balance was an area of vacuum. The audience felt something belonged there. when the director placed something there it was for the moment very emphatic. As Canfield points out, however, unless the audience is drawn to notice the vacuum no expectancy is built and hence the emphasis value is not so great. This principle has far -__1 29Colby Lewis, "Leopold J essner’s Theories of Dramatic Production," g.J.S., Vol. 22 (April, 1936), p. 203. .--.,... 5. In '10-»! b. v' . . l I‘ p. o D 1‘ I- ‘h . O.,..' , ' . "“'-.‘u . .‘Q A» "“1 ‘I'nn. I; .~‘ ‘ | o n.‘“ A ,“é u 'v.. 1‘! O". ‘p . h..>'. u‘ . ~s v» I. ~I‘. '1 , .,~ . . .- ‘i In . s. v n, c I. ~ \ up . . 44 reaching implications for the whole theory of the meaning of movement on stage. It suggests that balance may not be as important to the stage picture as imbalance; that imbalance seeks balance and hence imbalance is more po- tential and exciting; hence more emphatic, than balance. j) Emphasis Contrasted with Strength and Dominance.-- At this point it may be well to seek a differentiation in terms. Strength, dominance, and emphasis may all be some- what different qualities in the achievement of attention. A figure in isolation may have attention but be weak as a character because of context, body facing, or weak stage area. To be more explicit, there are many kinds of weak- nesses and strengths that relate to, but extend beyond, composition and will be discussed under picturization. IL. Summaijy: Composition Elements Used in Combination All the compositional elements, when used together, can provide an interesting and aesthetically pleasing stage picture. The design will have the rhythm, sequence, stability, and balance of masses and line, with an emphatic center Of interest required for any, even the most abstract, of art. However, for theatre, the authors agree, composition is only a minimum. The picture, still or moving, must help to tell the story of the play. These compositional elements must have meaning that relates to the meaning of the script. I'- ..I \ h I... . v... u...- . H. 45 C. Picturization: The Meaning of Composition 1. Introduction: Ways Abstract Elements May_Contribute Meaning Abstract formal elements may communicate meaning through still pictures or through movements. Hence picturization will be considered to have two divisions: at rest and in motion, though Dean tends to retain the term for the still picture. a) Still and Moving Picture Contrasted.--A1exander Dean states that movement comprises the moments of pictur- ization in their ever changing aSpects, that picturization derives its principles from painting as movement does from dance.3O However, there are aspects to the meaning of still ruptures that do not have parallels in moving pictures, even as there are meanings of moving pictures whose unique characteristics do not find a parallel in the static. In fact an opinion somewhat Opposed to Dean's ought 1x>be kept in mind throughout this section. Dolman states that the time dimension in the theatre art must be taken hux>account in composing the stage picture, because often, parts of a moving composition in isolation are dead and awaningless although significant in sequence.31 Of course 3ODean, 9p. cit., p. 223. 31Dolman,‘gp, cit., p. 116. . 1' ... dig—.4- _z....,. uni-IA. o ,..1..‘ N‘DOI. c I nor. - IQ-b‘. a 0" U (n ‘|' 46 Dolman does not deny the value of a significant still picture on stage. He merely points out that moving com— positions are not Simply series of meaningful still pictures. Dietrich states that the only real difference between the technique of the painter and that of the play director is a difference in depth.32 This view is based on a prior statement by him that the primary purpose of movement is to dissolve one picture in order to form another, hence the basic art of the director is the art of the still picture.33 Yet later he suggests that the sole purpose of movement is the projection of meaning, either intellectual or emotional; and again, that without motivation no movement can be mean- ingful.34 Although Dietrich does not discuss meanings of abstract elements, the implication is that the still picture may communicate meanings through abstract compositional elements in context, but that movement primarily requires motivation for meaning, hence communicates primarily through psychological mimesis. It seems that picturization at rest and in motion can both communicate, but how much of that communication is contributed by abstract elements is still in question. b) How Much Meaning Abstract Elements Can Contribute.-- Opinions about how much meaning can be contributed by _‘ 32‘Dietrich, pp. cit., p. 98. 33m... P. 91. 341bid., p. 120. q I a .9... » Cause. L b 4" I'- 47 abstract elements varies a good deal. They range from Dietrich's, who, as has been seen, feels that very little meaning is conveyed apart from context, through Selden's view, that rules of design are more apt to be a hindrance than a help because of the var-iables,35 to Dean's, who assigns a "family" of meanings to each abstract line element.36 Selden does not, however, explain what either the rules or the variables are ; however, from his context this study deduces that his "rules" would be those that assigned definite meanings to abstract compositional elements and his "variables" would be the many colorings that context would give to the meanings. Dean recognizes the importance of these "variables", as will be seen, and so gives a wide variety of possibilities of meanings of abstract forms to suggest that they may contribute variously according to context. Canfield also tends to be careful in his assignment of meaning to abstracts, such as line and stage area. He feels that Dean assigned Specific meanings that were really only subjective and hence couldn't be argued.37 However, Canfield makes no attempt either to refute Dean or to establish that Dean's meanings are subjective. It seems that the director needs more than either a Simple 35Selden, pp. 933., p. 65. 36Dean, _p. 9352., p. 197- 37Canfield, _p. g... p. 135. q to ..' o - .,, .. . . t .‘. . 1,.1' n" 5‘. . '. l ‘I ‘~ .‘3 ‘ . , . l 48 affirmation or denial, but Canfield's readers generally have to go to other authors for the meaning of design; his concern, as is Dietrich's, is with the organic relationship of movement and picture to the script in the context of the play. c) Abstract Meanings Separated from Contextual Mean- iggpw-The problem becomes one of separating the meanings of the compositional elements from their play context and from other contextual ways of communicating to investigate the meaning of the abstraction by itself. This study has already suggested that for a movement to have meaning in a context the movement must have a contributory meaning all its own. Otherwise any movement can mean anything a given context means, and there is no valid reason for choosing one kind of movement over another. Of course this study recognizes the vital role of context to give a total meaning to a picture or movement, but the study contends that general meanings are contributed to contexts by design elements and that the context makes those meanings Specific. d) _S_o_urces of Abstract Meanings.--The problem of sepa- rating abstract meanings from contextual ones is not easy, for it seems apparent that meanings of abstract elements must derive from association with prior contexts. In other words, whatever meaning abstract elements have seems to have originated from mimetic, metaphoric, and symbolic associ- ations. For example, Dean refers to the meanings of p..., , . ‘5.--.o Iv.. .. up: I .. .. . O I‘- ' e 0. u .- ~. '~¢I h “4.2 y'n-..‘ I- I9, _ h \ .. .p '2 w e . 1 J 49 abstracts as the effects of composition upon emotion, but the kinds of meaning they have, as will be seen, are large— ly associational. However, the difference between the source and the abstract is important. Though deriving from mimesis, metaphor, and symbol the meanings of the abstracts now seem “hainmere at least to some extent in the abstracts them- selves without apparent awareness by the audience of the original source. It should be noted, though, that the communication process is analogical. Even the pure empathic communication of abstract elements, the direct motor effect on the audience member, is in a way analogical. The appearance of imbalance, fbr'instance, may create a motor reaction in the audience, but the process is still symbolic. It must start with the visual; imbalance must be seen and recognized. AS Dolman xxnnts out, a physical imbalance may actually be felt, but an.apparent imbalance has to be learned; it is a symbol of physical imbalance.38 Only after learning the symbol does 11w audience have a motor response, but a response often authout conscious thought. The abstraction has acquired a meaning that is now all its own. Whatever the source of its meaning, and however in- exact that meaning may be, the compositional element seems to be the most basic unit of picture and movement. Meaning M 38Dolman, _p. cit., p. 11. II) I!- v u- ”g; l .3» . n) 'T’ I l-"“‘ u... ~ I. l M. A \r J \ .I 1 I” 50 seems to inhere in the compositional element, and the director seems to be able to discover that meaning and to use it to contribute to the context of his play. 2. Picturization at Rest and Its Suggested Meanings, According to the Authors Selected The elements under consideration are the same ones, and presented in the same order, as in the previous section on composition. They are mass, line, form, balance, and emphasis with rhythm still considered in its "at rest" aSpect of "sequence". Although each picturization element is considered in its "at rest" aspects, most of those aspects apply to picturization in motion as well, and will only be discussed in this section. In most instances the overlap is assumed rather than stated. In the section on balance "at rest" and "in motion" aspects will be considered together because of the integral nature of the material. a) Mass at Rest.--Not many authors suggest meanings for mass, probably because most of the meaning that mass has is derived from how other compositional elements are combined with it. The shape, outline, color, form or contrast of mass really give mass most Of its Significance. In effect it is the raw material of composition. If it has any meaning at all it is probably in terms of degrees of felt weight. Dean considers mass to be the effect of weight,39 On stage mass may only be so many square inches M 39Dean, _p. gig” p. 198. .3 J.’ V. I. n u v 1 1 D to . ..,.' . V“...- .-r - tu- .. -‘J. 030- v ‘r; F in. v 'D-.. 51 of differentiated space, but the Space connotes the presence of an object of a certain Size, and that object and its Size connote a certain weight, in part dependent upon the size of the mass. Obviously how much weight is connoted is a function of many other compositional elements, but without the contribution of mass to a composition there would be no impression of measurable weighted Space for the other elements to modify. b) Line at Rest.--Dean, Smith, and Dolman make the major contributions to the meaning of line with Dean presenting the most complete analysis. For this reason his ideas will form the basis for this analysis with other opinions presented only as they dissent from or add to Dean's. According to Dean the horizontal line is restful, oppressive, calm, distant, and languid; the perpendicular line is high, grand, dignified, regal, forceful, impressive, frigid, spiritual, ethereal, soaring, and aspiring; the disgonal is moving, unreal, vital, artificial, arresting, bizarre, and quaint; the broken horizontal line is casual while the broken vertical line is violent; the straight line is strong, stern, formal, severe, simple, close (near), and regular, while the curved line is natural, intimate, quiescent, free, graceful, flexible, and cozy.40 Each of these line types can be combined to produce composite ”01bit. p. 197. ii“..- . Ifi ' I n\ a it! D I E”'v‘ 55.... . ." .u.. N i i. 2 ‘ uh .L . :‘v-ul 'h...; u "~y1. u.- ' I 0.. . n.“ O A ' 52 qualities. Or several lines may be used in combination, such as a curved horizontal line with a straight vertical; some contrasting combination of the qualities also results. Smith takes line meanings one step further by identi- fying different kinds of curves and intersections of lines. He agrees substantially with Dean when he writes that a long straight line is serious, a vertical line is noble and dignified, and a horizontal line is earthy and stable. He adds that long slow curves are sensual and fanciful while sharp curves, arcs, and segments of a circle are mostly comic; Jagged lines and sharp angles are exciting and dramatic.All Dolman suggests, in agreement with Dean, that the curved line is effective for grace. He adds to Dean's idea that straight lines are formal by suggesting that both straight lines and segments of a circle are too forced and unnatural, requiring artificial tensions to maintain them, while slow curves are more natural, graceful and emp athl- cally satisfying.42 Substantially, the rest of the basic directing and producing texts agree with the above general format or are silent on the subject. The dissenting Opinions, not stated here, do not contribute more to the meaning of the line but largely voice cautions not to put too much faith in Claims for exact meanings, and give warnings that there is 3; 1”Smith, op. cit., p. 46. lleDolman, op. cit., p. 71. o, . .c. ; .- 00".v .3... J 'o'v . 'l ‘1-c... ‘ v 00:... i... n n”, d I n C .'. ‘ F. I“: I Q ‘h- . . “"| ‘~. ; Vg‘ ~"\ g .‘y_ .. . l'.‘ . s . ”M I.' l in ‘ ht. 53 little experimental proof of the contentions. The line meanings of Dean need a sympathetic and imagina- tive interpretation to be of any positive value to the director. There are seeming contradictions in the list; there are qualities that do not seem to fit together; the list appears too set and dogmatic, even as Selden or Canfield nflght point out. The key to the variety of meanings may be that Dean realized that the abstract lines needed to be related to specific contexts in order to carry one of his specific meanings. At least such an interpretation brings order to the list. A line employed in a stage setting usually becomes the outline of a specific object. If the line is a horizontal one, for example, it may partake of one of the qualities Dean lists largely because of the con- text. IFor example, it is an horizon and so distance is suggested possibly along with calm, earthliness, and repose. Ihbm this simple example, it can be seen that many seemingly very different "meanings" of the lines and patternS, as expressed by Dean, are really dependent upon their context. }fls is in effect a sampling of the range of meanings a line can have in context. Dietrich's thesis is herein Justified, it seems. To have as specific meanings as Dean suggests may well require a context beyond the abstract line pattern, otherwise each Viewer chooses his own association. On the other hand, Smith and Dolman try to suggest a 54 general meaning for line that is less dependent upon context. Even here, however, a great deal of unconscious association is employed. For example, the horizontal may be calm be- cause it is associated with the horizon. The straight line may suggest severity as it is associated with the straight- laced personality. The curved line may seem cozy as it is associated with a friendly enclosure, or it may produce panic if associated with a trap. Hence, by conjuring up an image of what the line reminds us of, or by feeling about the abstract line the same as we feel about the object from which it was abstracted, the audience may feel emotion from a line. The original source for the line may lend its connotation to the stage picture or stage move. The curved line may connote "enclosure." When given the specific con- text of the scene, the line then becomes more specific in its connotation, because certain possibilities are eliminated. The image, from which the audience abstracts, more closely parallels the situation of the play. The context then gives the audience the clue as to which of the meanings of Dean is closest. The "enclosure" becomes either "cozy" or "trap." Yet, it can be seen that Dean, Smith, and Dolman all suggest that a certain family of traits is inherent in line formation. If they are right, in at least some general way there are line patterns appropriate and inapprOpriate to certain contexts. As Smight might put it, the straight line seems more serious, the long slow curve more graceful and sensual, and the tight curve more comic; the Jagged line is ”a'. din. '9..- ”It'- . ‘un é val y t u.. n.‘.~ "D . I t z. (I) h I‘MI - K‘l .. .Is‘ I‘. .: b“. “h J '0 Q . \ I‘» . N i h ‘v \‘fia 'u I.‘ ‘.‘l . u}.- l '- “‘ Q J N. ‘. n .n 55 more excitingfl3 The writer of this paper has tested abstract line patterns with many groups of students and community groups to try to find out if there is any objective truth to the ideas above. Always the family of traits suggested by these authors is expressed by the audience, without a context necessary. The tests were no doubt without proper controls and subJect to a varietyof interpretations, but the results were too consistent to discard the theories as mere subJec- tive Judgment on the part of a few directors. One reason for the consistency has already been suggested: consistent association with obJects of that particular line pattern. There seem to be two general kinds of association that would account for the connotative meaning of any symbols; they are: cultural association, and psycho- logical nature. In fact both are probably inextricably related. A certain line pattern may have come to have a certain meaning culturally because of a relatively consistent use in association with certain basic moods. A curved line may be learned as comic because many cartoonists employ it in comic drawings. On the other hand, the drawings may be more comic because they employ sharp curves. It seems difficult to say which came first without fairly extensive inter-cultural tests. To establish any real, basic universal 43Smith, _2. _c_i_t_., p. 46. '11. Cross. ,a... -,-.. — L"'" I 'I._ _Ul g“... F .v.. I:- I. u :‘ H \ J: n“ II b | . P" I '. ‘l . 'l \ . . 56 meaning for abstract lines it seems some correlation would have to exist between the nature of our senses and the nature of the line. Here, then, are some prOposals that may start con- Jecture about a third reason for consistent meaning of line. Lines may have meaning partially because of the nature of sight and also partially because of human motor responses. When the eye follows a curved line, there is no felt interruption to the flow. The smooth continuity may affect motor reaponses, may set up an expectancy that is satisfied; it is restful because it is anticipated. A broken line of irregular variety may destroy what the eye expects, or not even allow an expectancy to occur. The result is apt to be a restless feeling. A sharp angle may unexpectedly interrupt a flow, or reverse an eye movement. The unexpected may be exciting. The above conjectures about association by metaphor, association by social conditioning, and emotional response by motor response to eye movement, may in large part provide a basis for the meaning of abstract line. To examine further the validity of abstract line's meaning will require the assistance of related fields, or of Special tests. Conjectures here have already gone beyond the purpose of this section, what the selected theatre authorities have to say. At this point it seems that the normal expectancy of theatre people is that certain line shapes and patterns can produce certain emotional responses :, .,. . “I *1 1“.an Ivor IA- 0 a r -... - .. '.-~.. ‘7‘ J. P u... .. P; _ "a.“ ‘ ~‘flo-. v. 5. H" "'v1_ . m. ~; 57 in an audience and that, when combined with concrete picturization and movement, they tend to imbue these concrete elements with their metaphorical, connotational, habituated, and innate meanings. The kind of treatment that each author accords to the meaning of other formal entities is similar. Therefore there is no need to repeat the analysis of the different kinds of meanings involved or the general approach to the relative subJectivity of assigning values. Suffice it to present the views. 0) Form at Rest.--The authors studied classify emphasis and balance to some extent as attributes of certain types of form. For this reason there is some overlapping in cate- gories though balance and emphasis will each be covered in separate sections. l-Emphasis vs. Meaning in Form. Forms of stage compositions, particularly the balances and shapes of masses, may be said to have two general reasons for use. The first is to create emphasis, the second is to contribute meanings. Every basic text is more or less explicit on the ways in which forms may direct attention for emphasis. Possibly Dietrich is the most complete though Canfield, Dean, Smith, Dolman, and Selden all have largely mutually consistent views. They concern what Dean might call compositional elements: how to gain emphasis. To create meaning through form the director needs to know more: what the different meanings of the different forms are, n..., a l -ov v..- -v -- . F I .0» 0.. ‘rp. 4 I...» ‘ ~. .~ '0 e... . nu. 58 why the director uses one kind of emphasis rather than another, and what one variety of focus says better than another. The first use of a formal arrangement on stage is to gain focus or emphasis, and one task of this study is to investigate what a particular variety of emphasis contri- butes (usually connotationally and emotionally) to the stage picture. The second use, to contribute meaning, refers to the meaning, if any, of the abstract form itself: feelings that are conveyed by particular arrangements of mass and shape and balance. The latter shall be taken first as it is the most abstract and basic; i.e., the least dependent on context for its meaning. The first has its basic meaning in pointing to an obJect or line or actor that is expected to carry the primary meaning; though the type of emphasis used may also suggest an underlying point of view about the content of the primary meaning. 2-Meaning Contributed by Form. Most of the authors and directors give assent to the principle that the gross group- ing on stage can contribute meaning to the play, as Tyrone Guthrie puts it,.over and above the common sense positions of peeple in a situation; ideas and emotions underlying the scene can also be expressed.44 It is Dean again, though, ‘l “Toby Cole and Helen K. Chmoy, Directors on Directing (rev. ed.; Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, I963T, p. 251. H. e! v.3 '4- (to C ) .C". ' v“. b .7.“- t‘" ,- nuv 59 who attempts the most complete statement of what these abstract elements of arrangement mean. To recapitulate, Dean considers mass to be the effect of weight.45 In other words, for the stage, actual weight is of little importance. To extend the views of our main texts, psychological balance, aesthetic balance, or physical balance are really all achieved through obJects, shapes, or groupings appearing to have relative sizes and/or importance. The actual physical weight of the mass has no effect on dramatic balance. 3-Types of Form. The next point is to see what arrangements of these masses do to an audience. This arrangement is usually called form.)+6 Dean, it has been noted, lists six varieties of form: symmetrical, irregular, shallow, deep, compact, and diffused. The symmetrical form, an arrangement of regular or repeated forms with the mirror image relationship between stage right and stage left, Dean feels conveys a sense of formality, artificiality, coldness, hardness and quaintness.u7 The first reaction to this list of attributes is apt to be, that "quaintness" doesn't seem to be of the same genre. Again, as with line meanings, it seems that the only Sympathetic interpretation of this listing is to suggest 45Dean, 22. _c_i_._t_., p. 198- 45%., p. 200. [WERE- o,.. . Unv‘b Qty, ob.“ q..~. gut-u. 9‘.- 0“. v-t "by. 'N'fin. John. O A: h... a”, ‘ xy~“'. ‘5‘ ‘4 60 that Dean needs a context to give his specific meanings to form. One way of achieving a comic effect is through ex- cessive regularity, a mechanical pattern, imposed upon fluid life. Hence, given a situation in a play that does not seem to merit such a symmetrical treatment, a director can gain a comic perSpective by making his stage picture provide a symmetrical comment on the situation. This would be an example of the contrapuntal use of picturization. The other attributes of the symmetrical form appear to be those wherein the arrangement is used to support a context. The irregular form Dean lists next. Other authors usually call this asymmetrical. To Dean this provides a casual, impersonal, realistic, informal, free, or sincere impression. Here the list appears to have validity with the possible exception of "impersonal." This seems to fit equally well into the former grouping of symmetrical relation- ships; the type of situation Dean had in mind again might have explained its inclusion. The rest of the attributes, in comparison with "symmetry," give us a clue to his method of arriving at the list. In a sense it is by an adoption of Aristotle's "imitation of nature"; that is, his is an imitation of culture. Usually, as is obvious, formal, pre- Planned situations in cultural life, ceremonies and the like, carry with them a patterned arrangement, a regular and balanced appearance. By association, the audience expects a “.1-.. a OIVA‘-J v D'r. , anv & .- h'.~. .M l o ‘ . . H » 61 regular or formal proceeding when presented with the arrange- ment on a stage. In unplanned, informal, or "realistic" situations there is usually an unplanned, irregular appearance. Hence, by association, a relaxed and informal atmosphere on stage may result from a use of the "real life" arrangement. Of course, "appearance" of unplanned is an important word. Neither Dean, nor any of the other authors, askes for really unplanned pictures. The deep form and the shallow form yield less agreement among the several authors; Dean feels that a deep (multi- plane) form, one which makes a considerable use of up and downstage Space, conveys warmth, richness, mellowness, sincerity and realism. A shallow composition conveys quaint ness, artificiality, shallowness, alertness, efficiency, and immediacy. His reasons are not clear but an analysis of the attributes seem to suggest a verbal analogy. In effect, a deep composition physically shows a deep feeling emotionally, cu'a deep thought intellectually. Action taking place on Imuw'physical planes suggests ideas and feelings on many mmnflbnal and intellectual planes. The contrary, of course, would be expected of the shallow-scene. However, the shallow seems to have other attributes that suggest immediacy. Here ii:seems that context is partly the ruler again. Shallow downstage might mean immediacy, shallow upstage might merely mean artificial. Shallow combined with compact might suggest "immediate togetherness." Shallow and regular might suggest -"v. “in... ‘H:-. r I.-' :ho J ." . “n. 1'..'- 62 quaintness, if the context is comic. Again the importance here is to see the family of meanings that Dean feels inhere in certain forms, meanings that certainly require the use of life copying, metaphor, and association to have a residual meaning, and certainly need a context to have a specific meaning; still the groupings do make a special contribution to, and a comment on, the scene, it would seem; not Just any pretty picture would accomplish the desired support comment. But it is difficult to see how the depth of composition could have any of Dean's specific meanings without the appropriate context. Three other authors have significant contributions to make on the subJect of depth: Dietrich, Jessner, and Dolman. Jessner's view is not unsimilar to many constructivists and proponents of symbolic staging such as Appia, Meyerhold, and Tairov; it is Just that Jessner seems to be clearest on this point of depth. Dietrich at one point mentions that the only real chiference'between the technique of the painter and that of tie play director is a difference in depth.”8 In another :flace he points out the usual designation of strong and weak eueas, previously cited, suggesting that upstage positions sue generally weaker than down.49 ‘But later he suggests tkmt movements toward and away from the footlights do not uaDietrich, _p, cit., p. 98- “9Ibid. , p . 108 . 3 1 A 4 f I p r. \ a \ 63 affect balance.50 His latter statement would suggest a definite limitation in the possibilities of meaning differ- ential between up and down stage, a differential he has previously maintained. The problem bears exploration. It can be seen how a member of the audience, sharing eye level with an actor, will notice less apparent movement toward him than from side to side; it can be seen how the right-to- left stage balance will not be affected thereby; but to suggest that the total stage balance would not be affected would seem to nullify the differences in the relative strengths of up and down stage areas, and to suggest that for purposes of strength a play need take place only in the plane of the proscenium. One solution to this problem might be to mention that strength and balance are not identical, though related, on stage. A face coming toward the audience may appear to be getting stronger without appearing to tilt the boards. Still, if there is any audience impression of up-and~down by areas, by furniture placement, by groupings, or by scenic elements, then it would seem that balance involves the horizontal plane of the stage floor and not Just the vertical Plane of the proscenium. This latter view seems closer to Dolman's when he suggests that the stage exists in four - nv i. w. I- ’- I y.‘ ‘r -. . u." ' ‘v . u..‘ .0. ‘ v A no" ' u .h.. ‘v! 'I I ‘0 h. "" 86 3-Emphasis by Stage Area. In the case of movement between areas most authors agree that an abstract move is strong when it is made from a weaker to a stronger area; it is weak when made from a stronger to a weaker area. The relative degrees Of strength are achieved by the amount of change involved and the strength Of the area in which the move concludes. As Dietrich points out, scenes can be made relatively dominant by the sequence Of stage areas used;75 that is, the scene moving from a weaker to a stronger area constitutes a strong move to a stronger position, and hence makes the action of the new scene more emphatic than the action of the Old. A certain problem arises in Dean's application of the principles described above. Dean writes that the strongest move is from up center to down center, and the next strongest move is from up right to down center, while the weakest move is from down center to up right.76 Note that there is a slight discrepancy between these moves and the principle that the strongest move should be from the weakest to the strongest area. Up left is stated to be the weakest area by both.Dietrich and Dean, and so it is expected that the weakest move would conclude in, and the strongest move commence in, the up left rather than the up right area. And SO it would if a director conceives Of movement as 75Dietrich, 9-2.. Cit., p, 108. 761388.11, 22. Cl ., p. 2214. up io.. at. ‘r-. ._ h... .-.. "VI A“\. I‘- ‘r.. ‘u. '.1 If. 51. n) I. D I. " 87 merely the bridge, or dissolve, from one position to another. The problem seems complicated by the influence Of natural eye movement in reading. The problem is more complicated still inasmuch as eye movement can be brought in evidence for either view point. There may be a real inconsistency here in Dean's theory; at the very least there may be a problem in terminol- ogy. First Dean states that a move from up right to down center is the strongest. This would be a movement that moves simultaneously toward the audience and from the audiences left to the audience's center. Later Dean states that the move from left to right is the stronger move (from audience's right to audience's left).77 TO be sure there is no mix up Of audience left with stage left, his reasoning follows: The eye movement in reading goes from left to right (i.e., stage right to stage left); therefore a movement from stage left to stage right Opposes the natural direction Of the western reading eye movement. Opposition makes the move strong. Stage movement that harmonizes with the eye movement is weaker in that it does rmt involve Opposition. If this latter principle is correct it would seem he ought to revise his first statement con- cerning the strongest move; the strongest should be the move from up left to down center; then it would also be from Weakest to strongest area and in Opposition to eye movement. k 77Ibic1. , p . 229 . 1",“ 0‘... B'. 1",, n, ..v. p N..‘. ‘r 7'.“ 5“. 'V‘.. b... .h 4" ~71» 88 There seems to be no easy solution to his seeming incon- sistency. There also may be some doubt concerning the use of "strong" in terms Of "Opposition to eye movement." There is a possibility that stage movement supported by eye move- ment is strongest. Different terminology may help solve the difficulty. Perhaps the stage movement in harmony with eye movement could be called peaceful, correct, or harmonious, and hence could create a feeling of flowing with the stream. Such a move might have the strength of "rightness." TO be contextual, by way of example, such a move in harmony with eye movement might be made by the "good guys" who are in harmony with audience attitudes. While, on the contrary, the strength of Opposition, Opposing the direction of eye movement, might well be reserved for the strength Of the "bad guys", those characters who are in Opposition to the view of the play or the audience. If this harmony-Opposition View has any significance, the view would reverse Dean‘s Specific suggestions where he writes that the army going against the eye movement is stronger and is psychologically expected to win.78 The contrary Of his view might well be true, namely that the army moving in harmony with audience eye movement has the support Of the audience and is expected to win. 781bid., p. 231. 0. VV I'll r1) ‘1 ‘ D“ .A. svh F‘vu V's-v A J ‘I’ a .7. H, 89 In summary there is general agreement that from weak to strong areas are strong moves, and to a lesser degree it is agreed that eye movement in reading has some effect upon strength and weakness Of moves from side to Side. The strength Of moves directly toward an audience as compared to those that move across the stage provides an area of controversy. 4-Emphasis by Diagonal Movement. The director has one more decision about emphasis to make before he can choose what sequence Of areas and directions Of moves he wishes, a decision about the meaning Of the diagonal line. Dean and Miner seem to Offer the alternatives well. Dean, it has already been seen, feels that strong moves are across stage, because they cover ground, and downstage, because they come toward the audience. Diagonal moves, he feels, are some sort Of "bizarre" mixed form and rarely used;79 and in any case are weaker than moves down or across stage.80 Miner, and others, on the other hand, advise that the line of action is never horizontal or vertical but diagonal.81 . It would seem that Dean is in the minority at this Point, and that an application Of his own principles, a combination Of Obvious distance covering, toward the audience and from weakest to strongest area would result M 79Ibid., p. 197. 8°Ib1d.. p. 232. 81John Gassner Producing the Play (rev. ed; New York: Dryden Press, 1953 , p. 257. : ,1 O..- -o. Ibo: he~o s La... 0 LI) \1' (II (To 1!! “I ‘h‘x n: 90 in the diagonal move as the strongest line of action. A decision about the significance of the diagonal would have to be made by a director before he could decide what is the strongest move to reserve for an individual in the most climactic scene, and the strongest shift in location from one playing area to another to reserve for the most important change in the play content. 5-Summary Of Emphasis in Motion. In conclusion, the consensus seems to be that the strongest stage move is on the diagonal, toward the audience and across the stage at the same time, from up right to down center. Additional support is given to this conclusion by the following reasoning, drawn from principles already given: a movement across the stage is apparent, i.e., Obvious movement; the cross can be easily seen to cover distance. On the other hand the directly up- tO-down stage move, moving directly toward the audience, does not appear to cover much distance. Further, if move- ment is more attention-getting than stillness, then apparent movement should be more attention-getting than apparent stillness. Generally, then, the cross is stronger than the up-tO-down stage move as far as getting attention is concerned. And yet the full face Of an actor, approach- ing the audience to the focal point Of the stage, down center, is stronger than the profile Of an actor moving in Dietrich's indifferent-tO-the-Object-Of-interest (the audience in this case) relationship, the cross. Supposedly, combining the strengths Of these two moves produces the a . A ‘f- .i-a. . . I9. 5, . Us. . c huh-v .16: be. ‘. hey, "ln O r,‘ .- 5“ In, p p l.“ (I? ’r 91 strongest move, the diagonal. Of course Dean, as has been seen earlier, distrusts the diagonal move and seems to suggest that possibly it loses the strength of either of its component moves and is possibly weaker than both.82 Although the chosen authors do not solve the problem this way, it is possible that a curved diagonal cross, ending with a move directly down stage at the center, on an elevated stage level could be the strongest move on stage. d) Rhythm in Motion.--In a sense,to say "rhythm in motion" is to be redundant in that repetition in time of a particular grouping Of accented and unaccented beats constitutes rhythm. In a sense, then, rhythm implies motion. However, since certain artists have adopted the word rhythm to apply to the still picture, what this study has been calling static rhythm, or sequence, some designation is needed to differentiate still picture rhythm from rhythm in time. Rhythm in motion will serve the purpose. Rhythm first needs to be seen as related to the other elements in composition rather than as some superimposed attribute. In fact, some kind of rhythm may be unavoidable in moving composition. Forms, composed of masses given shape by line patterns, may move in relation to each other and in relation to the audience. This movement has to take place in time. Various segments Of a form, unless moving with absolute smoothness and simultaneously at the same M 82Dean, _p. gi_._t_., p. 197- I 1' $1: I s . bras c‘ry. U‘Iw.\ L '3 u an , 5, l ‘- .‘V LU f r (i! 07‘ ,‘ 4 92 Speed, will provide some sequence of accented and unaccented beats. If that sequence is repeated, a rhythm has been established; if that rhythm continues at a relatively con- stant Speed a tempo has been established. For the purposes Of this chapter the study needs to discover if, apart from any specific context, there are any meanings that seem to be conveyed by rhythm in general and by certain rhythms in particular. In general, Dean feels rhythm communicates vitality, order, coherence, and power Of attraction.83 Rhythm, in effect, ties the production together, gives it all the same flavor, and serves as a basis for a unified empathic reSponse from the audience. In other words, rhythm, thought of as abstracted from life processes such as the heart beat and lung breathing, connotes life in a play. In specific, Dean feels that certain rhythmshave certain potential for more exact meaning, meaning in the sense Of conveying certain moods or feelings. The major determinant Of the kind Of feeling is the placement of the -accented beat. For example, three beats generally convey smoothness, gentleness, restfulness, and quiet. Within that measure an accent onthe first beat connotes formality and definiteness, while an accent on the third beat connotes a lift, or a lilt. Four beats connote regularity, heaviness, or impressiveness. An odd number of beats connotes uneasi- ness and restlessness. A longer measure of, say, six beats B31bid., p. 284. pir'wv’ ' V‘.u-~ (I) 8..” PF. ‘1" U 93 connotes, with a final accented beat, grandeur, and tension or suSpense with a fifth accented beat.811L Of these studied Dean is the only author of a play directing text who suggests such specific meanings to rhythm. It would seem that those meanings would require the same warning, and supply the same family-of-meanings value, that this study has suggested for Dean's specific meanings Of stage areas. 4. Summary of Picturization It seems that little more meaning can be gleaned from abstract formal elements by themselves. After considering the elements in isolation, in combination, at rest, and in motion this study must now consider them in the context of a play production. .0. (I) (I, CHAPTER III PRINCIPLES OF MOVEMENT IN THE CONTEXT OF A PLAY A. Introduction: Areas Of Concern in the Relation of Movement to Context This chapter is concerned with the analysis of a script in preparation for blocking. First it deals with the question of how much pre—plotting Of movement a director should do and then it sets up an additional classification system. Movement in the context Of the play still fits the four part classification set up by this study: abstract, mimetic, metaphoric, and symbolic, but an additional principle Of order arises. The order in which a director analyzes his script for movement and uses his analysis in rehearsals. Two separate systems of classification then will be used simultaneously. Finally the chapter deals with general principles of relations between the script and gross blocking that ought to be considered by the director before he actually plots movement in a context. l;_ Abstraction, Mimesis, Metaphor, and Symbol in the Context From his script the director Often tries to derive metaphors and symbols to help him interpret the major moods and relationships in the play, the moods Of the stage setting, and his resultant over all blocking scheme. After 94 Aug}- Div“ - i. v'fih h‘vO. Vv..~.. A; r_‘“ “vb.- . a. “-4... ‘1‘- 3" lru 95 such decisions about theme, mood, abstract line, form, balance, and rhythm, color and style have been made the director usually makes decisions about the sequence of stage areas and major gross moves that will be apprOpriate to the context. Not until after this, and often not until re- hearsal, does he become concerned about moves that are mimetic. Of course, among practicing directors there is a large range in order Of procedure. The purposes in suggesting this particular procedure are, first, that it reflects the order in which most directing texts present their ideas about the meaning of movement in context, and second, it shows the relationship between the kinds Of move- ment and the process of analysis undergone before actual blocking begins. In practice, at any step in the rehearsal procedure any of the four ways in which movement conveys meaning may be introduced into the process; but for analysis this study will adopt the order Of the metaphor, abstraction, and symbol preceding the mimetic. 2;, Contribution Of Movement to Context, Context to Movement How context and movement contribute meaning to each other is a highly diffuse and complex subject. Which meaning is the derivative one is Often the big question. In this chapter one of the tasks is to discover Opinions about how much Of the meaning Of a movement is merely derived from association with its context, how much some inherent meaning of the movement contributes meaning to the context, r~- II at .4 I .. ., . ,— “1.3... Q‘I ‘pa .. x 6“. - ('7 t" A»; »..' Its {ls H}, H“: ”- 96 how much the context may alter any basic formal movement meanings with its specific, strong association, or how much the movement may alter the basic meaning of the context. This approach may help to decide how much a director can editorialize on a script by his direction of movement, and how much the script is determining the meaning of whatever movement he employs. Most Of the authors studied are concerned with a wide variety Of relationships Of movement to context including the relationship Of movement to interpretation Of the French scene, of the motivational unit, Of the dynamic exit or entrance, Of the emphatic line, of the kind Of dialogue, of the clarification of a line, or of the emotional or aesthetic basis for a scene. The total job Of picturization in con- text, Of course, involves the added complication of the posture Of actors, character motivations, business, and characterization details. A new variety Of associative meaning comes into being once a move is seen in the context Of a play situation. what might have been previously a simple strong or weak move, graceful or abrupt move, now takes on specific modification. The same move may take on the coloring of the context. Given an angry character who makes a strong move in a conflict situation, the strong move becomes an angry strong move. By association with the situation the move is thought by the audience to portray the specific emotion of the situation. By association a move may be interpreted by ) I “1., Q flu. ‘ '91.. .v n. v “0-.- U. . . .'. or, 1...: D (I) ”I" 7 "‘VI .1. 3.. Q.‘ 97 an audience to convey rather refined feelings. In effect, an abstract aesthetic meaning is superceded by a specific physical meaning. Before the context the move only expressed a very general tone, or mood, or a formal relationship; with pantomimic context the move is given qualities by its resemblance to natural or social contexts, or by psycho- logical factors in the way our senses and body react to physical phenomena; and given a verbal and action context the move is given a specific relationship, and appears to be a move with a specific meaning. Also involved in the relation of movement to context is the basic problem of whether the still picture or the moving picture may best contribute meaning to a particular scene. The difficulty is in finding anything like a consensus while being inclusive Of all the representative Opinion. However, this section is perhaps most important in its implications for further develOpment Of a theory of the relationship between the meanings Of motion and Of rest in the stage picture. About the relationships between movement, still picture, and the script, Dean says, in effect, if sight and sound factors are competing for attention usually the sight factors will win. If what is in Sight is also moving then it has an even greater advantage. Movement, then, is more powerful than speech, and if both are going on together the movement will get the focus}1 __ 1Dean, 22, cit., p. 238. 98 He further states that pantomimic movement will tell the story of the play more powerfully than the words, be- cause man is more impressed by sight than by hearing.2 Selden supports Dean's view by writing that gesture may Obscure words since the visual is stronger than the auditory.3 Smith, on the other hand, states that the ear is quicker than the eye in the theatre, thus suggesting an alternative View}1L In effect, Smith's statement does not deal, as does Dean's and Selden's, with the factor of strength or weight so much as with speed. A movement takes time to perform and hence time to create its impression on an audience. Also the audience eye needs time to change its focus from one person or action to another. To explain by a specific example, it is quite possible, in fast repartee dialogue among several characters, for the audience to lose track Of who is Speaking. A new voice will be heard, but before the eye can locate the body, the dialogue has passed to a new character. The relative Speed with which the eye or ear may comprehend, then, is in a different category from the relative force of impression made by that which is seen and heard, with the seen more forceful than the heard. 2Ibid., p. 297. 3Selden, _p, cit., p. 241. 4Smith, _p. cit., p. 115. '1‘“ “act .‘pl. b“§\ 'ch we“ I (TD 9.‘ lh. I“ D.» ‘1. I a- (I, 99 B. Principles of the Director's Control Over Relations of Movement to Context From the outset, Opinion would have it that the director must control movement carefully or movement may obliterate, confuse, or assume dominance over the script. According to various authors the director, as will be seen, has two general directions in which to go. If he declares script supremacy he may either plan his movement carefully to harmonize it with the script, or he may deny himself this powerful tool of movement, suppressing it for the weaker, though more subtle, complex, and intellectual, tool Of the words. There is, in fact, a third choice taken by a few authors: the director may let the movement occur as the actor improvises it and edit it as the director's instinct dictates. In effect, the latter usually accompanies a different view of the play, namely that the actor and his character is supreme, not the director, the production, the script, or the audience. In the actual job Of analysis of the script most authors agree that the script Should dominate the director's movement. But how much planning Of that movement the director should do in advance of rehearsal, even in analysis, is a subject Of controversy. L To Plot or Not to Plot Before discussing how the director may plot his blocking L. 9" t‘v .- c.‘—~' .‘H... . . n ". P“ ““7.- ..v~‘ I . ~5- $5!!! . HA ‘ .- Ute! ”5.... -'.I: I q‘ a v r:" .IOV‘1 W'V'n al‘v': I" . (I, «v (1‘ :- ‘35 n»- "i‘ 100 to fit his analysis a large body Of Opinion needs to be summarized concerning how, or even if, a director ought to plot that movement. Opinion seems tO range from HOpkins' procedure of letting the actors roam about the stage and letting the stage business be born from their actions,5 all the way to Bricker's procedure Of planning in detail all movement and business before even casting, and then com- mitting all blocking to memory before the first rehearsal.6 Then to complicate his Opinion HOpkins also says that every move should mean something, and that the director must know exactly what he wants; the director simply should not let the actor know he is being directed.7 Though. HOpkins seems to express the most extreme anti—plan view, his practice seems to suggest an iron directoral hand under a kid glove of seeming actors' improvisation. Bricker's reasons for the extreme view of planning is basically similar to that of more conservative planners, to insure a meaning to the move- ment and stage picture; however, he leaves it to others to suggest a method of directing and a meaning for the resultant movements. The shades Of opinion are as follows: Edwin White believes the director's job is both interpretive and 5Hopkins, pp. cit., p. 15. 6Bricker, 22, cit., p. 242. 7Hopkins, 22, cit., p. 13. 3‘»? l .l OVA 5.3 ’[J lOl creative, not imitative; the movement of a script should follow the mind Of the director for each new production.8 C. B. Purdom suggests that all movement be worked out at the start; to rely upon inspiration at rehearsals is a weakness in the director; still a director should not be rigid in the application Of his plan. In brief, he feels that intuition is no substitute for technique, and technique does not depend upon rehearsal improvisation.9 Harold Clurman declares that the director is the "author" Of the stage action; that theatrical gestures and movement comprise a different language from that which the playwright uses; and it is the director who is the master Of theatrical action.10 In practice Clurman is consistent with his theory; from his notes about directing Member of the Wedding it can be seen that he has created in detail the movement pattern, gestures, and mood, as well as the back- ground Of the play and of each character before entering ll rehearsal. At first there seems to be an inconsistency in that he states his method is to get these elements from the actor; a closer look discloses, however, that his method does not mean the discarding of a plan. In effect, Clurman 8 white, _2, cit., p. 114. 9Purdom, 22, cit., p. 79. 10Cole, _p, cit., p. 275. llIbid., p. 285 ff. a! M4 5 -hfi‘ JAVA. pl: 721 Ad 1.! Di“ 102 gets from the actor exactly what Clurman has pre-planned, a procedure which may save the self-esteem Of a tempera- mental actor but is apt to be costly in time and efficiency. Bernard Shaw, as might be expected, believed in pre- planning all moves,12 as did Jacques COpeau.13 While Jean Vilar declares that to compel an actor to integrate voice and body into a pre-determined harmony or plastic com- position smacks Of animal training.14 Of course Vilar fails to discuss the possibilities Of pre-planning in Clurman's style, which does not force anything upon the actor, but in fact Clurman agrees with Vilar, that it is an appalling fault in a director to insist pedantically upon a partic- ular inflection or movement in a particular part of a rolel5 It is of side interest, perhaps, to note that Gassner quotes this permissive passage from Clurman's writing but not the part that insists on the complete planning by the director. It is, after all, no more absurd to expect exact movements from an actor, planned by a director-artist, than it is to expect exact words from an actor, planned by a playwright artist; to repeat Clurman, the director's role may well be that of author Of the action. Robert Lewis declares that a good director works out a plan, a design; and bits and pieces Of the design cannot _— 121bid., p. 193. 13Ibid., p. 217. 1“Ibid., p. 267. 15Gassner, _p, cit., p. 297. 103 be altered very Often without destroying the basic spirit Of the whole production.16 Stanislavsky, employing an improvisational technique both with movement and dialogue, nevertheless was a careful planner and a stickler for detail. It is true improvisationally he believed in changing scenery and floor plan to keep the movement fresh and changing in early rehearsals;17 what is sometimes for- gotten, however, is the length of time he used for rehearsal. Referring only to his works on acting will make the reader think that the director simply made the actor think, re- call, and feel. Reference, however, to his directions, for example in Stanislavsky Produces Othello, will reveal that he preplanned every detail Of his plot and character background as well as very Specific movements and business details that resulted from his analysis.18 His methods, not unlike Clurman's method of drawing things out Of the actor, merely required more time in order to draw from the actor Stanislavsky's own preplanning. Of course, con- clusions such as the above need more documentation than is given here; but since his point Of view is not central to the theme Of this paper, it seems sufficient to refer the reader to Stanislavsky's production notes on Othello for confirmation.19 16.1%" p‘ 308. 170016, 22'. Cite) Do 110. 18Konstantin Sergeevich Stanislavsky, Stanislavsky_ Egpduces Othello (London: G. Bles, 1948 . 19Ibid. nab; C»... C“ A \ ~A 4C. rt- 104 Dantchenko maintained that the director gives the actor everything, and the actor's Job is to enter into the life of all the specific instructions given to him.20 Dantchenko warns, however, as does HOpkins, that the actor should not, by the time the play is in performance, know what has been given him, because he has made it so much his own. Dantchenko's point Of view is substantially that Of this study. Generally, the competent actor has enough to create and enough to achieve so that he is most willing to accept the blocking and detailed suggestions of a competent director. In fact, he usually takes pride in being able to make almost any direction look like his own invention. Miner starts by decrying the didactic method of direction that makes an actor "parrot back" in stale Obedience,21 and concludes by advising that the moving pattern of the play should be worked out before rehearsals start.22 The presumption is that he counsels persuasion and a certain flexibility combined with preplanning. Again it seems pertinent to wonder why Miner uses the emotionally toned words; he doesn't seem to think the actor has to "parrot back" the playwright's words even though they are usually rigidly pre-determined; yet he does seem to think the actor would have to "parrot back" the director's move- ments if they were predetermined. It seems that Dantchenko's _— 21Gassner, _p, cit., p. 213. 22Ibid., p. 247. c? a a m 5 EM 105 view Of the actor-director relationship should settle the problem. If the actor knows his craft, he ought to be able to make the director's pre-planned movement seem to origin- ate spontaneously from the character portrayed. Smith says the director is like an artist designing a picture.23 Of course to carry that image further, it would be absurd for the pigment and the canvas to determine their own pattern; however, some modern canvas artists in fact let the pigment do just that. Dietrich feels that the basic purpose Of the play production process is to give every talented person a chance tO contribute the best that is in him, and that such a purpose is defeated with a dictatorial director.24 It must be realized, of course, that the above purpose, whether intended or not, is stated in terms of educational or community theatre. Giving every talented participant a chance to contribute is not the primary purpose Of pro- fessional theatre though it may be the method used by some professional directors. Giving such participants a chance may or may not produce a unified blocking scheme, may or may not result in a clear pattern of movement communication to an audience; however, giving the participants their chance probably will result in an Opportunity for them to practice what they have learned, to experiment with something new, and to learn more in the process. Such are admirable ___ 23Smith, _p. cit., p. 94. 2%1etr1ch. _p. cit., p. 62. 106 goals Of educational theatre. In professional theatre, giving competent actors a chance tO contribute from their experience may result in good theatre, but it still may result in a disunified or unfocused movement scheme. In any case, the primary purpose Of professional theatre seems to be to please an audience. A participant's contribution is only pertinent to the issue to the extent that the contri— bution will or will not improve the product the audience sees; but the purpose is audience centered, not participant centered. The important point this study wishes to make here is not tO confuse purpose with method. A good director's method may be to utilize available talent to the fullest while still allowing the playwright to dictate the words at the same time the director dictates the movement. His primary purpose may be to give each participant a chance or to give the audience a unified impression, purposes which are not necessarily compatible or incompatible. In any event, this study is parimarily concerned not with partici- pants but with whatever methods and principles will produce the most clear communication by movement. Selden, like Hopkins, seems to want the best Of both preplanning and spontaneous creation. First he declares that there is no "real" on stage; everything is presented in some degree Of abstraction, so the director must create a planned pattern; he selects, orders, and heightens both fl i ar.‘ p . ‘ ¢< “Ht 107 the gross movement and pantomimic effects.25 Later Selden maintains that the director cannot plan the design Of the movement; that it must flow from feelings and impulse, though thought can enhance it.26 The two sections appear to be in direct contradiction to each other; but whether or not they are, it would seem that design can flow from feelings and impulse and still be pre-planned. The feelings and impulses conjured up by an experienced director, imagining the script in action, and using techniques of a language Of movement, are apt to be at least as reliable as either the director's or the actor's impulses on the spur Of the moment and under the pressure of the time when the play first gets put on its feet. Dean, the most outstanding prOponent Of the specific meaning Of movement, and Of the director's Obligations as artist and planner, still advises caution in rehearsal and planning. In fact, the method he proposes seems to back- track On his other principles; it is to plan the general tonal qualities Of the various scenes but to wait until blocking rehearsals to specifically compose the pictures, moves, business, and rhythms.27 His reason is that pre- planning in detail will tend to stamp all the director's productions with the director's character. He has a point, 25Selden, _p, cit., pp. 5-13. 261bid., p. 195. 27Dean, op. cit., p. 261. 108 but the Opposite is equally possible; improvising by the director during rehearsal may well result in reliance on the same cliches Of movement and interpretation the director has used before. It would seem that careful planning, by an intelligent director, would stand a better chance of new results, and Of having moves that grow out Of the needs of the particular play, then would improvisation. Canfield takes the subject up in detail, considering many points Of view quite sympathetically. His conclusion is a clear statement in favor Of the recognition of the craft Of the director and Of the necessity for pre-plan- ning;28 to Canfield, pre-planning and a steadfast adherence to the planning through specific application is the only way to insure a unified production, meaningful picture and movement, and an exciting play that takes advantage Of the director's analysis and experience. In general his view Of the actor is that he can contribute a great deal, but from his own techniques and experiences. The actor must conform not primarily to some inner truth within the actor but primarily to the inner requirement of the play and the character. These inner truths may be subjective, but they can be as objectively planned as the script itself, for they are subjective truths of the character, not of the actor. Throughout this discussion there seem to emerge two related but separate issues. One is whether or not to ‘— 280anfield, p. cit., p. 163. ., . 0.. T16 “’5‘ IA\,‘_ (1" f 3 ) 1 .1“ Ir\) [5.3 ‘J4 "p. 109 pre-plan movement, and the other is whether or not to dictate movement to actors. One concerns careful application of principles and analysis, the other concerns how to communi- cate that analysis to actors. It seems to this study that the two issues are independent variables and can be put together, or separated, in any combination the director may desire. The consensus, if there is one, may be stated thus: a director may pre-plan or not just as he pleases; however, he need not identify detailed planning with dictatorship, nor spontaneous creation with the appearance of spontaneity in performance. If there is any meaning to movement with its conventions, symbols, patterns, and pantomime, then the director is giving up a powerful tool unless he works out these elements carefully, and by some method insures him- self that the actor uses the results of his careful analysis and plotting. 2L, Phases in Plotting Movement from Guiding Concepts to Details a) Summary Of the Six Phases.--As compiled from authors and directors consulted, analysis and plotting seem to fit roughly into Six phases. (1) Phase one is the director's attempt to find in the script a basic theme or image for interpretation. He decides what script elements suggest movement to him and conversely what movements will suggest script elements, i.e., what movements seem to be a.“ llO suggested by mood, theme, structure, and point of view. (2) Allied to thematic analysis, but different is character analysis: what movement factors are suggested by characters and their relationships in a play, as contrasted with what thematic ideas suggest. (3) In the third phase, based on his analysis, the director must plot his gross movement, or blocking scheme and design his basic stage floor plan. (4) The fourth phase may be to plot his fine movement in Specific relation to lines Of the script. (5) Fifth, he may plot the details of movement qualities in characteri- zation, business or pantomime. And finally (6) the sixth phase is the plotting Of the timing qualities of rhythm, tempo, and sequence. It may be, Of course, that a director does not work in this order nor even plot these elements. He may even leave much Of this work up to actors, designers, or chance. The difference in method, however, would not invalidate the categories. Whether these relationships of movement or context appear on stage by planning or by chance, by director or by actor decision, there will still be a resultant movement pattern in some relationship to the script lines, and with some amount Of business and timing. b) Principles of Theme and Image: Selection of Metaphors and Symbols to help Create a Movement Pattern.-- The image, or metaphor, seems to be the most popular mode of communication to choose for play interpretation. Smith, and others, suggest that this choice should start with the lll theme and what the play is trying to say, to suggest, to sell, tO teach, or to express. Choice should start with the main forces at work and the conflicts involved. Per- haps there are too many fOrces or themes in which case the attempt is to consolidate them into a single overall ruling theme. This main theme, and the nature of the conflict relationships in the play, may then suggest to the director both a graphic image and a line pattern to the play. The abstract line and graphic image may then control not only scenic design elements but the form Of pictures and Of movements on stage. l-Sources and Use of Theme. Canfield says that the tone, style, and blocking should Spring from the script.29 Smith suggests four basic elements to look for in the script: theme, line, color, and graphic image.30 McMullan wrote an entire book about the way a director may find images in his script to serve as tools for interpretation Of lines and movement; he suggests watching for plot movement and finding images that will picture that movement in graphic terms.31 Other authors, such as Hewitt, suggest that life provides our main image or metaphor for analysis, the life both Of natural behavior and of convention?2 However, the _._ 29Canfield, _p. cit., p. 131. 3°Sm1th. 22. cit., p. 7. 31Frank McMullan, The Directorial Image (Hamden, Conn.: Shoestring Press, 1962), p. 57. 32Hewitt, pp. cit., p. 11. 112 script may influence where in life the director looks for his image. MacGowan, for instance, in talking about certain European expressionist dramatists, draws attention to the Specific use of metaphor in The_In§egt_ngedy where movement patterns are derived directly from insect life.33 In the same chapter, however, MacGowan suggests an internal rather than external search for metaphor by asking the director to seek his theme and his metaphor, and consequent movement pattern, from the inner truth of the unconscious mind in- stead Of from the outer world Of actuality.34 MacGowan is not very explicit, however, in suggesting how the two resultant movements might differ from each other. He does, however, give examples. For instance, a red costumed chorus group may represent a blood stain on the stairs,35 or a physical covering Of cloth may represent metaphorically Napoleon's covering the glory that was the Bourbon's.36 Colby Lewis suggests that Jessner abandons external realistic verisimilitude in order to attempt to express man's soul.37 An analysis Of Jessner's movement seems to indicate a complex thrice-removed-from the truth stage picture. Actors stand for a blood stain on the steps, and 33Kenneth MacGowan and R. E. Jones, Continental Stage- craft (New York: Harcourt, Brace and CO., 1922), p. 34. 341bid., p. 6 35Ibid., p. 136. “ 35Ibid., p. 137. 37Lewis, pp, g;§,, p. 197. 113 the blood stain stands for a physical death, and the physical death stands for a spiritual death; however, such a dis- tance from the ultimate meaning might make most audience members see only a pretty set Of red costumed actors. Reinhardt declared that the job Of the director is to breathe life into the written word, to fill it with the blood Of today in order to retain the spirit of that word.38 Reinhardt, however does not supply his readers with the principle of analysis which must be used to arrive at the apprOpriate movement patterns. Perhaps he intended some principle such as Robert Lewis used to direct MypHeart's in the Highlands. His image was a flowering plant that be- came analogous to a group in motion; a trumpet player "waters" the crowd with his playing, "the plant" grows and bears "fruit" in the form of gifts for the player.39 2-Subordinate themes for French Scenes and Beats. 'When analyzing the script the director will no doubt find many metaphors and many themes, all subordinate to the main theme and metaphor; in fact they will contribute to the finding of the main metaphor. These subordinate images are usually found in, and express, smaller units Of the play variously called French scenes, paragraphs, sub-actions, or motivational units. It is into these units that the director usually subdivides his script to find meaningful __¥ 38Co1e, _p. 921:.” p. 297. 39Gassner, _p. _c_:_l_t_., p. 306. new. EIG- I it (I) (”3 'n 114 parts that contribute to the whole. Harold Clurman main- tains that a play is not constructed on lines of dialogue but fundamentally on a series of actions, which he calls beats, that are revealed through what a character wants or is driving toward."O Smith suggests that the "action" of a scene is a literary term concerning the movement of a plot by a succession Of incidents; the action needs to be translated into psychical and physical terms and units.41 In effect these units are steps in a character's progress toward a goal. Dietrich supports this view and calls these steps "motivational units."42 In movement, these units are used primarily to devise combinations of still or moving pictures that are phrased, or paragraphed, for units Of movement meaning. In effect, these units, or beats, are similar to a paragraph in writing. In it one action is carried out, or one incident occurs, or one subject is discussed, or one aspect of a purpose is pursued, or one step in a development is taken. Let it be noted that there are really two different Points Of View involved in deciding what the content of a unit is. The two views may not necessarily result in the same division Of the script into units. One view is motivational and the other is thematic. The latter is in terms Of the play's or author's reasons or themes, the ¥ 403.151.. p. 293. 41Smith, _p. cit., p. 93. “anietrich, pp. cit., p. 72. 8"” LV.. 0.) aslul 115 former in terms of the actors. The points of view are not only different in kind but may well be different in purpose. The character intends one thing while the play may intend a point Of view about what the character intends. For instance, the character may fulfill his goal in the progress Of a scene, but the play may mean to suggest that he should not have. Hence, the metaphor and the movement may differ somewhat depending upon whether the director uses as his basic unit a motivational scheme or a thematic scheme. Hopefully, a careful analysis will allow both purposes to join in a single pattern that will interpret to the audience the intention of both the character and the play. 3-Relating Subordinate Themes to the Main Theme. The next step would be to decide how the theme and image of each scene is related to the theme or image of each other scene and to the theme of the whole play. The reason would be to assure a variety in meanings with an overall unity of purpose. Such smaller scenes may be divided, according to Dean, into scenes Of incidental action, of background action, Of main action, or Of emotional relationship."3 They may also be divided into steps that range from low to high, steps that chart the progress of a character toward his goal, as Canfield and others suggest.“l Another division Of scene types is suggested by Dietrich's list of 43Dean, pp, cit., p. 209- ""Canrield, pp. cit., p. 134. (“f ll6 basic motives; they may be scenes of reSponse, recognition, adventure, or security wherein the basic character inter- relationship is typified by one Of these drives.45 Another list may also help in ordering the scenes, such as a list Of the basic needs: sex, food, drink, air, and shelter. Or still other listings such as by emotions expressed or felt by the characters, or by moods inherent in the scene. In any event, at this Juncture the point is to determine the basic themes and images Of these scenes and to rank them in some order Of importance, climax, vitality, or mood, to try to discover some progressive structure. The purpose Of the latter is to decide how and where to stage the scenes. Many authors suggest giving a scene a title in order to summarize for the director the central content and purpose of the scene. Such titling is akin to the selection Of a theme or a metaphor for that scene. Canfield suggests titling"6 as does Dean?7 SO, in fact, dO many others. .Also this study wishes to point out that either a title or an image may help to determine whether a scene will be static or moving. For example, the director may title his scene thus: George is surrounded by his admirers. He may also title the same scene: George in the process Of being surrounded by his admirers, or George showing Off more as k “5Dietrich, _p. cit., p. 12. "6Canfield, _p. cit., p. 134. ”7Dean, pp. cit., p. 207. r) I‘D ’O ’1- 117 his admirers close in. The first title suggests a still picture and may result in a still picture blocking. The second and third suggest moving relationships and are apt to result in moving pictures in the blocking. A similar set Of alternatives for a scene might be this: George forces Henry to come to a decision, or George chases Henry until George corners Henry and forces him to decide. Examples Of course could be multiplied, but it can be seen how from the start a director's choice of a moving image oriitle, rather than a static image or title, can influence the kind Of movement or still picturization he arrives at in his scene. Similarly, the central image for the entire play can be a major turning point for the director. It would seem that in its choice he has started on the road to a static or a moving play depending upon whether his metaphor is static or moving. If he sees the relationships in the play as, e.g., mountain and valley his play may stand still. If he sees them, for example, as rushing stream, pendulum, or cock fight his play may move. In Short, if he looks for the movement of the plot, the moving relation- ship Of ideas, and the moving character relationships, then selects a moving metaphor, his task is easier when it comes to the selection Of specific physical movements. This section concludes with the following Observations: a director may call attention primarily to changes in process or to the static results of change. If he wishes 118 to experiment with the maximum use of his unique tool Of movement he can at the outset materially increase his Opportunities for success first by looking for moving themes, moving forms Of expression, moving titles, moving moods, and moving drives when he analyzes his script and second by choosing a moving metaphor to depict the moving relationships. 0) Principles of Character Relationships Yielding Possibilities for Movement Patterns.--In this second phase Of the director's analysis much has already been anticipated. The analysis Of the relationship between character and character, the motivational, purposive, actionable relation- ships, have already been discussed while dealing with motivational units, or beats, to a play. Suffice it to say in addition that the director may well have a problem in translating his thematic unit into a motivational unit for the actor. The advisability Of working with the actor in terms of the play's purpose or merely in terms of the character's purpose is a matter for the subject Of psycho- logy Of learning. However, for purposes of analysis the director ought to understand the difference in units and be able to use both. l-Relating Character Movement t>Theme Movement.--The actor motivates his character using primarily psychological data; the actor must attempt to create the impression that he sees and feels only what the character sees and feels. The at? m; 119 author motivates his play usually using a much larger range Of data and a much more Objective point of view. Added to psychological purposes are social, ethical, aesthetic, and poetic purposes; even the psychological purposes usually involve the interrelated motives of several characters. In short, the purpose Of one character in any particular scene is but a small part, and usually of one kind, Of the author's purpose in that scene. More Often it seems the author's purpose is to show something like the Opposition of contending social forces or ideas as embodied in the several characters in conflict, rather than merely the purpose Of one character. Hence, for actors, the director usually needs to make a second script analysis, translating themes, images, conflicts, and sociological and philosophical data into the behavior and purposes of characters. 2-Combination.or Choice, Of Psychological or Symbolic Outer Expression Of Inner Truth. Certainly the modern theatre man seems to be much more concerned with psychology than philOSOphy. He is much more concerned with analyzing a play in terms Of character and motivation than in terms of what the play says or how it says it. Even the non- illusionistic expressionist, who scoffs at presenting verisimilitude on stage is usually more concerned with presenting the "inner truth" Of "souls" or minds or emotions rather than ethical, aesthetic, scientific, conceptual or even sociological "truth". The modern theatre man seems to bel fw- t... A“ Von . A Cr“ \ru I (“f- : 1| C" 9‘- 120 be more concerned with "truth to" than "truth about,” more concerned with correspondence with than comment about, more concerned with the "is" than the "ought." He wants to depict reality, be it inner, outer, or otherwise, rather than to criticize reality. Of course there are notable exceptions; however, the greater amount of contemporary material in theatre concerns psychological reality, and there is a dearth or submergence Of material involving symbolic expression and editorializing techniques. In fact an even more subtle lack is apparent. With the exception Of basic text books on directing there is a real dearth of thematic analytical method and material. There seems tO be a growing tendency toward forgetting the art and craft Of theatre and a greater dependency upon the spontaneous psychological reactions Of the director and the actor to bring the script to life. This particular psychological approach to play production, letting actor behavior on stage dictate character behavior seems to have the usual anaemic results Of too much inbreeding. Charac- ter portrayals more and more resemble each other rather than unique human beings, because more and more the characters are evolved primarily from what the actor feels than from either the script or an understanding Of how other human beingsfeel and behave. The philosophical, or analytical, approach seems to be less in vogue. However,in all fairness,this lack may not be a real one but simply a reflection of the fact that b (T3 ct Av V1. {—3 {n nv.’ r-d If 04 r' «1' L5, 121 the practicing experienced director no longer thinks consciously of the craft Of his work but is always conscious Of having to deal with artistic personalities. His writing may reflect his conscious problem more than his unconscious practice. Concerning the inner truth Of character relationships, the authors of directing texts seem to agree that a char- acter's inner feelings must be given outer form. According to Dietrich, a drama needs overt action; the inner must be translated into observable action."8 His previously mentioned basic motives must find a physical, observable expression. However the "inner" that is being expressed in the "outer" may be expressed, it seems, in two basically different ways. One is psychological and the other thematic. The first derives from motivation. There is some inner reason, drive, or imbalance that leads a person to seek satisfaction or balance. That seeking is the overt result Of the motivation. From the outer form the seeking takes, the audience is supposed to be able to discover both the motive and the kind of solution sought. Again, according to Dietrich, action means little until we see the reason for it."9 This study has already discussed this idea in terms of the meaning of abstract movement; however, it seems necessary to find out in this "8Dietrich, _p, cit., p. 8. "91bid., p. 9. 122 section how the context may clarify the basic action. To begin with, the move itself may be all that is necessary in order to see the reason for it. Given a move with all its pantomimic clarifications, that is, with its qualities Of line, and its relationship to other actors and to the audience, then the pantomimic movement context is quite complete. The move without a verbal context may convey much meaning; however, the move with all Of these qualities is already in a context, though nonverbal, and is no longer abstract movement. The other basic variety of expressing the inner by the outer may not deal primarily with the psychological but with symbols. The outer form may be dictated by the line, image, form, and pantomimic language symbols that are primarily symbols abstracted from elements in nature; though symbols certainly may be abstracted from human behavior. However, there seems to be a basic difference in kind and procedure between devising symbols representative Of inner states and devising illusionistic heightening of natural symptoms drawn from a real life situation. It seems also, though, that there is no reason why both levels of translation Of inner truth to outer form should not be used at the same time without confusion. Dietrich and others write of the illusion of reality, Jessner and others write of the symbol of reality; the modern director may well use both. 3-How to Discover the Character's Inner Feelings. The study turns next to discovering in the script what the character's 123 inner purposesare and how they can be transcribed into movement. Dietrich is a good starting point for a montage Of Opinion about discovering inner purposes to be portrayed by actors with their outer forms. According to Dietrich, the director should look for the conflict in the scene, the drive of one character and the Obstacles he is overcoming, Obstacles usually embodied in another character. This conflict sets up an imbalance in the action Of the play and provides the basis for his previously mentioned give and take of reaction, giving the director some internal movement to express in external ways.50 These motivations of characters may stem from either internal or external stimuli;51 there may be, in other words, an inner drive or an outer event that sets up the imbalance; or of course, there may be both. Obviously the director in the first phase Of analysis must find the physical Objects, or the characters, or the internal reasons that motivate the characters in order later to devise movement appropriate to them. At that time the director may discover it is best to have three different levels Of "motivation" for every move. First, an internal reason within the character; second an external Object to externalize the internal, to provide a point Of interest, as Dietrich calls it, or to provide a destination for the 50Ibid., p. 158. 511bid., p. 147. u 61 PI? 124 move; and third, a symbolic motivation, a reason dictated by the meaning of the play by the underlying purposes of theme, possibly expressed in graphic image. 4-How the Character Should Portray His Inner Feelings. On the subject of how characters should portray their inner feelings or the inner purposes Of the play, there seem to be two sharp divisions Of Opinion: by mimesis on the one hand, and by abstraction, metaphor or symbol on the other. The divisions might be labeled psychological and philOSOph- ical. Robert Lewis feels that the form of a realistic play exists in the successful scene-by-scene fulfillment of the main intention of each character in relation to the theme Of the play.52 Thus he combines both philOSOphical and psychological reasons in his analysis. Jacques COpeau felt that the best translation Ofgipppppto outer was by using all of the abstract elements of line, mass, and Shape, combined with certain conventional symbols for human behavior instead Of abstracting behavior from nature.53 His way,the actor would accurately indicate his character rather than present the illusion Of character. To COpeau such outer form, resembling moving sculpture, could con- vey universal meanings rather than specific individual characteristics. To Stuart Vaughn, universality is best L 52Gassner, _p, cit., p. 306. 53oo1man, _p. cit., p. 182. 2“ 5.1 In t I :u oh» I I 125 expressed by being really specific and detailed; and in the context Of his writing appears to be suggesting the presen- tation of unique individuals, not "universalized" symbols Of humanity.54 His view would suggest that a well wrought, realistic, and believable, human being on stage stands for humanity better than an actor who attempts to portray char- acteristics which are true Of all human beings but of no particular human being. His point seems well taken, but he perhaps understresses the possibilities of presentation Of characteristics that humans have in common, character- istics by virtue of which they are all classified as human beings. Perhaps also, he neglects the possibilities in the alternate method of being specific and truthful, namely the method of using symbol, a form of Sign language, as it were, rather than verisimilitude. Be that as it may, the rest Of the Opinions seem to line up on either side Of this dividing line between the two external ways of expressing inner realities: symbol or verisimilitude. Meyerhold, using his "bio-mechanics" system of body training tried to make his actors physically able to perform whatever was required by him. Such stage movements were not psychologically motivated, says P. A. Markov, but were displaying humans in large "poster" terms, portraying characteristics of society in its classes rather than of 5hCole, pp, p$§,, p. 435- "- (1‘) 'k} n 1 (T [U '( 1 '~.‘. 126 individuals.55 The results were evidently grotesque and exaggerated, and were said to resemble a form of modern dance. Meyerhold felt that truth was best expressed by sociological rather than psychological motivation. He preferred types to individuals as long as the types expressed the inner truth of society. Kazan prefers to look to the script for psychological motivation, saying that directing consists finally of turning psychology into behavior.56 It is interesting to note, however, from his discussion Of Streetcar Named Desire that he in effect is turning sociology, style, poetry, and thematic play relations as well as psychology into behavior. In any event he decides what the essence of the character is so he can turn it into the behavior of the character. It is obvious already that the "essence" may not be a psychological essence to all directors. For example, Harold Clurman also feels that every movement should be significant Of an inner state, but his method Of arriving at that movement is distinctly analogical; his inner essences are expressed in terms Of metaphors, not psychology.57 In discussing Member of the Wedding Clurman talks of Frankie's growth by twists and turns, hence he adds twists and turns to her movement pattern.58 Other _‘_ 55Pavel Aleksandrovich Markov, The Soviet Theatre (New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1935), p. 75. 56Cole, _p, p;§,, p. 354- 57Ib1d., p. 381, 581b1d., p. 382. Cc c“: ‘lu. h“ and 127 metaphorical images for her are "getting connected," "wanting to get out Of herself," "wanting to go around the world," "straining to get out," and "a mind and spirit that leap."59 These are all applied to Frankie's movement pattern. The director should find things to do that are, as Clurman puts it, "concrete embodiments of abstract ideas."6O These movements are not the abstract formal variety of COpeau nor the realistic variety Of vaughn. They supply to character movement the dimension Of metaphor. Note all three varieties Of inner reasons may be applied simultaneously to any one movement. An inner psychological motivation may drive a character to a point Of interest; the character may get there using a somewhat formalized body position and a floor pattern that together have abstract meaning and still may get there in whirls, leaps, twists, or other movements as suggested by a metaphor drawn from a mental, an animal, or a mechanical movement. In short, none Of these views of projecting the inner into an observable form need be mutually in- consistent. The director may look for all Of these possibilities for character movement in his script analysis and use all. In using all Of the above methods of analysis, and perhaps more, the director may be able to follow Selden's n 59 1d., p. 383. 6OIb1d. ('9‘ ‘1- (I) (J n.) 128 advice completely and translate into outer form the total inner reSponse that normally isn't seen.61 Of course, Selden is really bringing into the discussion a problem of expression and communication; his concern is with how an actor can have psychologically motivated movement that is externally observable, and how an actor can be true to life, express natural emotional behavior, when most human beings have learned to inhibit this behavior. Most natural outer displays of emotion are no longer large enough for the stage. MacGowan's Opinion is that the actor should express 62 The illusion- the form, not the illusion, Of reality. seeking is apt to neglect the form, and hence the thematic content, of the play. But MacGowan does not go to the expressionist's extreme; he feels the audience will under- stand the form Of life better if it is derived from the actual psychological life the audience knows. He advocates a selected realism form Of symbolism; the director might look for a real Object, symbol, or activity that best sums up the essence Of the scene or the character and use this to stand for the whole; i.e., one pillar stands for a colonnade. Thus MacGowan expresses a midpoint between symbolic and psychological expression Of inner truth. 61Selden, _p, cit., p. 93. 62MacGowan, pp, cit., p. 120. 129 Worthington Miner maintains that the actor always comes first, Over the director, the script, and the audience,63 but in practice seems to subscribe to the director's use Of symbolism as well. Miner's opinion seems to be that the inner motivation of the actor, the truth Of his own natural responses, is to be primary in deter- mining stage movement. His view would suggest not only a motivational approach to expressing the inner truth, but a distinctly improvisational method as Opposed to pre- planning. But in practice, for example, he writes Of a parallel set Of stage movements that did not derive from inner motivation Of the actor, yet did meet with his approval. The movements were made by two characters walking alternately in figure eight patterns. It is difficult to see how such a movement could grow from an inner reSponse to a drive or from a desire to relate to an outer point of interest. In fact, the movements did not; they were given to the actors by the director who was taking advantage of the abstract meaning possibilities of line patterns, of balanced contrast, and Of repetition, all of which are symbolic and abstract representations of an inner thematic truth, not of an inner psychological motivation. Perhaps a pure system either Of symbolic or Of realistic character movement has never been employed. 63Gassner, pp, cit., p. 252- 130 Even Jessner, who believed that the actor should be a symbol for the idea and not a person in realistic detail,64 drew his abstractions from natural behavior. An analysis of his moves in The Weavers Shows a very realistic handling Of crowds and individuals, a constant flow Of movement, and both an inner and an outer motivation clearly expressed.65 Even in the highly stylized Noh Theatre Of Japan, Fenollosa maintains that the actor is presenting a complete service of life; he symbolizes, or presents, a diagram of life and Of recurrence in very simple situations.66 Although the mimetic stage is despised by the Noh Theatre,nevertheless, psychological motivations seem to be at the root of each move both in the Noh and the Kabuki Theatre. Perhaps a summary Of Opinion, when both the practice and the theory Of various authors and directors is taken into account might be this: a wide variety of symbolic, formal, metaphorical, and psychological expression of the character's inner truth should be apparent in his outer form. It would seem that their combined advice is to seek out all varieties of inner truth about the characters and the situations; to express these truths in images, theme statements, and titles that will suggest movement patterns; and then to plot the actual movement on the stage. 6"Lewis, _p. 93.3.: DP. 2-3. 65Cole, _p, pip,, p. 326. 66Ernest Fenollosa and Ezra Pound, NOH (London: Macmillan and Co., Ltd., 1916). p. 17. 131 In view Of the above, it would seem that the usual distinction-~between the movement that is "necessary," caused by the script, and the movement that is "arbitrary," caused by the director-~becomes a rather meaningless distinction. Because of the richness of material available to the imagination Of the director from the script itself, when he has the techniques of discovering and using it, the arbitrary element seems to be the placement of a dividing line between "arbitrary" and "necessary." Eliminating the distinction and using all approaches would better prepare the director to give a richly expressive movement context to the words Of the playwright. d) Principles Of Gross Movement.--Some texts suggest that right after the director's psychological and metaphor- ical analysis Of the play script the ground plan should be devised. Other texts suggest that the gross movement should be plotted before the ground plan. l-Relation between Ground Plan and Gross Movement. Can- field's suggestion is to develOp the ground plan with the designer before blocking is planned in detail, but after a director's script analysis so that certain general movement ideas can result.67 This ground plan should provide acting areas and places to cross so that movement can be prOperly motivated. Dean tends to bring the designer in at a later time. TO Dean, it seems better to devise the ground plan 67Canfield, _p, cit., p. 130. cr 132 after the planning of the gross blocking. The reason suggested is that the director should decide from his play's context and his knowledge of the relationship be- tween moves, stage areas, and script elements, what form his blocking should take and then put in the furniture, walls, entrances, or scenic elements in places appropriate 68 Other directors, wishing to take more to the moves. advantage Of the designer's creative abilities, place the reSponsibility with the designer for making the script analysis concrete in the setting. Where in the blocking process the ground plan is made, and by whom, is dependent on the director's conception Of his own function. Certainly if the director is to take advantage Of his very complete analysis and his theories Of the meaning Of areas and movements only he can know what resultant stage patterns will best fulfill his analysis; he should provide the ground plan. The alternative would seem to be tO work with a designer who was also a director and was sympathetic to the director's movement ideas. In this latter case, two heads working with one point of view, as completely as the director works with his actors, might provide a Jointly produced ground plan that had more move- ment potential than the product of the single artist. Note that in any case, there is only concern here for the best 68Dean, _p. p_:_1_t_., p. 227. 133 product; this study is concerned with the best communication Of ideas and feelings through movement, not with the contri- butions of designers or actors. 2-Relation Between the Moving and the Still Picture in Gross Blocking. In the blocking phase Of the analysis procedure there seem tO arise two extreme points of view, with many positions between, concerning the relationship between the still picture and the gross move. The director has to decide what kind Of still picture or what kind Of movement, or combination Of the two, best expresses each motivational unit, or beat as a whole. Generally the two extremes are either a scene composed primarily Of movement but starting and ending with a still picture, or a scene composed primarily of a still picture but starting and ending with movement. The first method pictures relation- ships in the scene before and after change takes place, while the second pictures a relatively static set Of relationships arrived at and concluded by change. The still picture extreme, stated by Drummond, is that action on stage is fundamentally a series of tableaux, with movement consisting largely of transitions from one tableau to the next.69 To be sure, he suggests moving the charac- ters one at a time and not as a group. Still, the rela- tively stationary picture carries most of his meaning and the move is primarily to change pictures. * 69Drummond, _p, cit., p. 18. 134 At the movement extreme are those apparently more influenced by dance than by literature. Selden perhaps is the most extreme among the theatre peOple who are not basically choreographers. He feels that force, the secret Of unbroken movement, should be ever present on stage, sustaining a "condition Of aliveness," that there Should never be a complete rest.7O However, his view does not mean he suggests constant physical movement, for he will accept the condition of preparedness to move. He suggests that movement be expressed in pulsations, that is, periodic action and periodic rest.71 He borrows a term from music and choreography for this condition, called phrasing, a term that is developed most completely by Doris Humphries, choreographer. Generally, though, even the periodic rests Of the pulsations may be marked by slowing Of movement, hesitations only, rather than complete cessation of move- ment. Selden feels that human beings need periodic hesi- tations and repose to help them comprehend what the action means; hence, phrasing, or fragmentation, is a valuable aid to understanding.72 He maintains further that a rest, repose, gap, or pause should be used as sparingly as the pause in Speech, that the Simple lessening of tension may be sufficient for phrasing.73 Thus the image Of ebb and 703e1den’ _2’ 2&2}, p, 65. 711bid., p. 96. 72Ibid., p. 185. 731219;: p. 189. D—H 135 flow becomes more illustrative of his surge and repose 4 phrasing than does movement and still picture.7 Accord- ing to Selden the audience desires a quickening Of the sense of living because the audience's ambition exceeds its energy; so audiences attend theatre at least partially to live vicariously a more active life.75 For this reason transit, pursuit Of adjustment, and covering ground, along with change Of content, Of interest, of pace, of shape, and Of mood, are vital for keeping the audience's senses and minds alert.76 These changes are most appropriate for a story that moves forward every minute, and for action that progresses physically as much as possible. When it cannot, it should continue to progress inwardly.77 From what Selden, and others, have said concerning making progress outwardly apparent, it is possible to assume his advice is for a continual physical manifestation of progress. Selden indeed asks for a continual sequence of acts of adjustment in both time and Space.78 When coupled with his view that good stage movement is essentially a dance, it would seem that continual movement, with only pace changes to provide rests, is his ideal of stage movement.79 However, Selden doesn't seem to want to go quite this far since he also states that a design, after a series Of F “1121.9... p. 195. 75mm, p. 135. 75mm, pp. 137-47. 77Ibid.. p. 199. 78Ib1d.. p. 155. 79Ibid., p. 279. 136 active moments, may come to rest with a still picture.80 It may be accurately noted, however, that this use of a still picture is quite momentary and minute when compared to his preceding active moments where meaning is expressed in movement. Given these extremes, the in-betweens can now be polled. Appia seems to want almost continual movement by actors and a still picture by the scenery. He warns that if the play or the actors are immobilized for even one moment, movement with its power and significance is sacri- ficed, without receiving the least compensation.81 His view is that the stage does not have the painting's possibility Of presenting past, present, and future symbolically all at once. The painting's special possibil- ity allows it to give the impression of movement. Actual movement of actors in time and Space expresses life,82 while the scenery should be solidly resistant to human movement for contrast with it.83 Thus, the scenery provides the compositional still picture to express the stable theme of the play while the actors express the living, moving qualities of the play. Colby Lewis reveals that Jessner apparently agreed with Appia, that a play can have still picture and motion m 80Ibid., p. 261. 81Adolphe Appia, The WOrk Of_Living Art and Man is the Measure of All Things, trans. H.D. Albright (Coral Gables, Florida: university Of Miami Press, 1960), p. 11. 821bid., p. 54. 831219.. p. 27. rf‘ .,. ht. 137 at the same time, with the stage setting supplying the still picture and the actors the motion.8" Hewitt expresses a pulsation, or alternating movement and still picture theory in embryo. He feels that suspense must find relief in action, action being change and growth that breaks loose from gradually mounting tension.85 Yet he also eSpouses the idea that the actor must achieve a continually changing pattern designed to express the character and thought of the play.86 Unfortunately he presents little concrete idea of how his continual change should be accomplished in conjunction with suspense and relief. HOpkins would seem to approve Of a flowing movement pattern Of little abrupt change, of little hesitation, or even punctuation, if he be taken literally. Fluidity of movement with no disturbance is what he advises in order to lull the audience into a feeling, non-thinking unit.87 TO Hopkins fluidity is the best way to achieve a unanimous effect from a diverse audience; his is a sort Of hypnotic somnolence wrought over their thinking minds. Whether or not he achieves his effect may not be, however, entirely due to the fluidity Of movement. The audience's pre- disposition tO enjoy a play, as a group, and to put aside 84Lewis, _p, pi§., p. 206. 85Hewitt, _p, p33,, p. 31. 86Ibid., p. 35. 87Hopkins, pp, p32,, pp. 8-9. film FE 138 practical, moral, and divisive considerations may be large- ly responsible. Leaning more toward the still picture view Of blocking, Krows says that the play's action consists Of the players moving from one important grouping to another;88 only the most necessary movement about the stage should be allowed.89 Brown proclaims that the situations as they develop should be illustrated by the grouping Of the actors and their body positions.90 And although Boyd writes that stillness is analagous to silence, and implicitly, perhaps, to be used as Sparingly as a silence,9l he also writes that movement to him is largely the means for Obtaining fresh groupings whose relationships tell the story or the play.92 Going back in time a little, Antoine insisted that movement is the actor's most intense means of expression, but Antoine was not too explicit about Just how the actor should use it.93 Antoine's statement could give rise to either Of two interesting contemporary applications: if movement is powerful, then use it constantly in order to have a powerful play; or, if movement is powerful use it 88Krows, _p, pip,, p. 63. 89;p;p,, p. 65. 90Brown, _p. 9311., p. 84. 91Boyd, _p, p;£,, P- 95. 922219;. pp- 74. 75. 93Cole, _p, p;p,, p. 100. 139 sparingly and save it for when it is most needed. Antoine himself probably used some combination Of methods since he maintains that the statue-actor is to be decried, that the stage needs more moving human beings,94 and yet he writes of the proper way Of grouping the characters.95 The Duke of Saxe-Meiningen felt the stage should always depict movement, but from his context it would seem that the asymetrical, broken-up stage picture with its sug- gestion of movement was more used than actual movement.96 Otto Brahm felt the chorus should not be grouped but have free play of movement.97 Tairov felt that choreographic principles should be applied to a play to produce a symphony of movement.98 Gordon Craig felt movement was not only important but should resemble in amount and style the dance.99 Belasco writes Of indicating his ideas by the groupings Of the characters; he is not explicit as to whether these groups are still or moving.100 This summary of earlier directors is capped with a statement by G. B. Shaw meant to apply to dialogue rather than motion. Shaw's admonition is never to have a moment 94.1.1919.” p. 199. 951mg, p. 194. 96121.9... pp. 81. 85. 97_I_t_>_ip., p. 104. 98Gassner, pp, p33,, p. 88. 99Co1e, pp. pip, p. 148. 100919., p. 126. 140 Of silence on the stage except as an intentional stage effect.101 The statement is provocative when associated with Boyd's idea Of stage silence being analagous to the stage at rest. If Shaw's statement were altered by sub- stituting analagous parts it would read, "never have a moment of motionlessness on the stage except as an intentional stage effect." The analogy results in an interesting point of view for the proponents Of theatre movement as constant flux, a view similar to the one held by Selden. Having heard from Selden, this study now turns to the remaining principle theorists Of the study: Canfield, Dean, Dietrich, Dolman, and Smith with the addition of Miner, for their Opinions on the relation between still picture and movement in blocking principles. Canfield is somewhat difficult to pin down; most of his conclusions on the relation of still pictures to movement must be drawn by inference. Characters move in order to con- vey their psychological relationship by their physical place- ment. They may begin a movement in a position to show one set of relationships and end in a position to Show another.102 He suggests that a hesitation at the beginning and end of a move will help tell the audience What the move means. For example, a character may start in a dominant position and end in a subordinate one. It h 1°ibid., p. 193. 102 Canfield,_pp, cit., pp. 162, 166. WC "b 141 would seem that Canfield reserves no particular meaning for the movement part of the phrase, merely a meaning to the serial juxtaposition of still pictures. Later he suggests that the importance of group movement is the finding of the characters in the right place at the right time.103 His emphasis on the still picture and its mean- ing seems to be further supported by his discussion about the length Of time a stage picture may be held before it loses the audience interest.10" The final proof of his point Of view may be in the way he expresses his notion Of blocking; he infers that good blocking consists largely in having right positions to illustrate character relation- ships.105 There is one other tendency in Canfield, however, that may lead the reader to suppose that Canfield presupposes the reader's know1edge of Dean. His general point Of view toward the details Of movement, composition, and picturi- zation is that Dean, or other texts, have already adequate- ly discussed them. If the assumption is true, Canfield does not disagree with Dean's view that picturization, relationship, position, and moves can apply to either the _— 1031bid., p. 231. 10"Cole, pp, pip,, p. 167. 105Canfield, pp, p;p,, p. 268. 142 still or the moving picture. Canfield's main positive contribution to movement meaning is his suggestion to start and end a movement phrase with a meaningful still picture, a suggestion already made by Dietrich. Dean, as mentioned above, has suggested that the same categories that exist in the still picture can exist in the moving picture. His view seems to be that the still picture and the movement are equally important in con- veying meaning. Dean states that picturization is to embody the author's concept that each moment of the play is depicted pictorially.106 And further, when movement is put with picturization there is a picture that is ever changing.107 Even when the overall stage picture is relatively stable, the picture does not remain static during the scene but changes slightly as the emotional reactions and relationships Of the characters change.108 He compares stage movement to the motion picture. Both are a series Of static pictures which pass so quickly, one after the other, that the eye doesn't notice any break between.109 Hence, constant small movements reflect the general progressive values in the scene. There is an interesting difference here between Dean's and Dolman's use Of the motion picture film metaphor. Dean thinks of film as a series Of still pictures, each with __ 106Dean, pp. p_i_t_., p. 207. 1°7Ibid., p. 220. 108Ibid., p. 22. 109Ibid., p. 220. 143 picturization value, whereas Dolman thinks Of film as having a meaning in sequence but whose value as still pictures is usually slight.110 Here seems to be a most refined point Of contact between the views of movement as flow and as a sequence Of still pictures. Dean is still dealing with values that are primarily inherent in still pictures; Dolman has changed his milieu to movement, and its meaning apart from what it has in common with the still picture. It is this study's view also that the motion picture is not ideally nor really a sequence of still pictures. In practice individual frames Of a motion picture film are Often Slightly blurred; in effect each frame carries the sequence between itself and the picture preceding and following, belying the concept of a series of still pic- tures. On the other hand, the cartoon, which usually is actually a series Of still pictures, has a jerky quality when projected because a series Of still pictures simply is not the same as a flow Of movement. Aside from the problem of the metaphor, it still seems that certain filmic movements, caught at some instant, are undecipherable. Neither direction nor purpose is clear. As Dolman con- cludes, that is why movie "stills" are usually separate posed shots, arranged in Appia's painting method Of implied motion, and not actually reproduced from a segment of film. _. 11ODOlman, _p, cit., p. 116. 144 Dean seems to conclude, however, with a view fairly balanced between the two extremes. Movement exists in the transitions from one to another still picturization; however, the movement between the pictures is Just as important as the pictures themselves.111 Dietrich states that one of the primary purposes of movement is to dissolve one picture in order to form another.112 This process Of dissolving and reforming is called movement. In the process of dissolving and re- forming, meaningful pictures can be held from approxi- mately a second to over a minute and still hold audience attention and carry a meaningful relationship to the verbal context.113 Dietrich also makes a point similar to that Of Canfield, and prior to Canfield, that a motivation unit can Open by Showing the starting relationships of characters, and can close with a foreshadowing picture.114 Dietrich's point gives a needed dimension to Canfield's suggestion by showing how a closing picture may lead into the next phase, or motivational unit. Dietrich elaborates on pictorial continuity by suggesting that each picture should relate to the preceding and following ones.115 His tendency, on the whole, seems 'to be to consider movement, in its gross manifestation, to 111Dean, _p, cit., pp. 243, 245. 112Dietrich, _p, cit., p. 91. 113Ibid., p. 91. 114Ibid., p. 85. 115Ibid., p. 98. 145 be primarily a connecting link between meaningful still pictures. Later, as will be discussed, Dietrich does present movement in a context where it has meaning, but the meaning is largely psychological; i.e., concerning the motivation one character may have toward or away from a point Of interest; the meaning of gross blocking elements, the usual relationships that pertain in the still picture, do not seem to be presented as having a counterpart in meaningful moving elements, except in terms of psychological motivation. Perhaps, however, the lack is only partial; his previously referred to discussions of serial and circular reSponses, as well as points of interest, do suggest movements that have more meaning than the mere dissolve from one still picture to another. Perhaps the real lack is that Dietrich does not seem to have any discussion of the meaning Of abstract elements Of design, his view being that almost all meaning is dependent upon a psychological context. The idea that shapes or patterns may have meaning all their own, derived from previous experi- ence by association, is not discussed. Miner, in his chapter in Gassner's anthology, suggests a relationship that sounds very poetic but is not too clear in its practical application. It goes something like this: An actor should never be still without creating the im- pression of a capacity to move, nor move without creating 116 the impression of a capacity to stop. He further states 116Gassner, _p, cit., p. 255. 146 that movement is merely the interval between moments of stillness, and stillness is merely the generation Of an impulse to move; further, a common failing of the director is to conceive Of a movement as an actionary interval between static states.117 In clarification, he states that a director must know the subject of design but never use design in its frozen, or static, state; that the director's pictures must be kept fluid;118 and that Miner prefers, in general, schemes of movement to methods of grouping actors in relation to each other.119 He feels that the essence of movement is vibration; hence, though movement must be main- tained at all times, the movement may, at certain times, consist Of excitement within the mind which can be as vibrant and arresting as a door slam or a scream. In essence, let the actor's mind dance and his feet may rest%20 To further clarify, or confuse, the issue Miner proclaims that movement is a cathode-annode oscillation between character and plot.121 Just when it seems that Miner's meaning is clear something throws doubt on the clarity. His notion Of the capacity to move and to stop sounds more like a poetic parallel statement than a helpful suggestion; but he may only mean to suggest a principle of continuity in movement; 117Ibid., p. 256. 118Ibid., p. 258. 1191bid., p. 259. 1201bid., p. 276. 1211bid., p. 254. 147 each movement or still picture contains actors who have potential for change. His use of "vibration" may be similar to Selden's "sense Of life," in that a certain "elan vitale" should never be missing from the actor. If this is all, then the reader must hold Miner's use Of the word "movement" suSpect. When he says "movement" he may only mean a sense Of aliveness. In which case "movement" is being used two ways: as appearance of "life force" and as physical changing of position. Perhaps Miner is really only advocating the continual impression Of life rather than constant movement when he uses such expressions as keeping the pictures "fluid," or "schemes of movement" as opposed to "grouping." Certainly he seems to be condemning the "dissolve" idea Of movement, as suggested by Dietrich and others, when he proclaims that it is an error to think Of movement as an actionary inter- val between static states. If Miner's cathode-annode oscillation refers to the vibration of alternating current, then his metaphor is not clear to this study, but not be- yond the interest Of this study, for it is a metaphor which may well be useful to some director. Most Of Smith's views have already been expressed by others in the above discussions. Suffice it to remind the reader here of Smith's notion Of the meaning Of symbolic movement: a series Of changing relationships carries the meaning of the blocking. But also, Smith says, the 148 director must give his series of pleasing pictures dramatic meaning.122 Smith asks for a definite pattern Of movements to make a series of well composed pictures, each Of which has meaning in terms Of the scene.123 Smith also refers to the series Of pictures as flowing naturally from one into another.124 Exactly what "naturally" means is not clear; it could be in the sense either Of illusionistically, that is, drawn from life as in mimetic movement, or of logically, that is, having understandable symbolic meaning or sequence as in metaphoric or symbolic movement, or Smith could mean "naturally" in both senses. The point is, that Smith would seem to agree primarily with Dean in the view that both movement and picture can be important in the conveying of meaning. It appears that there are three tendencies in the authors' views about what kind Of movement best interprets a script. Either movement is conceived Of as a series of still pictures, each of which is held for some duration to express the meaning Of a particular moment in the play, or conceived of as a continual flux, pulsating or vibrating, reflecting the constant inner and outer movement of human beings; or, Of course, as some combination of these two. Perhaps the majority approve at least of the impression of 122Smith, _p, 932,. p. 101. 12"Ibid., p. 98. 1231bid., p. 105. 149 continual life, a life that is communicated by movement that reflects both inner and outer truths. Dean's concept seems to be closest to the working midpoint; the constant move- ment of the script is paralleled by constant movement by actors, but the latter does not entail constant shifts in basic blocking positions; major shifts in position would be saved for major changes in idea; motivation, action, or French scene. 0. Preparation for Blocking Completed The director is now ready to apply the principles of movement in context directly to his particular script. After making some basic decisions about how much pre- planning to do, how much thematic and how much psychologi- cal analysis to make, what abstract line and form are apprOpriate, what kinds of units to break his script into, what kinds Of images to use, how much rest and how much motion will be pertinent,he is ready to get specific. If he wishes to take advantage Of the power available to him in the meaning Of movement, he will be looking to his script for Opportunities to interpret it through abstraction, mimesis, metaphor, and symbol in motion. If he wishes to prepare actors to do their best in interpreting his move- ment script he will also be translating his analysis into motivations for moving characters. CHAPTER IV PLOTTING THE MOVEMENT IN THE CONTEXT OF THE PLAY A. Introduction: General Application of Blocking Theory and Script Analysis to Plotting When the director has made the basic decisions about the use of motion and still picture, Of phrasing and pul- sation, and Of the individual and progressive use Of stage areas, all based on a script analysis Of theme and motivational units that yield moving abstractions, meta- phors, and symbols, he is ready to combine his analysis with his blocking theory in the specific plotting of move- ment for his script. The order of procedure he follows in plotting will provide the order of this chapter. 14* Blocking Order: From Gross to Fine to Refined Dean,and almost all the authors, suggests starting with the larger abstract patterns and working down to the smaller group movements, then to the many relationships between actors in any particular scene, and finally to the more refined movement of pantomime or business. In this order, going from greater to lesser, the first step seems to be to start either by selecting basic stage areas in which each scene will occur, by plotting basic positions for key climax scenes, or by plotting the movement pattern 150 151 Of key climax scenes. 2. Order Dependent Upon Principles Emplgyed The order and method the director employs in plotting will vary somewhat according to what blocking principles he chooses. The first determinants will be his choices among three ways of viewing the script: First, motivationally, as a progression Of psychological interrelationships, or second, symbolically, as a progression of metaphors, or third, aesthetically, as a progression Of abstract elements that reflect certain qualities within the play. Once he has decided how to view the script his method will be further modified by his choices among three sets of variables: First, according to whether the director is using as his basic analytical unit a French scene, a motivational unit, or a thematic unit, or second, according to whether he is preparing to devise basically a series Of pictures or a sequence of movements, or third, whether he is thinking of a series Of scenes localized in smaller areas Of the stage, each with its inherent movement pattern, or a sequence of scenes each using the entire stage but each with its particular degree of movement and hesitation and quality. To some extent his choice Of style will also enter into his blocking scheme, though at the plotting phase the way in which moves are made is not so important as the where and the when. 152 B. Matching Gross Movement to Script Analysis The principles Of script analysis and gross movement have been discussed. Now the specific plans for plotting the blocking, as suggested by the authors studied, will be presented. 1. Selecting Stage Areas to Match Meaning of French Scenes At this stage in planning Canfield assigns each French scene to an acting area in his ground plan; however, Can- field does not overlook the fact that some scenes will need to use the entire stage.l Canfield's ground plan, then, would be ideally a complex of smaller stage plans (acting areas) that together make up a unified setting. In effect, the setting would correspond.in its parts and in its whole to the script's French scenes and total play. Note that Canfield seems to favor the still picture view in writing Of an area apprOpriate to a scene rather than Of a move- ment pattern appropriate to a scene. a) Mpod, Theme, and Key as Determinants of Area.--Dean suggests matching up the scene with the acting area whose mood quality best depicts that scene. Since Dean feels that each area not only has its own value Of strength and weakness but also a definite feeling, or mood, value, he naturally feels that each scene will convey its mood lCanfield, pp, cit., p. 130. 153 more convincingly if it is played in its corresponding area.2 However, Dean makes the point that he does not consider these area meanings to be rigid principles, only guides.3 Dean says the director may also decide scene by scene what geographical location, climate, or emotional relation- ships may help tO characterize the mood or atmOSphere of the scene." To be sure, such a mood or atmOSphere will help the director to choose the qualities of moves and business Of a scene, but the mood will also help to choose the area in prOper sequence and strength. Brown concurs with those who feel that the director should make strong and weak scenes correSpond to the strong 5 and weak areas. He adds an element, however, that may be useful: a positive principle for repeating areas. In essence, the director uses the same area for portrayal Of the same dramatic value; the director may, in effect, reserve certain areas for certain characters and ideas.6 Thus the director may establish by association a more specific meaning for an area than can be had merely by matching a scene with an area that may or may not inherent- ly express the mood. _k 2Dean, pp. 21.3., p. 211. 3;p_i_<1., p. 212. "91.3... p. 297. 5Brown, pp, pip,, p. 11. 6_I_bgp., pp. 14, 15. 154 Dietrich introduces the idea of the "key" of a scene. The degree of emotional tension, or key, Of each motiva- tional unit ought to be taken into account to decide which playing area or which kind Of movement pattern is appropri- ate tO the scene.7 Dietrich characterizes key as the combination Of a drive with the degree Of frustration of that drive. A strong drive with no Opposition will not result in tensions of any great magnitude. In effect, it would seem that the key Of a scene is roughly at the level of the weakest Of the two elements, drive and Opposition. The key may help the director in choosing his sequence of stage areas in terms of strength to weakness, or high to low key. 2p, Selecting a Seqpence of Stage Areas and Reasons for Choice Selecting areas for individual scenes concerns match- ing the moods of scenes with the meaning and strength of playing areas, but the selection of a sequence of areas involves creating a sequence Of scenic meanings and actions that will build to a climax. Hence, the director really has two potentially conflicting principles for the selection of area sequences. The first is to choose scene by scene according to the area that best expresses the mood Of that scene; the second is to choose in some sort of —__ 7Dietrich, _p. cit., p. 165. 155 ascending order Of strength to insure that stronger scenes will follow weaker ones in stage area. In practice, the smaller climaxes Of the play, that diminish and build into larger climaxes, will usually present a wave-like prO- gression Of scenes, sequences of builds, that may or may not fit into meaningful area sequences by both methods of placement. If not, the director must choose which is more important when a discrepancy appears, area to establish a scene's mood or sequence Of areas to establish a build. To complicate the selection, Dean suggests the use of more than one stage area for each scene. TO create a build within a scene the actors can move in a progression Of areas from weaker to stronger.8 To preserve a sequence of scenes that will still build to a climax Dean suggests a principle of conservation Of movement.9 The principle refers to saving the larger and faster movement for the climaxes so it will have its greater impact then; not to waste it on quieter, or less important scenes. The director has a choice here of Dean's combination, the use Of several stage areas for each scene and the provision Of build through the conservation of motion, or Canfield's combination, the use of one area for each scene and the provision Of build through the conservation Of area, SO that a strong area, or a special mood area, will not 8Dean, pp. cit., p. 246. 9Ibid., p. 247. 156 have been "worn out" when the scene best played there comes along. Canfield says on this point that as long as the area has not been overused it is usable.10 Just how the decision Of "overuse" is arrived at is not made explicit. Selden seems to take a view that is more extreme than Dean's; he states that every part of the stage should be used at least once before the scene is over.11 The Observation is somewhat of a jolt to the reader after con- sidering principles Of saving areas, of selecting a Specific area for a specific scene, and of progressing from area to area as the scenes progress in strength or mood. In his context Selden's advice does not seem to be capable of harmonizing with Dean and Canfield. The only sympathetic treatment Of Selden's advice at this point that seems possible is to suggest that Selden may be referring to a scene larger than a French scene whose duration may be only for a minute or less. If Selden refers to a larger unit, a scene or act division between the drawing of curtains, then there may be some wisdom to the suggestion. It would mean that within the entire scene or act the director avails himself of the maximum contrast and change possible. However, to harmonize Selden's advice with that of Dean and Canfield, this study would have to state that every area Should be used at least once during the entire play, —._ 1C’canrield, pp. cit., p. 136. 11Selden, pp, cit., p. 5. 157 Or perhaps entire act or scene, but not during each motivational unit. Even then, such advice might not be appropriate for certain presentational forms of theatre that may only use the down stage playing areas. 3;_ Relating Necessarngovement to Invented Movement in Plotting Once the scenes have been at least tentatively matched to stage areas in some sequence that provides for meaning and build, the director must decide how much movement he is willing to invent both within and between scenes, if nothing else to get his actors into different relationships to each other and into different stage areas. Dolman Opens the door to an interesting principle of how much the director may invent when he suggests that the purposes Of movement need be no more than associated, or at least consistent, with the main purpose Of the scene and of the play.12 Most other authors write in terms Of matching a picture and a movement to a script as exactly as possible. However, if the director accepts the role of author Of the movement then he may wish to be more inventive. Dolman seems to provide a bridge between the language purist who, like the aforementioned Gielgud, feels movement should be kept at a minimum so as not to get in the way Of the words, and more creative directors, such as Tyrone Guthrie, who k 12Dolman, _p, cit., p. 113- 158 are Often accused of being too inventive in blocking. A director will certainly have to invent a great deal Of movement if he chooses to follow Dean's suggestions for the requirements of a dramatic build. Dean suggests that to build the play the director may increase the length Of move- ment, increase the number Of peOple moving, contrast the direction of movement, increase the tension Of movement, increase the numbers Of crosses, increase the amount Of small movement (business), and also use Shorter movement.l3 Al- though Dean is Speaking primarily Of building individual scenes, the principles may well be applied to the entire play as the macrocosm, with the French scene as the micro- cosm. A scene may be characterized, along with its title, as one Of short, medium or long moves, or as a scene of one, a few, or many peOple moving. Thus building from one scene to the next provides an overall build to the play, not merely a series of smaller builds in each scene. Of course, within each scene, even though characterized as, e.g., a scene of groups in movement, the Size of the group, or the speed Of movement, may increase during the course Of the scene. TO implement these suggestions would seem to re- quire much movement invention. Dolman provides a principle for the extremes Of move- ment invention possible in the play. The minimum of move- ment is that which is absolutely necessary to get actors on M 13Dean, _p. pip” p. 246. 159 and Off stage; the maximum would seem to be that which is at least consistent with the play. The latter would allow for any mimetic, metaphoric, or symbolic invented movement that either supported or contrasted with the script words as long as the audience saw or felt no inconsistency between the words and the movement. The audience is mentioned here as judge Of the extremes because another director, with his own preconceptions of what best interprets a script, might well see an inconsistency that the audience, prime goal of the play, might not. 4. Choosingpa Scheme for Relatinngoving and Still Pictures to the Scene In effect, there are at least three possible conceptions Of the sequence Of scene units; the resolution may well depend upon the play that is being analyzed, but the director may never see the possibilities for alternates unless they are first understood and hence looked for. The first is the view that each unit, or scene, is a still picture broken and changed by movement to a new still picture; the change of subject is the transition and carries the movement. The meaningful, time consuming, scene is enacted during the relatively still picture. The second is the view that each scene is the movement pattern, the working out of some imbalance, where the basic meaning Of the scene is expressed by movement; the beginning and end of each scene consists of a still picture, a rest; 160 the rest is the summation Of the previous scene and the transition between scenes. The third is the view that the scenes should alternate, first a movement scene and then a still picture scene, in effect, a wave theory. The fluctuations between moving scenes and static scenes would give relatively equal weight to each in alternation. Again it becomes even more Obvious that the director will have to make his decisions in conjunction with a script; however, at least he should realize that the still picture is not the only major method Of portraying relationships in scenes. a) gpanging_the Spene by Movement.--Boyd suggests movement at each new thought, thus providing the means Of 14 His suggestion fits the changing the stage picture. general formula of a phrasing or motivational unit that would consist Of the picture expressing the basic meaning of the play with movement between pictures. Although he states there ought to be an observable reason for the move itself, he is basically less concerned with motivated movement than with expressive pictures. b) Ipterpreting the Scene by_Movement.--Selden is inclined to feel that the main content of the scene should be interpreted by movement and the change should be made with a hesitation, since the greatest flow brings the 14Boyd, pp, cit., p. 87. 161 (greatest excitement.15 In his context Selden is equating greatest flow with greatest appearance of life. In general his image might be a stream at spring flood. It would seem, however, that the idea of flow needs modifying. An even flow, no matter how great, may give a sense of life without a sense Of excitement. His own principles of rhythm, pul- sation, and tempo need inclusion. In fact, tying "flow" to "excitement" might be misleading; for the Kabuki "mie," or "pose," that embodies the emotions and meanings of the scene that precedes it, can be very exciting, as can any motionlessness that is tense with potential. Indeed, the degree Of flow may increase excitement, but the felt flow is perhaps the important ingredient. The felt tensions, felt Speed, felt barriers to movement overcome, the felt mass, or the felt contrast with lesser flow may be of as much, or of greater, importance than the actual flow. However, in agreement, the degree of actual flow is one important element in gauging the degree Of excitement in movement patterns as they are matched to the motivational units. 0) Alternatinngesitation and Movement.--Movement and hesitation can both be exciting, in alternation, if the director bears in mind Dietrich's Observation. He points out that movement is always the resolution of tension.16 M l5Selden, _p. cit., p. 197. 16Dietrich, _p. cit., p. 122. 162 If scenes Of tense hesitation alternate with scenes of move- ment that resolve the preceding tensions, and perhaps set up additional tensions, then excitement can be maintained with- out a constant flow of movement. It seems to this study that a similar exciting alter- nation Of scenes would emerge from considering movement as the restoring Of balance to an unbalanced situation. In a balanced situation, as Dietrich points out, there may occur an impulse within the script lines.17 This impulse, which could also be the entrance Of a new character, could throw the situation out Of apparent balance. A script line could set up a force that would create imbalance; the entering character could set up either an apparent physical imbalance or an imbalance of forces depending upon his connotation in the scene. The apparent imbalance Of either force or mass can result in the plotting Of movement aimed at restoring the balance. The problem for a continuing alternation theory would be how to restore balance, or resolve tension, in such a way that the final restoration or resolution of each wave was not static, such that it contained potential for future movement. Of course the introduction of a new mass, or character, or Of a new idea, or script line, can upset the balance or create new tension. The alternative, for movement, would be to maintain some degree Of tension or imbalance even _—~ 17;pgp,, p. 122. 163 in the restored or resolved, relatively unmoving, scene. Now the director needs some guiding principles to help him match pictures and movement to already determined French scenes. One such principle might be this: if an impulse to move comes at the conclusion of a French scene, or motiva— tional unit, then the movement may be useful to change the picture to a new physical (and psychical) relationship. If the impulse comes at the beginning of a French scene then it may provide the imbalance to create a movement pattern throughout the scene, a pattern started and ended with a balance-in-tension picture that portrays the starting and ending relationship of the movement, a picture that carries continuity from the Old scene and foreshadowing for the new one . 5, Selecting Movement and Area to SatisfypBoth Thematic and Ppychological Demands At this point in his blocking, the director should make sure that his movement within the scene, and between scenes, portrays the larger thematic and mood meanings of the play. Each area, sequence of areas, and formal move should fit the thematic intent both of the play and of the scenes with- in the play. Perhaps simultaneously he must see if latent in every move is also a psychological motivation he can suggest tO his actor. In other words, the large form must be a good framework for the smaller details to come. Of course, if the play is being performed in expressionistic 164 style or modern dance style the general progression Of stage areas and larger action relationships may be sufficient motivation for movement; however, if the play is at all realistic, each move must lend itself to psychological motivation as well as to thematic purposes. As Dietrich suggests, even though a particular movement is primarily to achieve a new position on stage, the movement still needs psychological motivation.18 §;_ Summary} Checking the Gross Plotting Against the Script Analysis and Principles of BlOckipg, Before concluding his plotting of a sequence of areas and of the relation Of move to still picture in the sequence, the director should check his plotting with certain blocking principles. He should see if he has made maximum use of the potential Of each area, Of the power of changing areas, of the establishment, by repetition, Of a meaning for each area, and Of the surprise inherent in using an area for the first time. He should also check to see if he has been consistent in the assigning of strength, weakness, and meaning to each kind of area and move. For an audience may well accept a play using almost any concept Of meaning as long as that play is internally consistent in the use of its own concept. Up to this point in the plotting of gross movement the director has still been dealing largely with elements that 18Ibid., p. 140. 165 give him degrees Of strength and weakness, elements of emphasis. He needs more Of the play's context and more details Of character relationships to be more Specific in his meaning. Next, therefore, within his gross blocking scheme, he may refine his picture and moves to include the psychical and physical relationships of actor to actor on the stage, with its related problem of actor to audience relationship. C. Matching Gross Movement to Analysis of Character Relationships This action is concerned with the plotting Of gross movement relationships between actors and between the actors and the audience within and between the scenes already plotted into the gross blocking pattern. 14p Introduction: Possible Actor to Actor and Actor to Apdience Relationships The first actor to actor movement, and resultant relationship, advocated by all the authors who Speak on the .subject, is the retreat and advance. Variations on the move are the cross and the punch which combine an advance with a retreat. Second, less described, but still fairly frequent- 1y mentioned, is the rise andiall, or the elevation and descent. The first pattern concerns horizontal relationships and the second pattern vertical relationships. Variations in these relationships are made with different line patterns 166 and with variations in speed of movement. Specificity is added with the direction the body is facing and with body posture. Once these basic actor relationships and their variations (including the starting or resultant positions Of close or distant, higher or lower) are considered, the director then can think Of those same relationships between actor and audience. The actor can advance or retreat, rise or fall, in relationship tO the audience, or he may make a lateral movement which may approximate a cross, or combin- ation of advance and retreat, all in relationship to the audience, or down center area. g,_ Plotting the Qppositions: Approach-Retreat, Rise-Fall. Since these four general types of character relation- ship are the most common they shall be polled first. Dietrich's treatment of these variables appears to be the most comprehensive. His starting point is the need for motivation, the necessity for seeing a reason for an action.19 As has been seen this means to Dietrich, in part, an approach to, or a withdrawal from, a point of interest.20 He has charted various varieties Of straight line moves an actor may make in relation to this point Of interest and has suggested possible contextual meanings for these moves. In general, the move toward is made on positive script lines 191bid., p. 9. 20Ibid., p. 124. 167 and the move away is made on weak script lines.2l There are Of course many nuances; the situation Of fear may call for a retreat, but also the situation of disdain; the attitude Of love may call for an approach but so may the attitude of aggression, or hate. A cross may show indifference, or it may Show an attempt to gain attention from the person who is the point of interest. Be it first Observed, however, that all of these moves do require a point Of interest, a point that is usually, though not always, a character, in relation to which the movement is made. Dietrich adds another dimension to the Opposition; he writes Of strong and weak moves. His central point concerns the strength Of tension and the weakness of relaxation in moves, that tension is a Sign of emotion.22 Another aspect of the Oppositions is the pictorial result Of the approach and retreat, or what Dietrich calls the "grouping by friends".23 When characters approach those they like, and retreat from those they dislike, the result will be, Of course, this grouping. These are character- istics described by Smith previously as the metaphors of Opposition and siding. It should be noted that there are two distinct elements: the process of siding and the pictorical result Of siding. It is the contention Of several, including __ elm-.9 p- 125 221b1d., p. 126. 231bid., p. 112. 168 Dolman previously cited, that the still picture may not be clear unless the dynamic process of arriving at it is also clear. Without: the whole movement for reference, an actor could be walking toward or backing away from an Object of interest. There is also the problem of determining, without words, whether the approach is really a siding with or an Opposition to an Object. Tension alone cannot convey the difference, as Dietrich points out, because it could be the tension of hate, of love, or of any other emotion. Dietrich does suggest ways Of making the various parties to the position, or the move, dominant or subordin- ate, e.g., by difference in level, centrality, focus, and contrast,24 but these are merely compositional emphases, not meanings. They succeed in attracting audience attention with varying degrees of strength but not in saying anything about the point of interest or the elements causing the emphasis. Canfield suggests additional Oppositions in movement to reflect the progress Of struggle between two characters; in general his idea involves first an inclination to move and to group right, followed by the same tendency to the left.25' Such change will help to indicate the changing tide Of battle. His idea may stimulate thinking along —¥ 24Ibid., p. 110. 25Canfield, pp, cit., p. 164. _— 169 Smith's line Of punch and retreat. In effect, Canfield seems to be finding physical moves to express a sequence Of attacks by one party that involve a retreat by the other party, then a sequence that reverses the trend. Canfield also talks of the retreat and advance combin- ation in terms Of apart and together, or isolation and grouping.26 Again the director may choose; if he thinks Of "isolation" he tends to block the relationship as a still picture; if he thinks of "isolating," he tends to block a moving process. The balance between the approaches would be to depict togetherness, then to move the scene in a process Of isolating, and then to complete the process with a fairly static grouping depicting isolation. Dean speaks of retreat and advance with the variations of starting weak and ending strong, or the other way around.27 The result Of these variations would be to show an alteration in motivation during the course Of the move. A similar technique would be to end higher or lower than the starting point to Show weakened or strengthened resolve.28 Again the meanings would seem to accrue from two general sources: the higher-lower relationship seems to have both a metaphorical significance and a suggestion of relative physical strength; a change in these physical relationships 26Ibid., p. 202. 27Dean, pp, cit., p. 224. 28Ibid. 170 would tend to suggest a change, by association, in the attitude, or resolve, Of the movers. In changing Speeds another change in resolve occurs. Perhaps the faster movement indicates a greater tension, hence emotion, hence stronger purpose; at the point Of change the purpose varies in tension along with the movement. Perhaps, however, there is not a variance in the amount, but in the balance, of tension. The strong, fast movement, that is in tension, shows an imbalance seeking balance. The redress is supposedly to occur at the point of interest being approached. However, part way there the movement slows; or, as Dietrich points out, the movement perhaps changes direction, an even stronger indication of altered motivation.29 The change in Speed or direction may be indicative Of a new force Opposing the first force. Conflicting motives re- sult in a near balance and slow the movement down. At any rate, change in Speed, as Dean points out, and changes in direction, as Dietrich points out, can both indicate changes in motivation. Such changes seem to be based on psycho- logical reality but may also be drawn from a physics metaphor or from the emphasis principle that change draws attention. The only oppositions in movement Boyd mentions are attraction and repulsion;3O Craig only asserts the faith, _‘ 29Dietrich, pp. cit., p. 130. 30Boyd, _p. cit., p. 89. 171 without saying how, that body movement can denote the re- lationship between characters and their internal thoughts.31 He adds a warning to be sparse so as to stimulate the imagination; sparse how or with what is not clarified. Purdom proclaims that movements are subject to the control Of a center Of interest, but he does not provide details as Dietrich does;32 Fernald goes so far as to say there is a type Of movement that may possess no dramatic value whatso- ever; hence the director is entitled to use as many of this type as he can get away with.33 Evidently these moves are simply to keep the scene active in order to provide motor responses in the audience. That such motor responses will be Specific and perhaps provide specific desired or undesired psychological meaning for a context does not seem to occur to Fernald. Jessner does not provide his readers with meanings for his Opposition movements beyond suggesting that height is soaring and depth is defeat, along with his faith that move- ment is directly expressive Of feelings.3" Selden takes the same basic Opposition movements ex- pressed above and makes them typical of all man's motives. ¥ 31Cole, pp, cit., p. 176. 32Purdom, pp, cit., p. 79. 33John Fernald The Play Produced (London: H.F.W. Deane & Sons, n.d.), p. 47. 34Lewis, pp, cit., p. 203. 172 Life for man, he writes, is an alternation of aversions and attraction;35 and the aversions and attractions may be signified by certain kinds Of moves that derive from biology and are modified by society. Gravity pulls man down and he exerts himself against it to go up; man moves toward the pleasant and away from the unpleasant; man moves to nurture 36 or to destroy. Upon these basic moves society has placed restraints and inhibitions; hence these moves are rarely seen in full force in a life situation, but the audience must see these moves large enough to know what is going on underneath the restraint.37 Selden's two pairs Of Opposition movements are, first, a lifting, or overcoming, and a lowering, or giving up; and, second, an approaching, either as an embracing or as a destroying, and a retreating, or avoiding (or, ones Selden doesn't mention, a fearing or reSpecting). The problem still remains for this study to discover if there is any way to identify which Of Selden's several meanings a particular approach or retreat has without resorting to the play context. Identifying specific mean- ings is complicated still further by the vertical moves. A forced lying down of a character in sickness and death is not the same as a voluntary lowering of a body to give aid 35Se1den, _p. pip” p. 162. 35Ibid., p. 62. 373939,, p. 69. 173 or comfort to someone who has fallen; yet Selden makes no distinction. The meaningpof‘the four moves seem to depend on what occurrence in life the audience chooses for its metaphor, aided by what details are given in the context. Selden's oversimplification seems to spring from a too pat categorizing into dialectical Oppositions. Certain plays may lend themselves to such interpretation; but life, for many people, isn't simply dialectical. The difficulties in interpreting the opposites Of approach and withdrawal without a context are inadvertently illustrated by Dean and Selden. Dean maintains that move- ment from a distance to close together will depict a move from low key to high climax.38 Selden maintains that en- larging the space between characters enlarges the conflict.39 It would seem that an enlarged conflict could constitute to Selden a climax in the sense that Dean uses the word. Selden further complicates his own Observation by stating that a dislike involves a retreat, but that an approach could be either a liking or an intent to destroy."0 If the latter is true, then a wider separation on stage would not seem to enlarge the conflict in any very meaningful way except to enlarge the area used for the conflict. It would seem that both Dean and Selden are merely expecting tOO much of abstract position as it tells about _— 38Dean, pp, p13,, p. 244. 39Selden, pp. p33,, p. 251. "01bid., p. 183. 174 character relationship. More Of the situation is needed, expressed both in body and in speech, before any of these metaphors can make any meaning more Specific. Dean seems to provide some Of this material in his discussion of body position. For instance, body weight balanced back or for- ward may Show aggression or weakness, positive or negative emotions; sitting may Show weakness both physically and pictorially.41 However, here are body positions that still go no further than the basic attack and retreat or raise and lower Oppositions. Must the director now use words to clarify the possible ambiguities in the opposition meanings mentioned above? Hopefully not yet. Dimensions Of posture and facing, mixed with changes of pace, can bring him closer to specific mean- ing before the final refinement, the script line, is needed. 3, Plottingpthe Direction the Actor Faces Besides mere abstract emphasis, then, what impression does the audience get from full face, three-quarter face, profile, and back? What facings convey what moods, emotions, or attitudes? Are these culturally learned symbols, or are they rooted in psychology? Or are they both? If there are any significant, generally communicated, meanings to facings they must have some general psychological or symbolic mean- ing as well as a unique meaning given to them by a Specific —¥ 41Dean, pp, cit., p. 224. 175 character in a Specific play context. If there are facing relationships that convey emotion or clarify meaning, then they may be used regardless of the character using them. They may be specifically shaped according to the exact character and Situation, but their general shape can convey general characteristics. Just as tension alone does not identify an emotion, still without the appearance Of tension the audience will not believe that an emotion exists. SO body relationships Of facings may help to indicate to the audience a thematic or basic psychological relationship without in any way hindering the details of body posture or characterization that the director and actor may create together. To put it another way, facings, indicating basic emphasis, symbol, and psychological relationship need to be plotted prior to the details of character pantomime, or fine movement, as facings help to set up basic gross blocking relationships. Previously in this study facings have been discussed primarily in their role Of emphasis; an actor may draw attention to a point Of interest by facing it, or he may draw attention to himself, and make himself stronger, to the extent that his face is seen by the audience; however, Selden's is the only directing text in this study to mention What facings may mean. For most directions Of facing he only suggests amounts Of emphasis or strength, but for more specific meaning he suggests that the straight on face is 176 dramatic and frank."2 The frank facing emotionally involves the person faced; and either he is held by the direct gaze or he must compel himself to turn away. In effect a frank gaze forces an actor to become involved. Selden elaborates by suggesting that the body should always face in the same direction as the eyes."3 However, certain problems may arise. First, if the actor's eyes always face where his head and body face the actor is always portraying a "frank" character; the script may not call for a frank character. Second, the accepted custom of "cheating" on stage is arbi- trarily eliminated if a body cannot face more downstage than the eyes; the director would have to lose the advantage Of impressing the audience for the advantage of some notion Of realism. Another aspect Of direct facing that Selden suggests is that the play Jumps out Of the frame of the proscenium if an "4 Selden infers that an actor faces directly down stage. audience cannot be thus involved with a character without losing its role as audience. He does not elaborate further; however, it does seem that Selden's discussion only fits a contemporary, turned-in approach to realistic staging; in other words, although Selden doesn't 80 state, his suggestion seems to pertain to only one style of play. TO eliminate the down stage glance is certainly to eliminate the aside, the "2Selden, pp, cit., p. 210. 44 "31bid., p. 26. Ibid., p. 215. l77 presentational style, and also the strongest face and body position for any style. Of course if arena theatre be included as a style, all meanings of facing, as well as of stage areas, need complete reexamination. The following analogy may provide a bridge between Selden's suggestions and other movement styles. Selden's Observations about direct facing of an actor to another actor and of an actor to the audience give rise to an analogical conjecture by this study, a conjecture not discussed by Selden. It may be that the same qualities of frank meaning that are conveyed in actor to actor facings may also be conveyed in actor to audience facings; that the more directly an actor faces his partner the more frank he is; the less directly he faces his partner, the less frank he is to his partner. Analogically, possibly the more directly the actor faces the audience, the more frank the audience feels the actor is with the audience. Such a facing could fit into any style; the most direct application would be in presentational theatre where the audience is being directly addressed and in effect takes the place of the actor's partner on stage; but even in realistic theatre the actor can be blocked to face, and almost to face, an audience without addressing, or even seeming to be aware of, the audience; in such situations possibly the degrees Of facing the audience could convey degrees Of frankness with the audience. 178 Similarly, it may also be that the same qualities of strength conveyed by degrees Of actor to audience facing may be conveyed by degrees of actor to actor facing; that the audience would interpret the direct actor to actor facing as one actor making a strong impression upon his partner, based on projecting into the play the feeling of strength the audience felt when the actor was facing the audience. In support Of this View, it would seem that the strengthening of an actor, as he turns more face toward the audience, is predicated upon the two assumptions: that the actor's face is potentially more expressive than any other part Of his body and that a direct face concentrates the actor's attention on the audience and hence the audience's attention on him. If the assumptions are true, then an actor to actor relationship may share these emphasis qualities. The degree to which one actor faces another may determine the audience's interpretation of the strength of impression that the actor is making upon his partner on stage. Further, if there are other nuances to meanings of an actor facing an audience, the nuances may also be true of the facing of one actor by another. Similarly, if there are nuances Of meaning to the degrees of facing between char- acters, these nuances may also hold true when translated in- to degrees of facing the audience. In effect, an audience identification relationship is Suggested by the above analogy, a relationship that may have 179 important implications for arena as well as proscenium move- ment. The member of the audience seems to feel a character is frank when he faces his stage partner directly. The audience member seems to put himself into the place of the partner being faced. Realizing that a direct feeling would give him the impression Of frankness, the audience member assumes a frank relationship exists between the characters. Further, if the audience member identifies with the partner, the audience member may feel vicariously the frankness, or whatever else is being conveyed, of the direct character. The audience member may feel vicariously almost as much frankness, or other, as if the direct character were facing the audience member himself. If audience identification will allow for such vicarious feelings then a facing can have a double significance and potential for strength based, first, on the degree to which an actor's face is toward the audience and, second, on the degree to which the actor's face is toward a character with whom the audience is identifying. Suffice it to point out here that arena theatre may have to depend almost entirely upon the facing relationships between actor and actor and depend, for the meanings Of the degrees of direct or in- direct facing, almost entirely on the audience's ability to identify with the actor faced, or at least on their ability to draw an analogy between the way they would feel and the way the character must feel. 180 D. Matching Final Ground Plan and Stage Setting to the Gross and Character Movement It is possible for a director to plot all the relation- ships Of gross blocking and character movement before com- pleting his ground plan; but if a director has not settled on a final plan at this point in his plotting here seems to be the outer limit. Now he is aware Of all the possibilities Of relationship Of character and script to movement and area. He needs no specific knowledge of the details Of his panto— mime and business to determine the ground plan. The one element still needed is an understanding Of the importance of exits and entrances as beginnings and endings of French scenes. However, he has already planned an important position for the exit Of the character if the exit is important. It only remains now to place a door where the exit is planned and to reconcile his concept Of area meaning to architectural design elements, or to an exterior setting. It is not suggested that the process is a simple one. With- out some knowledge Of set design surely the director may devise movement that is meaningful but that cannot take place in the style of setting he desires. The director is looking for a stage setting that will in general allow for all the variations of movement and position for which his blocking scheme calls. To be ideal it should be a versatile yet unified setting with many acting areas to allow for scenes played in small areas or 181 on the whole stage; it should be a setting with levels, such as Appia and Jessner recommended, that allow for vertical as well as horizontal picturization and give greater clarity to depth relationships; it should be a stage free enough from clutter so that the actor can in fact move freely in the area, and yet a stage with sufficient scenic units, prOps, or furniture to allow for motivation for movement to almost any place on it. Finally the director wants a setting with solids, forms, and textures that will provide contrast for, and hence emphasis upon, either the stationary, or the moving actor. E. Matching the Fine Movement to Gross Blocking, Character Movement, Stage Setting, and Script Lines After his ground plan is completed the director needs to plot his fine movement to match his gross blocking scheme. This fine movement will consist Of the pantomime of each actor. The movement characteristics Of each actor's role, character movement to interpret the relationships in each scene, and movement in the handling Of stage properties, or business, and all specific body movements will be considered the pantomime, or what they do wherever they may be on stage in the blocking scheme. The first step in plotting the fine movement is to see if there are any general principles of meaning to body move- ment, any kinds of movement that generally convey meanings 182 in the non-verbal pantomime context. In short, this study will consult the authors of directing texts studied to see how close they come to a language Of pantomime. 1. Viewing Pantomime as a Language Jacques COpeau said that the lines of arms and torsos and knees Of his actors spoke directly to the audience."5 The problem is to discover his language and to have some reasonable assurance that it indeed communicates what he thought it did; COpeau was not explicit in his writings. It is one thing to proclaim that accurate pantomime will communicate accurate meanings; it is quite another thing to describe accurately what the symptoms and symbols are and mean. It seems to avoid the meaning issue to say with Gassner ‘ will move naturally that an actor, given a "thought line,‘ and unselfconsciously.46 If the actor fails to move thus, Gassner could simply proclaim that the person is no actor. The problem at issue is precisely what must go into the actor's original training, or be supplied by a director as an additional part of the actor's training, so that the natural movements Of an actor can portray whatever language there is in pantomime. Certainly if the director can give only thought lines to an actor the director has a very in- direct tool for implementing any pantomime plotting. _— uSMacGowan, pp, cit., p. 182. "6Gassner, pp, cit., p. 142. 183 In any case, this study wishes to examine the use of the word "naturally." If by "naturally" Gassner means according to the actor's pantomime training, analysis of character, and in response to the director, then a thought line may be sufficient to move an actor "naturally" as the character he is portraying; however, such a use Of "natural- ly" presupposes an actor knows some language Of pantomime, has reached some agreement with his director on its use, and has made these pantomimic characteristics his own be- fore the thought line is given. This process, however, does not seem to fit any normal use Of the word "naturally"; it is a highly crafted process. In any case, Gassner's Observation avoids the problem of the language Of pantomime. From Gassner's context this study assumes he is using "natural" in the neO-Stanislavsky New York method approach to acting. Many Of the professional teachers Of method acting there shun all approaches to studying general char- acteristics Of emotions or attitudes or abstract, metaphoric, or symbolic meanings Of body movement. Even character analysis is usually taught strictly in terms of psychologi- cal motivation except for certain extremes Of physical deformity. Even the subject Of bodily changes because of age is usually avoided since the actors are being trained for the type-cast market. For example, in her teaching sessions Stella Adler proclaims these physical elements to be "resultants" and are not to be considered by the actor; (W n1 184 Mary Welch, in her teaching, maintains if the inner thought is correct the outer form will naturally follow. The sense of her statement is that the actor, uninhibited by learning a body-language, will act naturally if his concentration is accurate, or, in Gassner's words, his "thought line" is good. Experiences with the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, Sanford Meisner, and Lee Strasburg all bear out that they have a similar approach to the pantomime aSpects Of acting. It is this study's opinion, from experience with Gassner and from the context Of his book, that Gassner's use Of though line resulting in natural, unselfconscious movement is part of the same context of method. Such an approach maintains that no general language of movement should be used by an actor, only specific movements that arise in the context of the play as the result of the actor's attempt to think in character. Whether or not the above described position is that of Gassner's, Gassner does introduce a problem for the director interested in pantomimic language possibilities. Given the above described method approach, the actor tends to move as himself in the Situation of the play, not as the character in the situation or as the thematic or non-mimetic require- ments Of the play or director may demand. It is a common- place in the theatre that certain method and natural actors always play themselves. Given the type casting situation where an actor is cast because he mentally and physically 185 fits the director's conception of the character, the actor may never need to learn, nor the director to plot, any pantomime of the mimetic variety. Thoughtline would be sufficient. However, given the method approach, especially with the inexperienced actor who has not absorbed certain conventions through experience, an actor does not tend to move such as to keep oriented toward the audience or to keep within justifiable sight line conventions; nor does he tend to express the larger ideas Of the play, only those of him- self as actor, Or at best those psychological characteristics wherein the actor may coincidentally resemble the character. It seems that one must agree with Selden that the rightly trained actor can move in rhythms, in stage conventions, and with stage diction and exaggeration; i.e., that nothing, tO be understood by an audience, is really natural on stage."7 SO the answer to the method problem suggested by Gassner may be that an actor's natural moves as the result Of a thought line can only be trusted if he has a mind and body trained in the Special language of the stage and has a Physical as well as a psychological character study com- pleted and learned so that he will move automatically as would the character. Whether or not Gassner assumes it, such training is not stated or implied in his context. In short, it seems that even to express the basic mimetic movement, the symbol standing for a real life 47Selden, pp, cit., p. 56. 'rj 186 movement, conventions of stage movement may be needed. The unselfconscious move, Of a thought line prompted actor, may only be a step in an actor's training, not a method of ex- pressing meaning from the stage. After all, Clurman, in Gassner's book, has already pointed out that stage movement is a special language and the expert "author" of that move- ment is the director. As an illustration, certainly a French thought line for a French actor would not help the actor to express himself in English unless he first learned the English language. Similarly, it is not too much to ex- pect the "natural" actor first to learn the Special lan- guages of the stage before expecting him to express himself with only the aid Of a thought line and natural processes. Gassner may well be right in condemning, as he does, any pat system of pantomime that purports to be realistic, to be founded on psychology, and to call upon some Special set Of conventional moves and positions to portray certain emotional}8 He does not state what system he refers to though in context it appears to be Delsarte. For Gassner to condemn a supposedly realistic system devised fifty years or more ago from a religious, or mystical, classification Of primitive psychological data is one thing. To condemn all systems Of portrayal of symptoms, or of conventional signs for emotions, because some systems are outdated appears hasty. It appears "8Gassner, _p, p;p,, p. 143. 187 analagous to condemning all psychology because a fifty year Old psychology is outdated. For an actor to duplicate, or reinstate in his body, symptoms of emotions, of age, or of disease with accuracy, and then to work to make these symptoms an organic part Of his natural movement, is not more artificial than to take the author's words, character, and situation and to work to make them part of himself. Perhaps worse still, in tossing out outmoded systems of pantomime, a director may toss out the good with the bad. For example, Dietrich, who also holds symptomatic portrayal in distrust feels there is a place for the accepted conventional symbol, and that its roots are in natural behavior. He states that stereotypes, conventions, or physical symbols for emotion Often result from certain characteristics having occurred enough in human behavior so that the stereotype develops.“9 In effect, then, there is some natural behavior at the root Of even the stereotyped action. It is the contention Of this study that it is a valuable procedure to try to discover principles of real life movements and the roots Of stereotyped movements SO »that a director can have a check on the actor's intuition and the director's own planning. §p_ Viewing Pantomime as Having Three Modes Of Meaning There begin to appear, according to the authors studied, 49Dietrich, _p, cit., p. 165. 188 three approaches to how pantomime may have meaning. They correspond in part to this study's four part division of abstract, mimetic, metaphoric, and symbolic, but are ex- pressed usually in a different kind of sequence ranging from most natural to most unnatural within the realm of recognizable human movement; however, a relationship between the two classification systems will be suggested. a) The Three Modes Defined: Natural, Heightened Natural, Symbolic.--There are two divisions of the natural mode Of pantomime both of which this study would classify as mimetic. There is the American method actor's view that the correct inner thought will yield the correct outer form, and in an organic way; voice and body will express a unified human being and be true to life. Then there is the approach, which can be combined with method, that allows for the actor to add natural body characteristics to his portrayal, characteristics that may result from physiological or psychological knowledge about human beings in general or a- bout his character in particular. In both divisions the result is hopefully a reasonable facsimile Of a natural human being. The second mode, heightened natural pantomime, is closest to the view expressed by Selden, Dietrich, and others that real human behavior is apt to be too small, too dull, or too undifferentiated for clear communication from the stage, and so methods of heightening the natural are 189 needed for the stage. Such heightening can be a simple enlargement Of natural movement, or it can also be the elimination Of certain less dramatic details Of body move- ment, sometimes called selective realism, which for this study would be a sort Of mimetic symbolism. The third mode, or symbolic pantomime, is classified into the three categories of abstraction, metaphor, and symbol by this study. The symbolic view seems to be that the body Should not try to imitate nature's moves at all in verisimilitude or in a mimetic fashion, but rather the body should be made to express by symbol, by metaphor, or by some Special language the inner or universal truth of the char- acter, the society, or the play. Of course the third mode of meaning can combine quite easily with the heightened natural mode to create characters heightened and distorted in their pantomime by abstraction, metaphor, and symbol. However, for the purposes Of this chapter, esoteric, pure symbolic, forms will not be considered. b) Natural Pantomime Explored.--The American method actors' school Of thought expresses the first division of natural pantomime, wherein the actor's pantomime is the result of thought lines or inner feelings rather than super- imposed physical characteristics. Gassner's view reflects this school of thought, a school whose views are probably more extremely thought centered than Stanislavsky's from which the view supposedly originated. The view has been vie n1 190 adequately expressed on pages 182-186 of this study. Somewhat surprisingly, Canfield, whose emphasis is upon the craft of the theatre, seems to hold the natural pantomime view. He states that in good acting the emotion proceeds from a sense of truth within the actor.50 It would seem that Canfield, within the natural mode, ought to give some consideration to the view that in good acting the emotion may proceed from an accurate and artistic depiction of emotion based on a study of how peOple actually behave and modified by whatever conventions are necessary to carry the impression of a truthful emotion to the audience. In any event, this study is more concerned with the observable results in pantomime than in the method by which the actor or director arrives at those results; and soon as a director maintains the view of the second division of natural pantomime, the addition of pantomimic characteris- tics by design rather than by an actor thought process alone, he usually allows exaggeration and selection, hence his observable results belong more in the next mode. 0) Heightened Natural Pantomime Explored.--Such men as Dietrich and Selden express ideas that place them more in the heightened natural mode of pantomime, but they use mimetic principles and incorporate symbols as well; however, usually the symbols are merely stylized and conventionalized mimesis. —__ 50Canfield, op, cit., p. 166. 191 They question chiefly how much pantomime is in fact natural expression, how much is learned convention, and how much is not a language but is dependent on a verbal context to give it Specific meaning. Dietrich has two important contributions to make to the mode of heightened natural pantomime. The first is a con- tention that may cast doubt on the possibility of communi- cation by simple natural mimesis, the contention that psychologists have found that the physiological changes in emotion seem to be similar, if not identical, regardless of the emotion experienced. Emotions are all patterns of disorganization.51 The second is a contention that follows from the first; as a result of the psychologists' findings the audience would need the play context and conventional symbols of emotion in order to differentiate pantomimic emotions. One of the conventional symbols that Dietrich mentions is the emotional stereotype.52 The stereotype is easier to deal with than the psycho- logists' findings. It would appear to be a form of the heightened natural in pantomime. It derives from natural behavior that has been exaggerated and conventionalized until the audience thinks of the symbol as a true symptom. If the emotional stereotype is accepted as a real symptom of emotion by the audience, and is performed in a way _ 51Dietrich, 92. cit., p. 151+ 521bid., p. 160. yaw y»: .. a 1'16 ti tc 192 appropriate to the character and situation, then neither this study, nor Dietrich evidently would disapprove of its use. Here is a theatrically acceptable mode of a symbolic communication of emotion. Dietrich's first contention, that the physiological changes are the same regardless of the emotion experienced, would seem to make the stereotype not only acceptable but necessary. The contention is difficult to harmonize with the view that there may be an understandable mimetic language to be heightened. The problem, however, seems more concerned with the con- text in which the word "emotion" is used than with the psychological aSpects expressed. In Dietrich's context the word "emotion" seems to apply to the basic changes in heart beat, blood pressure, breathing rate, and muscle tension. If these symptoms express the meaning of "emotion" it may well be true that all emotions are symptomatically alike. However, this meaning perhaps unnecessarily restricts the use of "emotion% emotion would no longer pertain to any observable and felt state corresponding to such feelings as anger, fear, hate, and love. "Emotion" would then have a more basic meaning such as the preparation for action the body makes at the time of any change in feelings. What else need be added, then, before words are spoken, and before stereotyped symbols for emotion are used, to give some observable direction or feeling tone to the basic to mer co: co: pl 00 w {'5 193 physiological symptoms? Is there anything else, as some authors feel, that is still a part of the natural, physical, emotional behavior? Dietrich himself gives this study a direction in which to look for the solution to the problem of seeming disagree- ment among authors. He mentions that the visual projection of emotion, as it is rooted in actual physiological symptoms, concerns muscle tension and relaxation; there are also contracted and expanded states that are symptomatic of un- pleasant and pleasant emotions.53 These are symptomatic conditions that seem to add another dimension, actual posture, to such symptoms as heart beat and breathing rate. Perhaps once all the body characteristics that accompanyy undifferentiated emotion are studied as symptoms, that is, which muscles are expanded or contracted, what qualities and rates of breathing are involved, and what facial expressions are seen, then greater differentiation of emotions can be perceived. Perhaps this is, in effect, putting the basic undifferentiated physiological symptoms of emotion into a context; however, it is still only a pantomimic and mimetic, not yet either a verbal or symbolic, context. This study feels that a word other than "emotion" can be employed to mean the total set of symptoms that include posture, body set, and typical movement reactions, but that 53Ib1d., p. 162. 194 do not include the context of a character in a play; the term "body attitude" may be apprOpriate. Such attitudes may well be responses that are consistently and naturally differentiated even though the organic symptoms show little differentiation. In short, even though a knowledge of the play situation is imperative to the recognition of the specific emotion, even as Dietrich says,54 still the play‘s situation may be known to a great extent from its pantomimic pattern, derived not from the stereotype of emotion alone but also from assumed body attitudes similar to what a real person might naturally assume in a real life situation. At least, as will be seen, Selden seems to think so. Selden includes as symptoms of emotion what this study has Just defined as emotion and body attitude combined. He feels that primitive emotions can be expressed with body positions, both in movement and in repose; such emotions include grief, despair, humility, indecision, and Joy.55 He bases this supposition on a theory that there are really accurate and differentiated movements and positions for emotions but that social restraints, by custom, have been put upon the basic strong moves of biology.56 His lesson for actors is, then, that a copy of the symptoms of emotion, as found in their present cultural context, would not be either large enough or differentiated enough to be "read" h.— 541b1d., p. 164. 55Se1den, 92. 933., p. 83. 56Ibid., p. 69. E he th 195 by an audience; hence, the audience needs "hints" of the larger, primitive emotion that is underneath the restrained exterior.57 In effect, Selden counsels to produce in outer form the inner reSponse that isn't normally seen.58 That such symptoms can be known, and hence expressed in their larger form, is to some extent assumed by Selden, but he does give some principles for guidance. He feels that the waist is the controlling point for primitive action.59 Similarly, all sincerely motivated gesture originates at some central part of the body and extends to the extremities; it does not originate in hands or feet. The extremities symbolize in their gestures man's desire to make or break contact.6O However, since most of his principles of meaning of body areas, mentioned above, originate with Delsarte, this study will postpone discussion of them until part II that deals with the modern exponents of Delsarte. Selden also suggests, in the heightened natural mode of pantomime, simplification of movement to carry the essence of the move, especially when several people are moving.61 His view is what this study calls selective natural panto- mime, an editing of the strictly mimetic to create a heightened natural effect. d) Symbolic Pantomime Explored.--It is appropriate to note that, although this study suggested that one method of _—.¥ 57Ib1d., p. 79. 58Ib1d., p. 93. 59;2;g,, p. 86 69;p;g,, p. 92. 61Ibid., p. 273. 196 heightening the natural in pantomime could be through the addition of symbolic features, so far the views of heightened natural pantomime have been characterized by suggestions to exaggerate and to delete parts from what are basically natural human moves. Methods of incorporating non-mimetic movement seem to come primarily from the expressionist— symbolists. As an example of the symbolist View, Appia proclaims that the human body, as theatre's means of expression, must forsake the caprice and accident of life and try to express its essential characteristics, its most important ideas, more clearly and fully than in normal life.62 He enlarges somewhat on this concept by saying that the human body must 63 undergo a "modification of relationships". In his context, it is apparent that Appia means the body should be subject to the same principles as any other art. It should derive its material from nature, from the natural behavior of the human body, but should so order, arrange, edit, simplify, emphasize, distort, and otherwise pattern nature that the end product is anything but nature; the result is art expressing a definite point of view about nature and society. He feels this is no more or less than should be expected of any art. However, Just what his methods were, and what results he achieved, he does not explain. 62Appia, 22, 233,, p. 24. 63Ibid., p. 55. 197 Beyond Appia's view, pantomime would become an esoteric Special symbolism divorced from movement that is human. Each such system is a language unto itself and not of interest at this point in the study. 3, Viewing Pantomime as an Adjunct to Script Lines In this section the director comes closer to the de- tailed relationship of movement to script. In it the use of prOperties and business, as well as the amount, duration, intensity, and placement of moves in relationship to script lines, will be discussed. According to the authors studied movement's functions in this regard appear to be to empha- size, to support, or to counter script meanings. a) Movement to Emphasize Script Lines.--Most of the books analyzed relate movement to lines in terms of emphasis rather than meaning. The line is evidently considered, in most cases, to carry the meaning; whereas some moves have the purpose of maintaining good sight lines so the emphatic character or object will be seen and heard. Here the mean- ing again is assumed to lie ultimately in the words of the Speaker, or possibly in the action of the dominant character. The directing texts are not very explicit on how to make that dominant action meaningful; mostly they provide a variety of ways in which to point to it. Also there is little analysis of what qualities of meanings various methods of gaining script line emphasis will have; usually there is only the relative strengths of the emphasis and 198 the methods of keeping the focus where the director desires. Although this study is more concerned with the meaning that movement contributes to lines than with movement's function of drawing attention to those lines, the first step will be to poll the methods of gaining emphasis in order to have them available in discussing later their possible special qualities. 1-General Relationship of Movement to Lines. MacGowan suggests that characters in a group should remain immobile while the principals are talking.64 The obvious reason is to have no distraction from the main action, though he fails to solve a problem of life-like-ness. If the characters are truly immobile they serve little function in the scene; they are apt to appear inhuman and contrast with the principals almost as a painted tree does with a real tree. Fernald suggests a principle of "one effect at a time”; where movement is of "dramatic significance it should not be accompanied by dialogue"; and where "dialogue is of partic- ular dramatic significance, it should not be accompanied by movement".65 0n the surface this seems to contradict a principle of Shaw's, that there should rarely be any silence on stage; it also would seem to contradict a general prin- ciple of Dietrich's, and others, that in general the length of move and length of line coincide unless Special emphasis 64MacGowan, _p, gi§,, p. 139. 65Fernald, 92, gi§,, p. 4#. 199 is to fall on one or the other?6 It seems that Fernald is saying in general that if either is to have "dramatic significance," that moves should be made without words and words be Spoken without moves. It would also appear on the surface that Dietrich suggests that usually a move of the Speaker starts and ends with the speaker's line. On closer inSpection, however, the two ideas may combine to reveal important principles. Dietrich points out that an actor generally moves on his own line and generally moves through- out his line, be the move a distance-covering move (gross blocking move) or merely pantomime while the actor is stationary. Generally the actor stOps movement and speech while another actor takes over both movement and Speech. Both Dietrich and Fernald point up important principles; to avoid divided focus between actors, the mover is the speaker; to avoid divided focus between movement and Speech, the one is stopped while the other continues in sole focus. This study would like to suggest a corollary to this latter principle; a character who is not Speaking at the moment may attract attention to himself by movement. The attraction has its negative value of distraction, but it also has a positive value. It can help to maintain a sense of interaction even though only one person is speaking, or it can provide comment or punctuation to a long speech. 66Dietrich, 92, cit., p. 127. 200 With these uses in mind MacGowan's idea of the motionless crowd may well be replaced by an idea of Judicious, care- fully Spotted, crowd movements to show a crowd interaction with the principals. At other times the crowd may follow Selden's advice and remain alert, involved, and interested while being relatively motionless.67 The crowd can also follow Selden's suggestion to make only simple, typical moves even during their times of activity.68 Dean concurs with both Dietrich and Fernald when Dean suggests that a movement on a line may call attention to the Speaker and give him emphasis; but he adds that the movement may also cloud the meaning of the line.69 His advice is to analyze the line to see if the line carries its meaning by itself or if it needs the move to clarify or intensify its meaning. He is, in effect, suggesting the avoidance of redundancy and of competition between line and move. Gielgud and Krows, as has been seen, would rather avoid moving at all if there is any chance of the movement interfering with the words. Dean further suggests ways of softening a move if the move must be made by the nonspeaking character; the latter may, for example, be pacing during a dialogue; in which case he may pace in a weaker stage area while the Speaker stands in a stronger stage area.70 In general he says that a play _hl 68 67Se1den, pp, 923,, p. 65. Ibid., p. 273. 69Dean, pp, cit., p. 239. 7OIb1d., p. 241. 201 of ideas is apt to have less movement while a play lacking in thought is apt to have more movement.71 Dietrich has additional suggestions concerning violent action in relation to lines. When fighting or physical violence must occur on stage there is a tendency for it to take all of the focus and leave little for the words. In effect his suggestion is to find ways of saying the lines during quieter moments preceding, or during lulls in, the violence and to surge into bursts of violence that involve only a few words.72 Such actions may be plotted in waves of quiet and activity throughout a scene, with a climax of violence; or they may be in a progression, building from quieter moments to a violent scene. It seems that such alternation of emphasis would successfully maintain an alternation of focus from speech to movement, following the same principle of "one effect at a time" expressed by Fernald. It might be added here that words may not be out of place during the violence but, following Dean's suggestion about plays that have less thought and adapting it to the violent scene in any play, perhaps a dialogue of less thought could be allowed during the violence. For example, primitive sounds, ejaculations, repeated ideas or themes, or slogans might help to carry the force of the violence without competing with the violence. 73;g;g., p. 258. 72Dietrich, pp, 323,, p. 155. 202 Selden agrees with the above authors and suggests the principle that a story must move forward every minute; when the action cannot progress outwardly, it must continue in- wardly.73 Dietrich's and Selden's ideas may combine profitably this way: when the physical movement is strongest the dialogue is weakest; when the dialogue is strongest the movement is weakest. 2-Specific Relationship of Movement to Lines. When the director comes to specific kinds of lines and situations there is a catalogue of conventional stage movement, and certain basic principles, to consider in terms of emphasis. The catalogue seems to divide into two general categories: movement to point up an important line or character, or movement to deemphasize an unimportant line or character. In effect the two are often complementary and sequential; the latter move helps to make way for the former. Such moves as are concerned with exits and entrances seem to be the most prominent in the above category. Dietrich suggests that an actor must disappear from sight at the conclusion of the exit tag, or tag end of his line or movement; the reason is to allow attention to revert back to the actors on stage.74 Dietrich points out that an additional move, in the wake of the departing actor so to speak, may help to emphasize the exit in case attention is 73Se1den, 92, cit., p. 199. 7hDietrich, _p, cit., p. 137- 203 not wanted elsewhere immediately; a pause may accomplish the same emphasis with eyes focused on the exit. Dietrich also points out that exits and entrances are often climaxes to, and limits of, the motivational units.75 Hence, they must be constructed with care and usually with a high degree of emphasis. To aid this purpose most of the authors list such moves as up stage counters, movements to upstage to prepare a character to be in focus, isolation moves, and all of the previously discussed compositional movement elements. These moves are discussed by Canfield in terms of their function as conventions to allow the important elements to be seen and heard in a proscenium, to uncover the point of interest and draw attention to it.76 Dietrich suggests that a line following a move empha- sizes the line, while a move following a line emphasizes the move.77 The principle in general is that what happens last in a sequence gains the most importance. Also, the initial sound or sight draws attention to the actor and then leaves an undivided focus on either the sight or the sound that follows. Dean agrees with Dietrich when he says that a move before a line emphasizes the line; a move after the line emphasizes the move.78 He adds that a weak move 75;p;g,, p. 138. 76Canfie1d, pp, 933,, p. 168. 77Dietrich, 92, git,, p. 128. 78Dean, _p, gi§,, p. 234. 204 after the line still emphasizes the line; however, his addition leads to a questioning of the whole principle. There is a danger in what Dean says; it seems the weak move following the line may weaken the line. Movement, drawing attention to itself, may keep the audience's attention for some seconds after the line and actually supplant the line; or the move may be thought of by the audience as a comment upon the line, since the Speaker is making the move. The movement being weak could tend to undermine the strength of the line, tend to extend the line into a petering-out movement. Another interpretation of Dean's observation seems like a good example of emphasis but not an example of a move that is weak. A single move or gesture followed by an exit, or a repose, could have the effect of a punctuation mark, and hence could strengthen the line preceding it rather than call special attention to the single strong move itself. A quick flourish for an exit, for example, may punctuate a line and give it greater importance. To be sure, the movement is last and makes a strong impression; still, it is a supporting impression; the move underlines, rather than supplants the script line. But such a punctuation mark would be considered by this study to be a strong move. It seems that the most sympathetic treatment of Dean's principle would be to consider that the very weak move, one that takes the actor almost immediately out of focus, per- haps even off the stage, will leave a sort of visual vacuum 205 where the actor was. In addition to saying ”nothing more of importance is coming from this character at the moment, so remember his last remark," the vacuum can help to elimi- nate any strong visual image following the line that might distract from the line. Such a move borrows some of the effectiveness of the "black-out," where a sudden elimination of light will leave the audience with a strong impression of whatever was last seen or heard. In either case, the place where the audience's eyes were focused will no longer have a strong visual point of interest. On the lighted stage, as long as the rest of the stage picture is maintained relatively static after the weak movement, there will be no immediate distractions from the emphatic line. Of course, such a "vacuum" is usually only felt for an instant, and with much less force than the "black-out," but the impression is strong enough to create some emphasis. b) Movement to Support Script LineS.-—Related to the way a move may emphasize a line is the way it may support. In addition to drawing attention to a particular line, a move may give the line either strength or weakness and may even be able to add some nuance of Specific meaning that correlates positively with the meaning of the script lines. Dean suggests the director may correlate a strong move with a strong line.79 His suggestion is based on a previous view of his that each sentence of a play has an inherent 79Ibid., p. 234. 206 movement, even if it is a static move; i.e., pause, or rest?)0 If the director finds the inherent move he can match it to the line. Such matching can be compared to Smith's symbolic moves that supposedly grow out of lines that contain such elements as inherent approaches, or encirclements, or separations. In the same context Dean suggests that the director may interpret the author's change of meanings that occur line by line by choosing the apprOpriate set of changing moves. l-Support Through Duration. Another means of support for a line is by the duration of a move. How it may support is somewhat complex. Dean proclaims that a long move is generally weaker than a short one.81 Dietrich supports Dean's view by saying that the audience quickly perceives the meaning of a movement so that if the movement takes too 82 These two statements can be long, interest wanes. puzzling. It would seem that the general Opinion supports the idea that a static scene is tedious. If true, Dietrich's statement may well be altered to say that an audience may quickly perceive the meaning of a still picture and interest wanes. It would seem that, given a choice, the director might well sustain interest longer in a long movement than he would with a long still picture. However, when the length of a move is considered in conjunction with a script Bogpig,, p. 234. 81;p;g,. p. 226. 82Dietrich, 22, cit., p. 127. 207 line, Dietrich's point of View seems to alter. As has been pointed out, Dietrich has suggested that a norm is for the length of the move to coincide with the length of the line. Then a long line may well mean a long move. To combine his statements sympathetically may result in the conclusion that a long move unaccompanied by lines, may be tedious; that is, when complete emphasis is on the move its meaning may be discerned quickly and the audience become anxious for dia- logue to continue. However, the speed of understanding would depend upon the ingenuitycf the director. Perhaps the audience is equally able to discern the meaning of the move- ment, i.e., action, of the plot and can see where the plot is going; hence the scene should be written in a less obvious way or cut. The same principle can hold true of movement. The director need not be obvious; he may provide a movement sequence, as in dance or in wordless pantomime, that has the same build, suSpense, and climax as a written script. 2-Support through Realism. Another variety of support that movement can give to lines is psychological realism. ‘When Boyd reminds an actor not to back into a move, he is using the principle (without so saying) that in general people do not orient themselves to where they have been but to where they are going.83 When a character goes toward a point of interest he is oriented toward it until there is a new point of interest; then the character may turn toward the new point L 83Boyd, 9p, 91.3., p. 89. 208 of interest. Therefore, the convention of "not backing into a move" really calls into play the whole context of psycho- logical motivation of moves. Perhaps a more important psychological relationship between move and line is the natural order of human re- action. Dietrich maintains that the gesture normally coincides with the line; a mistimed gesture after the line is for comic effect.84 Possibly, however, even in drama a gesture, in the rhythm of the speech, after the line may support, and, in effect, supply the place of punctuation for, the line. The gesture in effect may tell the audience what the punctuation is and may also help to maintain the rhythm of the scene. The gesture may also have the advantage of not interfering, by either excess sight or sound, with the line itself. Specifically annoying is the pounded fist that obliterates the last, and usually the most important, phrase in the line. There is still another problem with the timing of gesture or reaction moves. Emphasis as discussed above is primarily of aesthetic or thematic interest. Timing that is concerned with psychologically motivated characters involves a different point of view and possibly a different timing. There seems to be an easily observed reaction pattern in human behavior; according to the teachings of Louise Gifford, pantomime consultant for Theatre Guild in New York, it seems 84Dietrich, _p_. cit., p. 150. 209 that in normal human behavior gesture precedes speech. Of course physical reaction may come during a Speech but the reaction is generally in advance of the part of the speech that expresses that reaction, i.e., a thought or emotion results in overt movement, a new body set, and finally in speech. The principle is that emotion and the accompanying physical symptoms precede spontaneous sound, such as ejaculation, which in turn precedes verbalization. Certain- ly the problems and possibilities of the idea of the sequence in a reaction pattern can be very important to both realistic and stylized movement and emphasis. 3-Support through Prop Handling. Movements that accompany the handling of prOps may partake of the same abstract formal qualities of any other movement and also resemble, or stand for, a similar movement as it may be found in a real life situation. The additional elements are the positive and negative uses of the prop itself. Negatively, a prOp adds another element to a composi- tion; it may steal, take, or at least divide the emphasis and be distracting; if lines and movements are both involved with the handling of a prOp then there is a three way, rather than a two way, split in focus. Positively, the prOp may be handled on simple supporting levels, such as to reinforce the director's notion of the meaning of the line, the character, or the situation. As an example, Dietrich refers to the use of the telephone in The Voice of the Turtle where the phone becomes 210 a symbol presumably for the party at the other end of the line; the phone is threatened, cajoled, caressed, and beaten to point up the attitude of the Speaker on the phone.85 Dietrich separates the above two basic meanings into denota- tive and connotative. In terms of this study, "denotative" comes closest to the simple correspondence that stage move- ment would have to real movement in a similar situation in real life. Connotative would be closest to the additional comments that a move makes about the line, either to support, to supplement, or to contradict. c) Movement to Counter Script Lines.--Up until here only two varieties of relationship have been used: methods of gaining emphasis for line or move, and ways of supporting the line with the move. In other words, the concern has been to clarify the line by underscoring it or by supplying it with moving buttresses that substantially say the same thing as the line. To alter a line meaning, to embroider it, to give it new qualities, to comment on it, or on the characters saying it, or even to deny the truth of the line entirely, is an editorial function of movement that can be of great impor- tance. In a sense such a movement usage can provide a whole new sub-script. A simple example would be a retreat move during a line that suggests positive attraction. The move- ment comments that the character does not mean what he is 85Ibid., p. 147. 211 saying. Such a move may carry the emotion that underlies the surface of words; it may carry the theme, mood, or metaphor of the play that underlies and connects the movement-to-movement meanings of the script; or it may provide a commentary on some absurdity of the surface meaning of the script or the insincerity of some character. Harold Clurman states that in a sense the playwrights text disappears the moment it reaches the stage; the text becomes a part of an action; the change of a gesture, in- flection, movement, rhythm, or physical background of the speech may give it new significance.86 A movement that contradicts, or at least contrasts with, the line holds in its juxtaposition the power to create a depth, a dimension, and a comment that the line itself could not achieve. The principles of the meaning of the moves, as proposed by the chosen authors, have already been discussed. It is up to the director, in his initial analysis, to discover counterpoints in the script, or to invent them if need be, in order to bring depth of theme, emotion, or attitude to the surface Speech; the director may do this harmoniously by support or contrastingly by purposeful mismatching. F. Matching Timing to the Movement: Discerning and. Plotting Tempi and Rhythms ApprOpriate to the Script and the Movement Plan 86Cble, op, gi§,, p. 276. 212 The one dimension left for the director to consider in the meaning of his movement is the rhythmic use of time. Rhythm and tempo have a powerful and relatively undeveloped potential for stage movement meaning. Because of rhythm's kinship to nature its potential for metaphoric and direct empathic meaning is great. Because of its integral re- lationship to music, rhythm's potential for direct symbolic and associational meaning is also great. But rhythm's in- clusion in the movement of a script seems to be both easy to discuss and difficult to accomplish, possibly, in part, because many directors do not plan for rhythm early enough in their blocking scheme. Rhythm needs to be plotted into the selection of French scenes, gross blocking, and fine movement in order to implement most successfully the rhythmic principles decided upon in early thematic analysis. Of course, in part, the difficulty of including rhythm to its greatest potential is the script itself. Most contemporary scripts simply do not have, nor are they expected to have, the built-in and clearly recognizable rhythms of either nature or music. In any case, it seems that many directors choose to wait to bring rhythm into their movement until they have specific blocking, fine movement, and script lines as material to organize into rhythmic patterns. This study does not Oppose that procedure so long as the director has blocked his rhythmic scheme into the play at an earlier time, merely saved the last phases of rehearsal to concentrate on timing factors. 213 1. Tempo and Rhythm Defined Dean says that rhythm consists of a sequence of impressions, ordered into a recurrence of accented groups,87 and that tempo, in essence, is the Speed of the established 88 Dietrich substantially agrees with him.89 For rhythm. this reason rhythm will be discussed first and then tempo will be added to rhythm. 2. Puppose and Function of Rhythm The function of rhythm is thought of variously as any- thing from a training in grace for actors to a basic means of empathic communication. Ernst Ferand believes in training actors so their bodies and speech can move in any rhythm or tempo that music or line of design in a play may require.90 However, his concern is not with what the rhythm may communicate so much as it is with the grace, efficiency, and versatility rhythm may supply the actor. Canfield notes briefly that rhythm adds empathy because it helps the audience to "get with" the play.91 Selden expands this notion to suggest that rhythm is one of the basic stimulants for an audience. However, for 87Dean, pp, gi§,, p. 284. 88ipig,, p. 288. 89Dietrich, pp, pip,, p. 103. 90Gassner, pp, gi§,, p. 168. 91Canfield, pp, pip,, p. 286. rn 214 now the study still concerns what the director believes he is expressing, not what the audience is actually receiving, though with rhythm the distinction is difficult to maintain since the authors studied discuss the qualities of rhythm chiefly in terms of empathic audience response. As to their function in a play, pulsations and rhythm express, according to Selden, health and a feeling of well- being.92 Rhythms express general feelings which become specific in the context or pattern of the play.93 Selden also feels that modern man has repressed his natural movement reactions to emotion, but that music, with its rhythm, has to a large extent taken over as the media of emotional ex- pression.94 In general, then, the functions of rhythm seem to be to convey emotions and moods, that rely in part on the play context and in part on prior association for their meaning, and to induce direct empathic reinstatement of rhythms into the audience while the rhythms are being expressed on stage. Such reinstatement would supposedly carry with it whatever emotions or attitudes the rhythm has. It may function to support the script, by underlining the meanings and rhythms of the script, or it may provide comment, or counter mean- ings. 92Selden, _p. 21.3., p. 20. 93Ibid., p. 29. 941b1d.) pp. 35: 38. (I) rn 215 3, Sources for Rhythm Meanipgs Selden makes the broad statement that the world is made up of rhythms.95 Rhythms for adaptation to stage purposes can be found anywhere. The body, perhaps,is the chief source, as most authors agree. For example, Dean draws attention to the heart beat and breathing rhythms as basic sources.96 Dean also believes that each character and each scene, as well as the play as a whole, have their own rhythms.97 The problem of the director is evidently to discover these contributing rhythms and to coordinate them into an over~ all rhythm of the play. Usable script rhythms seem to emerge from two sources: from the rhythm of the words and from the way the script stimulates the director's imagination. The former derives from the length of the lines in dialogue, length of words, relationship of the phrases, and a larger rhythm of the temporal relationship of French scene to French scene. It would seem, though, that the script only provides a springboard to the director's imagination. How he conceives of the phrasing, the pauses, the accents, or the emotional background of the character may indeed derive from the script and be consistent with the script but it can hardly be said to inhere in the script; otherwise each 95Ibid., p. 46. 96Dean, _p. 2i}, p. 284. 97Ibid., p. 285. 216 director would tend to evolve the same rhythms for the same scene as inevitably as each uses the same words. Such is simply not the case. The director's imagination, then, Seems to be the most important factor in the finding of rhythms. Selden suggests a process of discovering script rhythms in his discussion of buried rhythms. He feels that there are rhythms to be discovered in passages that are not obviously rhythmical.98 He adds that buried rhythms add values of perSpective and expectancy through repetition, values that neither life nor the script makes obvious often enough to be noticed.99 Phrasing, which has been discussed under motivational units and French scenes, is also a source of rhythm discussed by Selden; however, he mainly stresses rhythm's function in compositional emphasis, and in aiding comprehension.lOO Suffice it to summarize and to anticipate here that the meaning of rhythms probably arise in the same way as the meaning of movement, i.e., by association with natural rhythms, with cultural rhythms, and with the Specific lan- guage of rhythm which is music; in other words, there are rhythms that denote, by direct imitation, the bodily functions of heart beat, breathing, walking and running; that connote 98Selden, pp, cit., p. 62. 99Ibid., p. 184. lOOIbid., pp. 56,184,185. 217 nature's functions in the four seasons, day and night, and animal movement; that connote cultural functions, such as rhythms in machinery or in ceremony; or rhythms that derive from the direct language of rhythm, music. Music can establish meaning to rhythm by all of the above associational means, but obviously music has gone far beyond the nature from which the rhythms were abstracted. Now the rhythm of the music itself can express directly a country, a mood, a dance, a level in society, or any number of special locales. By use of the rhythm found in a selected piece of music the director can, by association with the music, help to establish the same mood as the music would have established. Ultimately, then, rhythms may derive from the actual rhythms of the script or from rhythms in nature, in culture, or in music. The rhythms may be consistent with the script but are not really inherent. Most rhythms may be suggested to the imaginative director by the script but they usually must be derived from other sources. 3p Tempo Added to Rrgpthm Tempo is the time measure of rhythm; it is defined by Dietrich primarily as the impression of rate of Speed of the rhythm rather than the actual Speed.lOl AS such, a changing tempo may give an audience an impression of a growing calm or of a growing excitement, may actually communicate that —_l 101Dietrich, pp, cit., p. 176. J D in DE 218 excitement by empathic means, but primarily its meaning is, like compositional emphasis, contributory. As the rhythm has meaning so the tempo will stress that rhythm and its meaning. The rhythm carries more meaning than the tempo. However, the rhythm needs a Specific context for a Specific meaning so it in turn is contributory, by giving Special qualities to specific movements or Speech. In turn, the movement that is made rhythmically may carry a more Specific meaning than the rhythm alone, but the movement needs the verbal context to make of the situation a unique individual occurrence with a meaning that is all its own. Certain uses of tempo seem best attended to early in rehearsal and others seem appropriate for inclusion in the final phases. Dietrich points out that one normal element in tempo is the fast cue.102 Its primary purpose is to maintain concentrated attention. Such a tempo manifestation need not be part of advanced preparation by the director. However, Dietrich's observation that tempo is more the impression of speed than actual speed gives rise to con- jecture on the part of this study that some of the elements of tempo seem best attended to early in plotting and blocking. Such time factors as a sequence of sharp contrasts, or an increase of accented beats, or a series of staccato movements must be part of the basic composition to be most integral and effective. ___ 102Ibid., p. 174. 219 In plotting rhythm and tempo to match the scene, Dean's general suggestion is that the rhythm of a scene Should remain constant but that the tempo should vary.103 The presumption evidently is that once the rhythm has helped to get the audience with the play, the rhythm should be main- tained to keep them there; then by increasing the tempo the excitement is heightened to a crescendo to maintain and increase that interest. The inference is that the rhythm is a basic quality of the scene as much as atmosphere, locale, or mood; hence the time changes Should be in quantity rather than in quality. However, if the rhythm is derived from character rather than from locale, or from mood, or metaphor, possibly the scene may have to alter in rhythm as well as in tempo. The application of rhythm and tempo to a scene becomes largely, it seems, a problem of continuity vs. change. Some principle of rhythmic continuity ought to be maintained for the audience to realize it is watching the same scene; some principle of change seems to be needed to insure equal or heightening attention and excitement. Perhaps a compromise suggestion would be to establish a basic beat for a rhythm and then to introduce new elements to the beat as new elements are added to the scene; more beats, contrapuntal beats, beats that half the time, or syncopate the beat, depending upon the new mood or entering g 103Dean, pp, cit., p. 287. 220 character. Thus the director would maintain his continuity but would have two principles of variance to increase interest. 5, Production Elements That Communicate Tempo and Rhythm One of the biggest problems of the director is in specifics. What exactly will carry the rhythm? Of course the general answer is simple: all of the visual and auditory elements on the stage taken together. But how? Little ad- vice is given at this point by any of the direction and production texts. Movement's form, mass, line and pattern; dialogue's punctuation and pause; business' pantomime and prop handling; scenic elements of furniture, exits, and setting; the sound effects and musical background's direct beat, such as the drum beat in Emperor Jones, all have to COOperate to carry the rhythm. Obviously rhythm is not something superimposed at the last minute; it must be a part of the basic analysis and built into the blocking even though it may not be consciously stressed until run-through rehearsals. G. Summary Conclusion: Challenge to Make Pantomime Serve a More Useful Communication Purpose It seems then, in matching fine movement to gross, there are many general possibilities for the meaning of pantomime apart from its handling of properties or its relationship to lines; pantomime may express formally through its use of line, mass, shape, tempo and rhythm; it may express 221 psychologically and realistically by verisimilitude, by the actor's doing what he would do if he were in the character's situation; it can express with heightened realism by en- larging the real symptoms of behavior to a recognizable size; it may express emotion or idea symbolically by the use of accepted conventional stereotypes of emotion; it may ex- press metaphorically by using shapes and characteristics of moves of other animate life or of moving objects in culture or nature; it may express generally pleasant and unpleasant emotions by the simulation of muscle tensions and contracted or expanded states; and, possibly, it may express natural Specific attitudes toward, or feelings about, various objects of interest Should it be possible to discover principles of posture and movement that normally accompany these attitudes and feelings in life situations. This last problem will be an important subject of discussion for the chapter on the contribution of dance to the meaning of movement. George Buswayer expresses the need strongly when he writes that the dance's challenge to acting today is to break through the wall that separates passion and gesture, emotion and motion, in order to create gesture from within.104 His challenge is to make the inner feeling dynamically and truthfully manifest. So movement and its qualities provide expression of a wide range of meanings, according to our texts, that in— clude the most general up to the most specific possible L 1014Gassner, pp, cit., p. 478. 222 until the direct designation by verbal symbols pins the meaning to a particular. CHAPTER V AUDIENCE RECEPTION OF MOVEMENT EXPRESSION A. Introduction: Problems and Area of Interest To complete the full process of the meaning of movement it is necessary to take at least a brief look at the audience as the recipient of the meaning, according to the authors of directing texts studied. A director, to be successful, must consider not only the meaning he feels he is expressing but the meaning that the audience is actually receiving. To do this he should know something of the processes of reception; he needs to know what are the limitations as well as the possibilities. The nature of the senses and the learning processes, the differences between a single viewer and a mass audience, the aesthetic and psychical relationships that exist between audiences and productions, the audience predispositions, and the audience's conventional expecta- tions Should all be a part of his knowledge. However, be- cause this facet of the meaning of movement is really more the subject of audience psychology and of communication theory than of expressed meaning, it will only be touched on briefly; yet this facet is vital as the end product of the communication process, and must be included. Un- fortunately, results of Specific testing in this area are 223 Si 9) 224 still somewhat inconclusive and fragmentary, with Opposite views being held by authorities in certain fields. There is still great room for the testing of just what is received by an audience when something is expressed in movement by an artist. There are related fields interconnecting with ”meaning" of movement for an audience that are difficult to separate from the central subject under investigation; such subjects as the values of a play, the teaching potential, the degree of effect it has upon behavior, or simply the stirring-up of emotion by direct empathy are all peripheral investi- gations; however, to some extent they are considered here as they may influence the actual reception of meaning by an audience. B. Communication as the End Product of Dramatic Expression Much has already been mentioned about how an audience is supposed to receive impressions and how it is expected to react. Now this study is concerned with theatre that exists as a communication media with the end product that consists in values to the audience. Theatre whose purpose is primarily therapy or education for the performers is an inept vehicle for communication. The playwright, director, designer, producer, and actors are paid in professional theatre because they combine to bring value to the audience. If they cease to produce value for an audience, they cease 225 to perform. Training or therapy put aside communication seems to be the only warranted purpose for expression. It seems further that art is a designed product, and, in the case of theatre, is expression designed to communi- cate itself to a mass audience. Theatre art is successful to the extent that each designed expression in fact is communicated to an audience. This study maintains that mass communication that is supposed to mean anything to anybody, that is, nothing Specific to the entire audience, is really a failure to design or is an artist's personal catharsis. Such a production appears to be the result of abdication of the artist from his function of communicator; since so much is known about designing his movement and production he ought to be able to stimulate the effect he desires. Expression that is supposed to be the result of how the individual expressor feels, regardless of who receives his feeling, seems at the other extreme from art. The esoteric production is private, selfish, and unsuited to the mass media. With a time-Space art, the esoteric production seems completely futile. Unlike the painting, the play cannot remain in museums until it is appreciated by some future audience; esoteric communication in theatre is really no communication at all, not even potential. 226 C. How Individuals and Mass Audiences Perceive Perhaps two audience divisions would be helpful in audience reception study: First, the psychological, or perceptive, nature of the individual, and second, the Special nature of peOple who congregate in a theatre to watch a production. 1. How Movement is Perceived and Interpreted Generally The authors, represented by Dean, have already pro- claimed that peOple are more impressed by sight than heari'ngg,, and more impressed by moving than stationary objects or people.1 These statements lay the groundwork for the relative strength of impressions received by audiences from words, still picture, and movement. In essence the director knows he has an instrument in movement that can easily over- balance oreyen obliterate the impression gained by almost any other means of expression, if Dean is correct. Dean bases this power on the audience's mental and bodily con- formity to the impressions received from the stage.2 In other terms, Selden proclaims that man is a pulsating, singing, dancing, emotional being.3 Dance, music, and rhythm are inherently stimulating because of man's, what might be called above, cultural nature and from his inherently rhythmic nature.4 1 2 Dean, _p, cit., p. 297. Ibid., p. 284. 3Selden,pp. cit., pp. 18,34,41. 4Ibid., p. 48. 227 Of course, there is a step missing in Selden's reasoning. It is one thing to say man is inherently a rhythmic animal; another to say he enjoys theatre because it is rhythmic. Does theater's expression of rhythm, or other elements, communicate itself to an audience, and if so is it positive (pleasurable), and if so, how, and to what extent? The differentiation is important because of the nature of Sel- den's evidence. He draws upon history, anthrOpology, and observation to Show, quite completely for most purposes, that man everywhere, sings, dances, and feels. But this is in man's function as performer, or participant; man is exercising his own body and emotions. Does he enjoy the witnessing of someone else doing the same? The prima facie, evidence is that he does. Spectators are available in droves to testify to the fact; however, what attracts them to one expression and turns them away from another still needs investigation. In general, Selden suggests several "hows" and "whats." He states that a musical expression of emotion stirs the same emotion in the listeners; in fact, that the same emotion which impelled a vocalist to sing is felt by his audience.5 His statement has doubtful validity. That some emotion is carried over seems plain; that the Singer, or actor, or other artist, must feel anything at the time of performance, or that what he feels is what he conveys, is k 5Ibid., p. 38. 228 very doubtful. It is even more doubtful that an audience can, does, or cares to, distinguish between an accurate portrayal of the symbols and symptoms of emotion and the real emotion. In fact, the real emotion, as has already been pointed out by both Selden and Dietrich, is usually too unSpecified and symptomatically small to even reach the audience clearly. a) The Nature of Empathy as a Communication Mechanism.-- The point here is to investigate the process of direct communication of emotions to see what is received from what expression. This process Selden and others refer to as empathy, or the empathic motor reSponse, and is general- ized by Selden into a concept of "feeling into" the performance.6 This "feeling into" objects, either moving or stationary, seems to involve a combination of perception and participation.7 This empathic response produces both incipient and overt muscular tensions and relaxations in the observer in some direct relationship to the object observed; greater (more overt) participation occurs with 8 moving characters than with still objects. In order to "feel into" an object there seem to be two requirements: first, that the object is presented to our senses; i.e., as Dietrich points out, the audience is only affected by what it can actually perceive;9 and second, as Selden and Dolman point out, the objects must somehow be a part of the ___ 6 8 Ibid., p. 298. 7Ibid., p. 289. Ibid., p. 290. 9Dietrich, pp. cit., p. 8. 229 previous experience of the perceiver.lO It is noted that there does not seem to be any necessity for the exact Object to be a part of the perceiver's experience. The formal qualities of the Object, drawn from a metaphor, or merely the Similarities of the object to one in the audience's experience, are sufficient to allow for participation in that object. Dolman adds that the motor reSponses to movement occur in empathy whether or not the perceiver has experience of the object, but that his responses have no meaning with- out prior experience either of the object or of the particular motor reSponses.ll b) How Empathy May Communicate.--On the surface, at least, both Selden's and Dolman's views seem to depend to some extent upon what Dolman describes as the James-Lange 12 In brief, it is that a motor theory of emotions. reSponse in a perceiver sets up an emotion in the perceiver rather than an emotion setting up a motor reSponse. Gassner proclaims that the James-Lange theory is outmoded, in connection with certain remarks about it and modern acting.l3 In any event, it seems that perceiving tension-relaxation relationships, either implied or actual, will set up similar loSelden, pp, cit., p. 298; Dolman, pp, cit., p. 11. llDolman, ibid. 12Ibid., p. 103. l3Gassner, pp, cit., p. 140. 230 patterns in an individual. It is not for this study to decide whether a felt emotion precedes and causes the motor reSponse, or whether a motor response precedes and causes a felt emotion; it is quite conceivable that the process is to some extent reversible. If it is, then the results for theatre are quite important. Accurate choice of rhythms, compositions, and movements could then produce a tension-relaxation pattern in a spectator that could make him feel quite closely what the director desired. If the process only works the one way, that observable connotations alone, a mental process, result in physical audience symptoms, then there can be less uniformity in reaction. The individual backgrounds of the audience come more into play; however, this needn't impede the process if the director succeeds in expressing a symptom or symbol that is generally known to his entire audience. At any rate, it seems that motor reSponses are set up in people from observing Objects that imply or express tensions and relaxations. Such empathy is the psychological tool for the communication of movement expression. c) How Specific Empathic Communication May Be.--The Specificity of communication seems to depend on the specificity of symptoms and symbols. If there are Specific symptoms, body tensions, and observable characteristics for emotions and attitudes then empathic response should be able to receive them specifically. 231 Some comment has already been made in an earlier section concerning Dietrich's view about the difficulty of expressing different emotions in a natural way. Gassner supports the view in saying that the same bodily responses are named differently by audiences depending upon the 14 Situation in which they occur. In other words, general emotional symptoms and physical gesture (in Smith's sense) are interpreted differently depending upon the context in which they occur. Gassner, more than Dietrich, tends to draw the conclusion from this that there are no Specific body movement symptoms with which to identify Specific emotions. His purpose is to suggest the elimination of conventional attitudinizing in acting.15 What Gassner fails to point out is that there may be a middle ground. Recognition of symptoms in a context may not be a fair test. He doesn't give any details concerning the kinds of emotions named. Dietrich's designation of pleasant and unpleasant emotion, for instance, is more Specific than mere generalized emotion. Different audience interpretations may have grouped themselves under these headings without all naming the same word. Further, there is a power in words not primarily the concern of this paper. Should accurate symptoms of anger, for instance, appear while the situation seems appropriate to fear, and the words 1”Ibid., p. 140. 15Ibid. “ 232 designate the feeling as fear, the audience is apt to interpret the emotion as fear. The problem needs more investigation than has been made by the author's chosen. Nor do still pictures of facial expressions as tested by John Tolchl6 suffice for empathy. Without complete body response, in motion, under controlled circumstances, there is no fair appraisal possible. An interesting observation concerning Gassner's view is that he runs into difficulty in applying his theory to his method. If the actor is supposed to draw upon his own experience in order for the details of emotion to ring true, how can the actor achieve this Specific goal if specific qualities of emotion are not communicable? After all, the consensus seems to be that the inner is of no importance if it does not take on an outer form. The above discussion serves to compile the directing authors' views on how movement is perceived and interpreted generally. It certainly should point up some of the ways the psychologist may help the director to get more detailed answers . l6Charles John Tolch, "Studies in The Measurement and Analysis of Achievement with Some Visual Symbols of Speech," §peech Monographs Vol. XXVII (June 1960), No. 2. Ohio State University. 233 2. How Movement is Perceived and Interpreted by The Theatre Audience What happens to individuals, to their empathy, to their perceptions, and to their emotions when they voluntarily become a part of an audience is a special problem. Certain predispositions and expectancies begin to influence how and what they receive. a) Predisppsition to Unanimous Reaction.-—HOpkins says that the theatre is seeking, and the audience is receptive to, a unanimous reaction;17 to get this the play and the ~ director must appeal to the unconscious; the emotional re- action must be secured first. Eventually thought may arise out of emotion; Selden agrees.18 An intellectual discussion, HOpkins claims, will only divide an audience up into individuals without convincing them of the validity of any presented argument. Selden adds that an audience comes to a theatre set for an active reSponse, ready for empathic feeling, ready to enjoy vicariously more than it ever can in its own several lives.19 The audience wants to participate, not merely to perceive. In another place Selden says that the audience comes with the desire to quicken its sense Of living; it has to live vicariously because its ambition exceeds its 20 energy. Max Reinhardt suggests that in some sense an 17HOpkins, _p, cit., p. 8. 18Selden, _p. cit., p. 320. 19Ibid., p. 289 20Ibid., p. 135. 234 audience comes to the theatre to be "made one" with the play or with some character, to become part of the whole, in a sense to act as part Of a chorus.21 b) Predisposition to Aesthetic or Psychical Distance.-- There is a question, however, about the degree of identifi- cation the audience may desire. The audience may also come to the theatre to be "distanced participants" and involved aesthetically but not practically. Dolman, in his discussion of aesthetic distance, suggests that an audience may come with the purpose of being a spectator at a fictional event.22 From his writings, and other works on the subject, it seems that an audience is pre- diSposed to be entertained, to enjoy as a group, but to agree that what is happening on stage is unreal. Aesthetic or psychical distance seems to be imposed upon a production by common audience consent when it enters a theatre. The implications of this predisposition are far reaching. With such a prediSposition, the audience can be swayed emotion- ally, empathically, or vicariously, in a sort of cathartic or exercise fashion, but the possibilities of the audience's being influenced, of their relating the emotions or content to the audience's practical lives, become slight. The point here is that audience predisposition is apt to determine what it is they hear, see, feel, and think. If 21MacGowan, pp, pip,, p. 163. 22Dolman, pp, pip,, p. 15. 235 the audience comes to enjoy vicariously, given any support from the stage it will do so. If it does not come to be taught it might be difficult, or even impossible, to teach it. The closer a play may approach affecting the personal lives of the audience, the more the audience may adjust to maintain the predisposed psychical or aesthetic distance. c) Predisposition to Accept Conventions.--It seems that another predisposition of the audience is to enter into the conventions of the theatre and of the particular play presented. This in practice may be the audience pre- disposition to hunt for, and to find, symbols, metaphors, and psychological motivation, as well as to "read the language“ of the compositions in color, form, rhythm, and other abstract meanings. If the director is at all clear or consistent, the audience usually matches his efforts with its predisposition. Just how much it is able to decipher metaphor and symbol will of course depend upon how well the director has chosen from the common cultural and natural background. AS Colby Lewis reports of Jessner, his symbols ultimately require the intuition of the audience.23 The dangers of metaphors and symbols are of course; first, that they may be so obvious that they insult the intelligence of the audience, as apparently Jessner's critics felt his did, or, second, that they are so remote from the audience's experience that the audience reads into the symbol _* 23Lewis, _p, cit., p. 205. 236 a wide variety of meanings, depending on its individual back- grounds, and perhaps misses the director's intent. A third danger of symbol in context is that of needless repetition. The symbol may be redundant by only repeating what the context already makes clear. The subtle balance has to be judged by the experience of each director, to make a movement metaphor add a unique quality to a scene without its being obvious, esoteric, or redundant. The audience reception of the meaning of movement, then, seems to derive from these three sources: a basic empathic response to the Simulation of psychological behavior, an apprehension of a metaphorical relationship between the movement and something else in the audience's experience, and an apprehension of certain accepted conventions and symbols whose meanings derive from the audience's culture in general and from the theatre in particular. D. Conclusion: A Challenge to Take Advantage of Audience PrediSpositionS and to Expand the Meanings of Movement If a director seeks to change audience behavior through theatre movement he may encounter strong opposing pre- dispositions; however, if he wishes to please his audience then the predispositions all seem to be in his favor. Further, the audience's large capacity and strong desire for enjoyment, feeling, and understanding seem capable of further expansion. It remains for the director to use the resources at his diSposal and to uncover additional sources to enrich 237 his movement meaning so he may try to satisfy the audience's expectations and capacities. The next step this study will take to expand the director's repetoire of movement meanings will move beyond the directing authorities and into related media. Aided by psychology, the disciplines of pantomime, dance, and motion picture can all enhance the director's mimetic principles, theatrical conventions, and cultural metaphors. And as long as he takes advantage of, rather than opposing, his audience's predispositions he can eXpect assistance from it in many ways to make his task easier. PART II NORMS OF MOVEMENT MEANING EXPANDED BY COMPARISON WITH RELATED SOURCES CHAPTER VI SCREEN PRINCIPLES AND TECHNIQUES ADAPTED TO STAGE MOVEMENT AND PICTURE A. Introduction: Relating Theatre Movement to Screen Arts. In relating stage movement to screen movement, it is useful to group both motion picture film and television under the single category "screen", eSpecially when what is being discussed is in common to both. When referring to what is unique in each media the terms "film" and'live television" will be used. Since television can use almost anything that can be placed on film, and live television can avail itself of camera movement, subject movement, and the apparent movement of editing, the one designation that seems most appropriate for the purposes of this chapter is screen, with a sub-category of live television only necessary in order to consider Special relationships between the audience and the live performance. It is true that the size and reactions of audiences may differ between the film and television media, but presumably the screen products differ only to the extent that television can use improvement in clarity and size of picture. 1. Interdependency of Stage and Screen The screen certainly follows the stage production in historical time, and presumably to some extent uses 239 240 techniques derived from the stage. Theorists have two general tendencies in relating theatre to the screen. One is to point out the late comer's dependency on its predecessor while the second is to defend the later medium on the grounds of its unique characteristics. Undoubtedly film and television owe a great deal in both content and technique to theatre. And certainly all the arts are based on certain common abstract compositional principles, but the special techniques of the stage seem particularly adaptable to the screen. On the other hand, screen production methods, ways in which the audience views the screen, and the versatility of the camera have resulted in unique characteristics of the screen portrayal that are not derived from the stage, and perhaps are peculiarly adaptable to the stage. gpp Purpose of AdaptingpScreen Movement to the Stpge The purpose of this study is to take some principal concepts and specific techniques that make the screen unique and to apply them to the stage, thereby reversing the usual process. Why should this application be made? First, it seems fairly obvious that the screen image, in some form, is reaching a tremendous number of peOple; its popularity is ever increasing. Second, after nearly half a century of motion picture images and over a decade of television images, the screen has developed its own aesthetic and technique to the point of a mature art. Its 241 popularity and its maturity suggest that perhaps the stage can now profitably borrow some of the hard learned lessons of the screen, even as the screen originally borrowed from the stage. Of course whether or not the borrowing of techniques is good will depend upon whether or not they prove useful and fruitful. 3, Kinds of Screen Movement That May Be Adapted In broad categories, movement on the screen seems to be of two kinds: Real and apparent. Real movement is that of the subject or the camera. Apparent movement is that of either editing or animation. These last two are called apparent because the movement is only suggested; in editing, the change of content from one frame to another may suggest that the subject is moving or at least is changing, or accumulating, meanings; while in animation, a sequence of drawn, still pictures, in sequential poses, photographed in sequence, gives the impression of movement. Together these categories seem to account for all the real and apparent screen movement. Generally the stage only avails itself of one of the screen's possibilities for movement: the movement of the subject when that subject is a live actor. The screen can also portray the movement of inanimate objects with equal facility, with either real or apparent motion. To be sure, the stage cannot literally adopt most of the screen principles without becoming the screen art itself; however, 242 there are several ways in which the imaginative stage director can adapt screen movement to his purposes. He can accomplish much on the stage that camera, subject, and editing movement can on the screen. 4. Methods of Adapting Screen Movement to The Stage The stage director may adapt screen movement to the stage either directly or indirectly. The first method is to use the Specific screen technique directly on the stage; the second is to use the concept, or principle, of the move- ment, or to borrow what the screen movement has accomplished, and to incorporate that into the stage movement. The latter course uses either analogy, the substitution of analogous parts, or abstraction, the borrowing of a principle while clothing that principle in a different concrete application. Both specific techniques and movement concepts of the screen may be divided into two categories: those that are held in common with other arts and those that are unique to the screen. It is with the latter category that this chapter is chiefly concerned. In this chapter attention is called to the special role of the camera and to what it can produce by way of shots and montages, but also to what it can produce by way of audience identification and point of view. Of concern will be the screen's place in the continua of immediacy and Spontaneity, and how these qualities may be adapted to the stage. Also of special interest will be the special filmic 243 relationships between sight and sound as they apply to stage movement. In his method, the stage director may take from any screen element its purpose, its form, its movement principle, its visual impression, or some aspect of its internal relationship. He may use so many of these ele- ments that a screen technique is transferred almost intact to the stage or he may use the screen form with an entirely new purpose, or the same or similar screen purpose embodied in a different stage form. As each concept or technique is discussed, a method of abstraction will be employed to help adapt it to the stage. Then a specific way in which the screen idea can work for the stage will be suggested. It is not intended that such a method will be exhaustive but merely suggestive of the ways in which one moving medium may stimulate ideas for movement meaning in another moving medium. However, the specific application of principles, in the form of examples, will be a vital part of the process. B. Screen Techniques Adapted to the stage: Individual Shots and Sequences of Shots The motion picture is composed of individual shots that are edited together into sequences. According to this study, a Shot is any strip of film that is exposed consecutively, without a splice in it, or any television image that is viewed by one camera consecutively without a break. A group 244 of such shots, spliced together, or electronically joined together, constitutes a sequence. Sequences are formed in order to produce some cumulative effect that cannot be obtained by any one shot alone. And since such a cumula- tive effect is largely in the domain of the montage this study will refer to any such sequence as a montage, even though some editors restrict the use of montage to certain types of sequences. The individual shots in a montage may partake of two kinds of movement, camera and subject, while the apparent movement of editing is restricted to the montage. The apparent movement of animation is really the art of still photography made to look like movement and is really not concerned with the shot or the montage as described above. The possibilities for movement meaning within in- dividual shots and because of the way individual Shots are Spliced together are of primary interest to this study. l, Individual Shots Adapted tothe Stagp a) Shots Defined, Varieties and Labels.--Individual shots have Special pecularities in the film apart from their inclusion in a montage. Many of these peculiarities can suggest movement possibilities to the stage director. Among the more common types of shots are those in which the camera is in motion; Shots which get their names from their dominant movement characteristic. They are the pan, the tilt, the dolly in, the dolly out, the elevator, and 245 the zoom. Other Shots are those in which the actor is in motion, where he may move toward, away from, or across the camera. Other shots are identified by the composition of the material in the shot such as a two Shot, a shot of two actors. Some shots deal with the amount of material shown in the frame because of camera distance to the subject. These are the long shot, medium shot, close up, and various variations of these. Of course, any particular shot may involve elements from each classification, such as a panned long shot of two walking characters that dollys in to a close-up. Other shots are identified by the speed or point of View of the camera. More frames exposed per second with a normal projection Speed results in slow motion. Fewer frames exposed per second results in Speeded up action on the screen. Shot from a low angle or point of view, an Object seems to loom in height because of foreshortening in perspective. Shot from above, an object seems to lose strength or significance. Of course there are numerous other variations possible for the Single shot, including, for example, the effects of different lenses; however, the stage parallels to be drawn are of greater importance to this study than an in- clusive list of shots. b) Function of the Shots.--Perhaps the greatest aesthetic importance of the screen is its ability to control the audience's attention and its manipulation of time and 246 Space. Each Shot mentioned involves some way in which the director composes in a frame exactly what he wishes his audience to see, in the order in which he wishes it seen, and in the space relationships he chooses. This ability to manipulate time and Space is of course augmented by the montage, but even the single Shot has much potential. If a stage director could in any way approximate this mani- pulation of time and Space so that he could more closely determine what an audience will look at and what he will feel about what he sees at any particular moment, his control of his art medium and his audience would certainly be increased. How then can these Shots suggest stage move- ment to the director who is interested in similar control of time, space and audience? A few samples are in order. c) Sample of Shots Adapted to Stage Use.--This study will use three basic examples of the adaptation of screen shots to the stage. The pan, involving the moving camera; the long, medium, and close-up shots, involving distance from the camera; and the slow and fast motion shots, in- volving the speed of the camera. l-Moving Camera: The Pan Shot. The pan, or panorama, shot usually consists of a slow sweeping view that moves in the plane of the horizontal. Of course the Speed can be increased all the way to a swish, or blur pan that renders all but the beginning and end of the shot unrecognizable. One of the purposes of the slow pan is to reveal a wide subject 247 gradually, much as a man might sweep the horizon with his eyes. Another purpose is to provide a connection and transition between two objects that are at either end of the shot. The point is that the screen audience is com- pelled to see the horizontally arranged objects in the pan in the order the director presents them, culminating with a subject in focus at the end of the pan. Applied to the stage, the pan may help to compel a serial order of audience perception. In the theatre the audience may look around the stage in various patterns and sequences that may not develop the director's or play- wright's idea nearly so well as some one way of looking, such as in the gradual revelation of the pan. In adapting the pan, by analogy, the director's ingenuity in selecting and switching analogous parts often can result in ingenious new ways of looking at his subject matter and controlling his audiences. One set of analogous parts in the pan shot is as follows: let the camera take the position of the audience's eyes; let the arbitrary cutting off of material by the frame be the control of the director; let the object at the beginning of the pan be an actor in focus at stage right and an actor at the end of the pan be the object in focus on stage left. Between these two actors there is a group of peOple; the director wants to emphasize each person in the group briefly and in sequence. All the parts of the 248 analogy match with no difficulty except the enforced moving frame. Here is where the director's ingenuity and knowledge of stage composition help to complete the analogy. From previous discussions this study has arrived at certain opinions: on stage a moving object gets more attention than a still one, the direction in which actors look tends to be the direction in which an audience looks, the center of a composition tends to be in focus, and an isolated or different object tends to be in focus. These principles of composition substitute for the camera's ability to enforce a focus. The final problem for the director is to shift his focus gradually across the stage to conclude with a stationary focus on stage left. Of course the purposes of the script come before the pan, but without a knowledge of the screen technique a film director might not see the possibilities of interpreting a particular script purpose into a screen derived movement pattern, such as the pan. The important new element in these examples is that they combine the purpose of the pan, learned from the camera, with the principles of composition, learned from the still picture, into a moving composition that shifts the focus gradually as would a pan. The basic element in the moving focus is the moving object on which to center attention. An actor may move from right to left across the stage, or an object may be passed from actor to actor. The moving element may be more 249 Subtle; that is, the conversation may pass from right to left without any physical object passing. A moving object may pass across a relatively static grouping, thus emphasizing its movement and keeping greater focus. While the Object is moving the additional problem is to focus on each man it passes in turn. For example, if a photo is being passed, and each man makes a comment as the photo reaches him,both the moving Object and the new speaker will help to move the focus, and to emphasize in turn each new Speaker. If the eyes of the group travel with the paper and to the new speaker another element enforces focus. Should there be a subtle grouping change to make each new character the apex of a small composition, or else to put him in slight isolation, then further enforce- ment of focus takes place. The result is a wave of subtly changing compositions to carry the focus across the stage in simulation of a pan and fulfilling the purpose of a pan. Of course it is not expected that this particular example will occur very often on stage; however, the Opportunities to use the method of adaptation of the moving shot will depend only upon the director's ability to see moving parallels in his script. 2-Distance of Camera to Subject: The Long, Medium, and Close-up shots. The screen director has at his disposal a movable point of view. He can get at any distance from his 250 subject he desires, either by changing lenses or by moving his camera. The basic varieties of these shots, according to the distance of camera to subject, are called the long, the medium, and the close—up shots. One main advantage to the camera's ability to change distance is the increased amount of control the director has concerning how much context will appear around his subject. The long shot Shows the total context in which a subject appears, the medium shot a smaller context, and the close-up can eliminate the context and Show only the subject. The stage director can do thistp some extent by eliminating excess scenery, prOperties, or distractions, but he cannot eliminate the scenery or other actors as completely from the stage, as can the film director in the close—up, which allows for intense concentration on a detail. The stage director is usually confined to one continual long Shot with his total context always Showing. How may he accomplish the purpose of the close-up, that of concentration on one small area at a time? First it seems necessary to try to find out how the screen close-up functions in relation to the longer shots and to its stage counterparts. The screen director has discovered certain basic qualities of the various size shots at his diSposal. First, the less meaningful material there is in the shot, the shorter attention is held; conversely, the more meaningful material there is in a shot the longer attention is held, 251 although the attention is apt to be looser, more diverse, or scattered, and hence less controlled, than in the close-up. Of course, the movement of a camera into a close-up is not to be equated with the diminishing of meaningful material, although there would appear to be some positive relationship. The closer the camera, the more context is eliminated, but the more detailed and the more complex becomes the subject itself. However, supposedly the subject has gained at least part of its meaning from its relationship to the larger context from which it was extracted, and hence tends to have less meaningful material than a more distant shot, even though the close-up may give a very intense statement of its lesser meaning. For this reason, the screen director must learn not to hold his close-ups too long at the risk of irritating or boring his audience. The stage director, not having the advantage of making more detail apparent, because of the immobility of his live audience point of view, and not being able wholly to eliminate a context for his subject, must be even more careful about how long he attempts to maintain a close view. On the stage more than a few seconds concentration of a face, a hand held prop, or a hand gesture will probably cause the audience eye to wander through the total stage context uncontrolled by the director. Learning from the screen close-up, however, the stage director may gain longer concentration on a portion of a 252 composition by having that portion more complex than its context, more meaningful in the relationship of its details, and more moving and changing in those internal relationships. Such additional meaningful details and changing relationships should maintain audience attention on a small area for longer than seems possible on a more static and Simple subject. 3-Combination of the Pan with the Long,Medium,and Close-up shots. Here is one way in which screen shots may be combined to provide additional material for stage movement. The director may use three variants on the stage pan: the panned long shot, the panned medium shot, and the panned close-up. In the panned long shot, there is perhaps a group of smaller groups of peOple standing around the stage in animated dis- cussion, sipping cocktails; the chief character on stage right is served a cocktail by a waiter. He thanks the waiter, drawing some slight new attention to himself. The waiter weaves across the stage to the left, serving cock- tails as he goes. Each new character acknowledges the drink and has something to say, but fundamentally the entire stage is a moving composition with the audience eye casually sweeping the stage, carried by the movement of the waiter. One way of accomplishing a pan in a medium shot would be for the chief actor, rather than a mere waiter, to move, carrying the focus with him. Each place he goes a new small composition forms around him, reacts to him, and dissolves around him as he moves into a new small composition. 253 Relatively static characters, predominance of backs of actors, and slow motion movement, will de-emphasize the areas outside the focus while greater animation, more faces and voices and a downstage isolated composition will tend to keep the entire little moving composition in focus, unlike the long shot where the entire stage is relatively active. The passed document is a good example of how to achieve a close-up pan. Attention is directed to the hands and face of the person viewing the passing Object. The Object itself, for this purpose, would only be seen by the viewer, other actors would be relatively static, and the lower parts of actor's bodies would be relatively stationary so as not to distract from the head and hands. Those actors in the periphery could even be blocked with their backs to the audience. The role of the close-up and long shot and of the moving camera adapted to the stage is then only a matter of the ingenuity of the director and his ability to see script purposes served thereby. He can even add new dimensions to the same shots. There can be achieved a fast pan that resembles a wave of activity peaking across the stage, a blur pan that hurls the audience attention across the stage by a sudden movement of heads and bodies to set new lines of focus, or the combination of waves of movement with sudden concentration on a single moving object at the end of the pan. A pan might be used that employs other line 254 patterns of composition and, for example, zig zags across the stage ending up in the down center position, or snakes, lead- ing the eye around the stage in swivels, and ends in the remote but important up center position. The combinations for application are unlimited once the purpose of the camera movement is discovered, the pattern of the total scene in focus is determined, and the concept of manipulating the audience's attention in size, shape, and direction is seen. 4-Speed of Camera: Slow and Fast Motion Shot. The camera shot can be characterized by lengthening or shortening on screen the time actually taken by a subject to move; such shots would be slow or fast motion. One purpose of slow and fast motion that this study will use as an example is the purpose of making actual time fit closer to psychological time, i.e., closer to interest Span than to realistic time. If all the details of a movement are important, or the lengthening of a movement may create desired suSpense or languor, the camera extends this movement in time. In real life, efficient business and excited reactions tend to be too rapid and too small to be effective on stage; an adaptation of slow motion, that includes increase in size as well as in time, may increase stage effectiveness. For example, a man on stage is about to steal money from a safe. For suSpense, the safe opening is extended in time. Movements are larger, slower, and more firmly planted than in real life. Each movement is defined with a beginning, middle, and end. In other words, each move of the hand on the safe is phrased, 255 without overlapping into another movement, one move at a time. If the details are not important, if group rather than individual reaction is important, or a feeling of excitement is required then a Speeded up action may be used. Actual speeding of movement, judicious cutting of pauses (such as shock reactions and hesitations), simplification of movement, and overlapping of movement can all result in less time consumed and in the appearance of greater speed. One specific fast motion screen effect was achieved on stage in New Girl in Town. The effect desired was that of the silent film going through a more modern high Speed projector resulting in the familiar speeded-up-action sequence. The effect was created with a rotating mask over a high powered spotlight that alternately revealed and concealed the stage action in a flickering light. The blacking out of bits of action on stage actually approximated the effect of cutting out, or of substituting black for, every other frame in a motion picture film. The single spot beam also simulated the beam from a motion picture projector. Since the stage action was a rapid dance sequence the effect very closely resembled the desired filmic shortcom- ing and hence made direct use of a screen device. The further use of screen shots for stage purposes is limited only by the director's analogical imagination and script insight. 256 2. Sequences of Shots Adapted to the Stage a) Montage as it is Used on Screen.--The screen's manipulation of time and space concerns the montage even more than the single shot. The screen not only manipulates attention, time, and space by the Shots presented but also by order in which they are presented and the way in which they are joined. l-The Three Types Of Screen Montage. The order of Shot sequences fits into three categories defined by this study as three types of montage. They will be called here the continuous, the simultaneous, and the cumulative. There are many more designations possible but these three are selected as representative. The continuous montage is a sequence whereby each Shot matches with its predecessor and its successor to form the impression of a single continuous action. One of the chief exponents of this type is the succession from long shot to medium shot to close-up where each succeeding shot contains part of the content of the previous shot and each follows in time from the previous shot. Another common example is where the subject moves out of the frame at the end of one shot and moves into frame in the beginning of the next. The simultaneous montage is a sequence whereby different actions are occurring at the same time but pictured alternate- ly. A typical example Of this type is the chase wherein the shots of the chaser alternate with Shots of the chased. The 257 simultaneous montage need not, however, involve actions wherein both parties are aware of each other merely wherein it is obvious that both actions are happening at the same time. The third or cumulative type perhaps overlaps somewhat with the second and comes in many varieties. One variety is the dialectical: the first shot in a sequence states a thesis, the second an antithesis, and the third shot is either omitted, leaving the audience to draw a synthesis, or the third shot is included to synthesize the first two. The simultaneous montage overlaps the dialectical because in both types the audience draws a conclusion from the juxtaposed shots. A man running and looking back out with a man running and looking ahead, determine the conclusion, or synthesis, that the former is being chased by the latter. Another version of the cumulative montage and the most commonly called "montage" is one in which a whole series of pictures add up to a single concept, such as "war is hell." An explosiOn, an infantry charge, a cannon shot, a falling soldier, a dead man, a tank, a barbed wire entanglement, and so on, combined with apprOpriate sounds, have a cumula- tive effect. They not only show a total context, usually drawing attention to more universal characteristics of the individual situation of the film, they also Show a point of view toward both the context and the smaller situation. 258 2-Method of Joining Shots in a Montage. The ways in which the shots in a montage are connected also come in for some consideration. The cut, wipe, dissolve, and fade are the usual methods. In the out there is an immediate jump to the new picture; in the wipe an edge shape crosses the screen wiping out the old picture and wiping in the new. In the dissolve, one image becomes weaker and fades out while another fades in to replace it. In the fade out, usually the picture dissolves to black; in the fade in the black is replaced by another picture dissolving in. b) Purpose of Screen Montage Adapted to the Stage.-- Certain Special effects, purposes, and prOperties of the montages, and the methods of connecting the Shots in the montage, hold Special interest for this study. The larger principle involved is the ability of the film to juxtapose ideas in order to draw attention to special relationships they have to each other. Certain pictures of actions or of subject matter not only express certain ideas and feelings a- bout those ideas by their form and content, but they can be compared or contrasted in idea, form, and content immediately with other pictures through the immediate replacement of one picture with another on the screen. One example is chosen from each type of montage and each type of joining to see how it is possible to use these screen principles on the stage. 1- Shot Joinings Applied to the Stage: Fade, Dissolve, Wipe, Out. The joinings are simplest and hence taken first. The fade out and the act curtain or the black out are approximately 259 equivalent in meaning and effect. They all cut off the action either gradually or quickly and do not replace the action with another action until the first is completely eliminated. They all have the effect of suggesting a passage of time and of ending a large playing unit such as an act, a scene, or a series of sequences. In both stage and screen, once the fade out or curtain, has occurred the symbol for a change is complete. Actual time need not pass for the audience to accept the idea of passage. The one accomplishment the screen blackout has that surpasses the stage blackout, or curtain, usually is its ability to fade in again immediately with an entirely new location. The pace of stage movement can be immeasurably increased with the attempt to emulate the films easy and Speedy transition. At present the theatre already employs re- volving and wagon stages, or moving wings and drops, to change locations with speed. A budget solution to the same device is the multiple stage where one area blacks out and another is lit. Other solutions are the unit setting, back- drop projection, and the abstract setting. Each in its own way can change location with almost as much rapidity as the film fade out and can symbolize the same time and space change. The theatre, then, it seems already has sufficient equivalent for the fade out. The dissolve most commonly reflects a passage of time 260 that is somewhat less than that of the fade. The passage may also involve a change of location and a change of mood. In stage terms the dissolve would be appropriate for the connecting of two French scenes, a paragraph change. However, the dissolve has special uses that make it more interesting to adapt to the stage. Because of its nature, the dissolve passes through a phase wherein two pictures are temporarily superimposed. The superimposition allows for a comparison or a contrast between the contents or the Shapes or the movement of the two shots whether or not the director wants that comparison. If the comparison is used the transition is usually called a matched dissolve. The matched dissolve says, in effect, this Shape is like that shape. By analogy the audience draws an inference. If this shape is like that shape, then this subject is like that subject, this activity is like that activity, this man is like that man, or this motive is like that motive. In short, the superficial resemblance becomes symbolic Of a deeper resemblance. The problem becomes one of the director's ingenuity on stage to juxtapose superficial resemblances close enough to each other for the audience to get the suggestion that deeper relationships also exist. There are several ways this may be accomplished. The first approach to adapting the associational purposes of the dissolve to the stage is the literal, the attempt to juxtapose images on stage in both time and space. 261 For this method a scrimm curtain can be employed such that a person actually does fade out while another replaces him in front of the curtain at the same location. Unless carefully used, however, the scrimm attracts more attention to the trick than to the comparison. A dissolve in Space but not in time, that might be called a matched fade out- fade in, is possible with less distraction. A fade out occurs and during the darkness another character replaces the first. Such a dissolve replacement can have several kinds of meanings. If first the father is in his favorite chair, reading the neWSpaper, and then the son, the mother, a tramp, or the butler is in the chair there is the obvious suggestion that a new person has replaced the father in his role of authority and prestige--either comically or seriously. If the new figure is engaged in the same typical activity as the old figure, the suggestion is that the new person has the same personality and character traits as the old. Conversely, a matched fade where there is a contrasting element says strongly that there is one way, at least, in which these two characters are quite different. There have been some changes made. Usurping has taken place but with a difference. A similar matched purpose can be achieved with a slight change in both time and space. If there is a Split stage, a multiple setting, such as in the two rooms in Epice of the 262 Turtle by John Van Druten or the two rooms in Summer and Sppkp_by Tennessee Williams, there is ample Opportunity for matched moves and positions to illustrate relationships. On one side of the stage a scene may fade out with a character walking in a dignified way down a flight of stairs. The scene fades in on the other side with someone also on a pair of stairs. The comment is up to the director. If the new character is a child dressed in adult clothes, a satirical comment is made on the first character. For example, the second character may be doing one of the following: running down stairs, in dignified manner going up the stairs, or wearing clothing that is different from the first character. The principle is this: the superficial activity is the same. Both characters are pictured in sequence moving on a pair of stairs; both characters are to be compared to each other. In the comparison, if the differences stand out a contrast is being made. This difference is what distinguishes these two alike characters. If in the comparison, the difference is of a certain variety, the audience may conclude there is no difference. In effect, if the difference is one of age, then the audience may decide the difference is really a symbol for the deeper truth about the first character. The child walking in adult clothes in a dignified way may suggest that the first adult character is really child-like in his attempt to be dignified. The possibilities of matching shapes and moves, of creating parallel situations to suggest parallel meanings, is only limited by the director's ability 263 to see analogous meanings in juxtaposed scenes and characters. The wipe creates an impression of two pictures on the screen with the first being progressively covered by the second. Literally the effect can be Obtained on stage with a scene shift, a wagon or flat drop and wing set moving in to replace the old set. In human terms an actor, or group of actors, can move across stage to replace a group already there. The effect is very useful if the script idea concerns the Old giving way for the new or one group, or idea, replacing another. A second useful suggestion for the stage is to use the wipe's passing impression of two distinct and separate pictures on the screen at the same time. Again the Split stage, as in Summer and Smoke or other plays, will serve as a visual example of the method. The Split screen showing two locations allows for two actions to be occurring simultaneously, or alternately, letting the audience observe relationships in two ways. First, the audience can compare the two actions for Similarities and differences, movement by movement. Matched dialogue or movement makes possible the same contrast or comparison as in the dissolve. Second, the relationships can be contained in two entire, progressive, building sequences. The director merely needs to be con- cerned with keeping focus on one scene at a time while keep- ing up the impression of simultaneous scenes. The purpose of the screen out is accomplished on stage 264 by the eye of the audience as it shifts attention. The screen cut is the direct and immediate following of one Shot by another; the effect is that of a jump and usually suggests there has been no passage in time and that there is a very strong relationship between the subject matters of the two shots. The stage director learns from the film director that the cut must be motivated; that is, the audience must want to see the new picture because of the movement, content, and implications of the old picture. A person on the screen points with horror; the film cuts to the cause of the horror. On stage a director often loses sight of his obligation to point, and the audience eye does not jump to the new picture. The stage director needs to motivate his alternation of focus from one Speaker to the next, in part by motivating the Shifting eye movement. The fact of pointing changes the emphasis to the new character. The way the pointing takes place will lead the audience to establish a point of view about the conversation and the participants. On stage, however, the transition needs something further than the point. It will be useful to use the metaphor of a game of catch. Not only must the first character throw the ball, but the second must catch it before throwing it back. In effect, two new components of transition are added through this simple analogy: a 265 connecting link and a reception process. If some moving object, person, line, or compositional element can lead the audience eye to the new speaker, the eye movement is more certain and more strong. If the receiver moves, re- acts, and then speaks, it is assured that the eye is attracted to him in order to witness his contribution. For a more complete way in which such an inter- change may occur principles of the montage need to be employed. 2-Shot Sequences Applied to the Stage: Continuity, Simultaneous, Cumulative Montages. It is the contention of this study that any editing of shots into a sequence is for the purpose of giving the effect of a spatial or ideational relationship between subjects, a relationship that cannot be as immediately conveyed by any one point of view or continuous view. Each edited sequence creates some sort of addition of ideas, or subjects, that results in relational statements more Significant than any single shot would make. Each sequence provides a cumulative effect of some sort. For these reasons this study uses one term to cover all shot sequences, and that term is the montage. It is understood that many screen authors reserve this term, however, for the cumulative, the sequence of shots wherein there is no recognizable temporal or Spatial relationship between shots, often not even a subject relationship, but merely some common theme that 266 ties each of the subjects together. To this study such a montage is only the most abstract of the category, the extreme in a continuum of shot sequences. For convenience this study seeks to use classification terms that are in common usage in the screen industry; how- ever, the definitions are not identical to the industry. The montage types seem to group most easily into three basic, but not mutually exclusive, categories according to purpose and proximity to reality. They are the continuity, the simultaneous, and the cumulative montages. The continuity montage, like mimetic movement, comes the closest to simulating a real life sequence, and so is not always thought of as an effect dependent upon editing; but like stage mimetic movement the continuity montage needs careful distortion and manipulation of the real to create the impression of the real. The purpose of the continuity montage is to create the impression of a continuous sequence in time without any lapses or jumps. The two basic forms of it to be discussed here are the continuity of subject alone and the continuity of both subject and context, each of which offers principles for the stage director. The continuity of subject alone is the succession where- in the subject moves out of frame in the first shot and into frame in the second shot. The usual purpose is to suggest a subject continuity between changing contexts. The back- grounds of the two shots are different such that the montage 267 suggests the subject has left one context and entered a new context. The passage of time between the shots is suggested by the degree of disparity between the backgrounds. If the backgrounds are on the same street it is assumed by the audience that no great passage of time has taken place. If the backgrounds are in different countries, a large passage of time has taken place: but in either case nothing significant is supposed by the audience to have happened in between. Hence a psychological continuity is established. The significant continuous action is seen rather than all the insignificant details of actual continuity. To some extent the stage already shares the continuity- of-subjects montage's ability to compress action by the elimination of non-essentials in writing, by allowing a single Object or movement to stand for many, and by letting time lapse between scenes. But the foreshortening or lengthening of time that is usually only filmic as accomplished by this variety of continuity montage is the elimination of segments of time right out of what seems like continuous action, time that is not needed, not useful, and hence not missed. For example, a man walks toward the bottom of a staircase; the film cuts to his approaching the top of the stairs. The man's purpose is seen by his approach; the fulfillment of his purpose is seen by his arriVal at the tOp. The climb is not essential and is not missed. 268 A close look at the continuity montage of the man on the stairs will show at least four reasons why the elimin- ation of a middle phase of action is accepted. First, the cut, or jump may cause enough of a shock in itself to pro- vide a slight distraction from the missing time and space; second, the initial shot in a sequence ends with a location without the subject, a location from which the subject has just moved, while the following shot begins with a location without the character, a location into which the character moves; hence, there isn't the jarring immediate juxtaposition of a character in first one then another location; third, enough action may be taking place to distract from the mis- matching Of time; and fourth, perhaps the most important, the audience's desire, or at least willingness, to see only the significant parts of the action usually results in welcoming the elimination of an insignificant middle phase. On stage the climb must be made because the actor cannot make the physical or temporal jump. How, then, can the stage benefit from the screen's discovery that fore- shortening of realistic action may take place, and greater selectivity be made, by using only the portion of a movement that is significant? There are several ways. For example, when an action, for instance a realistic piece of business such as eating dinner, would take too long on stage, fore- shortening is appropriate. Carrying the focus away from the business temporarily, much as in the screen technique 269 of the cut away shot, will distract the audience from the business and allow them to accept the idea that the bulk of the business was completed while its eye was elsewhere. Although the cut away, or reaction Shot, on screen is really another variation on the simultaneous montage, it is some- times inserted into the continuity montage to allow, among other reasons, a continuous action to be foreshortened. Even within a single shot, however, if the concentration shifts from movement to words, or from one person to another on the sofa, enough of a distraction has taken place to allow making many bits of business more compact, even to substituting props that are part of beginning bits of business (e.g., knitting), for some prOps already finished. This can be especially helpful when a particularly difficult process is supposed to be started and completed in front of the audience. Temporarily eliminating the subject from the screen frame has its easiest application on stage in temporarily eliminating the actor from the stage. Much can be assumed accomplished Off stage in a few seconds when the character is out of the audience sight. For instance, a twenty minute action will be presumed complete in but a few minutes. For a longer passage of time, or assumption of business completed, the curtain may have to be drawn on stage. The director may well use, then, the continuity montage of subject alone to help him maintain continuity through a change 270 of scenes. If, for example, the director wishes to make the comment that nothing significant has taken place between scenes, during the change, and further, that the action of the play, or of a particular character, is continuous from the preceding scene, he may find elements to repeat from the end of one scene to the beginning of the next. By direct adaptation of the montage principle, the director may have a character move out of a scene at its conclusion and move into the next scene near its beginning, using types and directions of movement, clothing, motivation, and mood that are the same in both scenes. Even if the scene change is relatively time consuming the impression of continuity can be quite startling. A reversal of the above scene-break use of screen continuity was effectively translated on to the stage in New Girl in Town. Most audience members are already aware of the continuity problem raised by having only one projector to Show a two reel film. A particular action is usually stOpped somewhere in the middle, then five minutes later the action takes up right where it left off. The Shock of realizing that the film characters did not complete the action during the transition is usually a humorous one. This principle was used for the act break in the musical comedy New Girl in Town; George Abbot had all his principals involved in a chase and a fight around a vigorously kicking chorus of can can girls. The curtain descended at the height 271 of the action. About fifteen minutes later, the audience assembled and the curtain went up on the same place in the action where it had previously fallen. The analogy to a common film experience, uniquely used, was brilliantly comic and was applauded heartily. Partially because the audience is used to the convention that action has progressed when the camera, or the stage, cuts back to a previous location, the impression was that the dancing had continued unabated during the entire intermission. And since it was but one of several filmic oddities that Abbot employed the filmic frame of reference was clear to his audience. The montage that involves continuity of both subject and context is the succession that starts with a long shot, proceeds to a medium Shot, and ends with a close-up. The opposite order, from close-up to long shot, is also common, though less frequently seen. The method of the sequence of long shot to close-up is to take an Opening long, or establishing, shot and then to take additional Shots of increasingly smaller portions of that Opening shot; the purpose is to provide a context for action, then to provide the action which is in turn the context for a detail, and then to provide the detail. The reason for such a sequence, of course, is to match the emphasis pattern frequently implied by a script, but Often the implication is not obvious. To use the montage requires an interpretation of the script, aided by a knowledge of the montage. The 272 montage rarely occurs to a director as a solution without prior knowledge of it. The long shot to close-up sequence may be applied to the stage in many forms but one example should suffice. In the sequence, a cut changes two relationships at once: a large amount of the context of a subject is eliminated and the subject itself is greatly enlarged. TO accomplish both of these relationships on the stage may not be possible except in quite different terms. To reconstruct the montage on stage there is first the equivalent of the long, or establishing shot. The entire context of the scene is on diSplay. To insure the audience eye roving casually all over the stage, action can be going on throughout, as in the manner of the crowd scene, but milder in import and intensity. Or the scene can be empty of actors allowing for a casual audience survey of the scene's static content. Into one of these establishing situations, one character draws attention to himself and his activity. He may be looking for something, and the composition of actors converges into his area to aid him in the search. Action in other parts of the stage ceases and a narrowing of attention occurs to include only a small group. The lost object is found and focus is desired on the Object found. All movement ceases except for that of the character who has found the object and of the object itself. Lines of composition point to the object as 273 it is turned over in the hands of the finder. Audience perception has been successively narrowed down until it is concentrated in a close—up. However, the narrowing down does not yet accomplish the change in scale permitted by the film close up. To accomplish the close-up at the conclusion of the above sequence, every technique of emphasis is needed, and audience attention cannot be maintained for long. In addition to lines of composition, also a sudden movement, a sudden freeze, an enlarged movement, exaggerated concentra- tion on the part of the character on stage, and subtle lighting changes can all contribute to the apparent enlarge- ment of the object in focus. Even a sudden sound from the Object itself will help the feeling of focus. The book slammed on the table, the piece of pottery tapped like a bell, or the sudden expletive from the discoverer may all help to provide a close up feeling. The next problem the director faces is how to loosen the close-up and to keep the loosening under control. The audience's mind and eye will quickly leave the close up and start to wander. Such wandering should be anticipated and controlled as much as possible. Reactions from members of the group, vocal and physical, the passing of the object and setting up of new physical relationships of the object to other objects or characters, will help to provide the equivalent of a montage of new focal points. When interest 274 in the object is exhausted, the group may be dissolved into new movement patterns and sounds, thus loosening the close up to another long shot with general movement and widespread attention. A Special application of the continuity montage concerns creating the impression of continuity through lengthening rather than foreshortening the screen time. Although fore- shortening is the more usual need, the converse is some- times the case. As has been previously discussed under the subject of slow motion, simultaneous actions may be presented successively in order to spread them out for scrutiny. Some- times in film part of an action may be presented not only in isolation but twice; actual overlapping shots are joined without an overlap being apparent. If a great deal of excitement is in a long shot on the screen and the hero is moving up some stairs and into a door, some of his action may escape notice. He may Open the door and start to enter the house. At this point the director chooses to cut to in- side the house and to Show the hero entering. He may Show again the Opening of the door from the inside without the audience being aware of the overlap. Applied on stage the overlapping action is perhaps not literally usable except possibly to end one scene and to begin another. The most usable application is apt to be the sequential or lag version of lengthening time where a 275 simultaneous action is broken down into parts and performed consecutively. Here are two possible stage examples. In real life the Opening of a window shade is simultaneous with the light streaming in. On stage if the director wishes to draw attention to both the act and the result the hero raises the window shade and then the light streams in; or some light comes in as he opens the shade but then the whole room gradually becomes lighter. Since attention is first upon the action of the Opening of the shade the audience can accept a slight lag in the results of the Opening. In another example, the hero leaves the house amidst general crowd hubbub--the slamming door freezes the crowd. Someone runs to the window and the hero passes. In real life the hero would have been by the window much sooner but distractions allow either the screen or stage director to delay the hero's passing somewhat until the second character can rush to the window, until, that is, the psychologically ideal time. Hence by lengthening real time through appli- cation of a continuity montage principle, apparent continuity is produced. The simultaneous montage, the second basic type, tends to suggest the existence of two actions occuring at the same time; it does so by cutting back and forth between the two actions. The alternate presentation of the two is usually necessary because the actions, even though occurring at the 276 same time are too remote in space to be encompassed in the same frame at the same time. Sometimes the two actions are purposely separated in space in order to take advantage of the particular qualities of the simultaneous montage. The prime use of the simultaneous montage is to share focus alternately instead of simultaneously while creating the impression that two actions are occurring simultaneously and are related. In the screen version only one character, subject, or action appears at a time, though it appears that the actions continue even when they are off screen; hence individual focus is assured as much as is humanly possible with simultaneous action. On stage both actions actually appear simultaneously, and so focus must be made to alter- nate primarily by compositional structure. Of course in all cases the director must realize that the audience's eye is free to wander at will over his composition; he can never hOpe to control focus absolutely; however, the techniques suggested are hoped to show what has been derived from screen directors to increase the stage director's control of attention, and to narrow the range of uncontrolled attention. There are two general types of simultaneous montage. The first is where the subjects are too remote to be aware of each other's actions at the moment, and the second is where the subjects are shown to be aware of each other. 277 In the first version, the relationships between the two subjects are not of action and reaction, but of matched purposes, actions, or themes whose matching B for the purpose of showing a comparison or contrast, or to suggest a future coming together of the two remote actions. Most of the suggestions this study would like to make concerning this variety of montage have already been made in connection with the previous discussion of the matched dissolve. The split stage technique would seem to be the most apt adaptation, wherein two remote locations are depicted simultaneously with alternating focus maintained by lighting. It remains to note that in the remote simultaneous montage the char- acters are unaware of the parallel situations. Each is only a participant in his own scene. It is the director, in conjunction with the playwright, who alternates parallel movement and words to suggest that one scene, character, or object symbolizes another; one contrasting element explains a fundamental difference between the scenes or else is symbolic of an underlying similarity. The second variety of the simultaneous montage borders on the purpose of the continuity montage in that it involves alternate attention on two subjects who are reacting to each other. For example, two characters in the same room are in conversation with each other, but are too spread out to be seen in one camera shot, or, on stage, to be seen in one eye fixation; they may receive the alternating cutting 278 technique, or on stage the alternating eye fixation. TO be sure, on the screen a fast pan would serve a similar purpose, but it is usually the case that the context between the characters is not important enough to get that much attention. Two basic images for the second variety of simultaneous montage might be the chase and the game of catch. The chase suggests a situation where there is continuous independent ) action by both participants in the montage, though the director actually saves his significant action to be carried \ out by a character when he is in focus and usually the director motivates the cut by some pointing device that makes the audience want to see the second character. The game of catch suggests a situation where there may be continuous simultaneous action but where the audience may feel that a particular action must be completed in order to receive a reaction, and in turn that reaction must be completed in order for it to receive a counter action. In other words, the significant action always seems to the audience to be in focus in a cause and effect continuity sequence. In the game of catch image, if there is really some counter part for the ball that carries audience attention between characters in a series of alternating cuts, and the subject of the scene is the ball, then the sequence is a continuity montage. If there is no actual object passing between two characters, or the object is not the subject of the scene, then the montage is of the 279 simultaneous, alternating focus, variety. One example of this type of Simultaneous montage in action involves a safe cracker and the safe owner. Focus can be alternated between the two characters as follows: In the scene a noise occurs; a metal case bangs against the safe door as the case is extracted. In real life the owner would turn around immediately, discover the theft, react, and the thief would fight or run. The whole procedure would be lost in its simultaneous presentation. The director has decided the process is important and is not to be covered by divided focus. Therefore, when the case hits the safe the thief freezes, then he Slowly looks around at the owner. At that point the focus switches to the owner. Now the audience is expecting a reaction and is ready for it. The audience sees the owner stOp talking and Slowly turn around, puzzled, looking at the thief. Since the focus now switches to the thief, the owner freezes while the thief startles, grabs the box, slams the safe door, and looks back at the owner before he starts to flee. The owner recovers from his Shock and starts shouting and chasing; the thief runs. In the above example, a serial reaction is employed along with a slowing down of the individual component actions. Two purposes of the screen montage are thereby accomplished on stage. First, the alternating focus is controlled by movement and pointing, and second, the intense 280 interest in the significance of that movement keeps the audience from noticing that there is something unrealistic about the pace or the serial presentation. An example of the serial presentation of simultaneous reactions already exists in the Kabuki theatre. Using the convention, all characters but one freeze on stage. The one goes through a stylized version of his complete reaction to an event, then he freezes. This process is carried out until each chief character has displayed his unique reaction to the event. It is Similar to the Simultaneous montage in that there is a controlled alternating focus and that the same portion of time is shown over and over again but from a different point of view, with a different content, and in a different location. Another, more realistic, method of alternating focus during simultaneous action on stage is by a wave technique. Larger, more rapid movement is carried by the speaker in focus; his movement subsides, becomes slower and smaller, as the second speaker takes over. The completion of a wave's peak of focus may be followed by a gesture, a look, a body facing, or an inflexion that tosses the scene back to a second character. Carrying the montage analogy still further, the screen director can totally obliterate one character while a second is in focus. The stage director may accomplish this purpose imperfectly perhaps by placing his in-focus character in strong body positions and stage 281 areas while the out-of-focus character is in weak body positions and stage areas. In the extreme, the non-speaking character may work to an up stage position with his back to the audience while the Speaker is downstage facing the audience. If the style of the play allows, lights may dim out on the character not in focus, or the in-focus character may reappear from doorways or from behind scenery. If realism is necessary, then a subtle combination of all of these methods of changing focus may be used to isolate the character in focus as much as the style will allow. When the Speaking character must be the most in isolation, the second character can be temporarily off stage. When the speaking character needs only to be in dominance the least isolating relationship can be used, almost approximating a camera two shot. Of course the analogical possibilities of the Simultaneous montage are not exhausted here; but the images of the chase and the game of catch combined with examples of the Split stage, the serial reaction of the Kabuki theatre and its more realistic counterpart in a wave pattern of reaction should start the director's analogical imagination working. The third basic sequence of Shots is the cumulative montage, the least realistic and the most complex sequence to create either on screen or on stage. It is made up of a juxtaposition of shots, obviously not Of continuous action, Often of subjects unrelated in time or space, subjects 282 largely related in theme. Of the two basic varieties, the dialectical tends to create a cumulative effect of action and reaction while the single concept variety tends to create the cumulative effect of a particular mood, a large event, an unusual comment, or an over meaning that is greater than the sum of the shots and is not contained in any single shot. . The dialectical variety is basically a cause and effect montage of two shots, or of two divisions of shots, juxta- posed in such a way that the audience is expected to draw a conclusion. A simple example is a shot of an animal with bloody teeth followed by one of a man with a wound. The conclusion expected, of course, is that the animal bit the man. A larger framework for the same kind of relationship would be society as a whole. Shots of the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer could tend to suggest several conclusions depending upon the editing of the shots and the exact nature of their content. The conclusion might concern revolution, extinction of the poor, the necessity of unions, or the richly deserved stations in life. And, of course, the less realistic, the less Spelled out, the more the conclusion will depend upon production context and audience experience. The social application of the dialectical variety obviously overlaps into the single concept version of the cumulative montage, which is the least realistic of the two. 283 Usually it doesn't even suggest a time, space, or causal relationship between any two juxtaposed shots, rather it suggests that each shot has in common with its companion shots the substantiation of a common theme, mood, or concept. Each shot suggests a different aSpect of the common theme until the audience is expected to draw a conclusion, much as in the inductive method of collecting data, that the single concept has been established. De- pending upon the director's decision, such a montage may or may not actually depict the conclusion. If it does then the audience should be ready to say with the director that they too have come to that conclusion. In effect, then, a statement of a conclusion, a summation of the shots, may be redundant if the montage is well designed. The applications this study has employed and will suggest for the cumulative montage will be less analogical than for the other montages and more direct. The most literal application would be the use of an actual film insert on stage. Using a wide angle projection lense, or a rear screen projection technique, the back cloth of the stage setting can become a screen. The insert sequence could use the actors who are in the play or stock Shots that provide a larger context to the play. Such a method not only Shows exteriors that cannot be shown on stage but allows the screen's techniques of enlargement, selective focus, and compression to have a direct effect upon the 284 play. Such a use also allows for more traumatic dramatic action to be presented because of the increased psychical distance of film. Dangerous, exotic, erotic, or horrifying sequences, Shown with the actual stage actors can have the impact of the screen without having the consequences of the audience being as revolted, antagonistic, or fearful as the same sequence live on stage would make them. One technique of combining media was employed in New York in 1964 under the title of Laterna Magika with results that can be a warning to the stage director. Originating in Czechoslovakia, the technique employed from three to thirteen screens and many projectors in a three ring circus tour de force of live actors and filmic representations of them. According to several critics the effects were startling and even amusing, but not really well integrated. 1323; magazine felt that the live actors just couldn't compete in volume or size with their screen counterparts;l while Tpp Nation, agreeing with Tipp, felt the actors were an actual intrusion, as if theatre ushers had ascended the stage and were getting in the way of the filmic action.2 Of course Laterna Magika was produced not for integration but for shock, for spectacle, for trickery, and for technical "Magic". For a comparison, Laterna Magika is to the ¥ 1nA Trick, Not a Treat," Time, Vol. 84, No. 7 (August 14, 1964), p. 67. (August 24, 1964), pp. 79480. 285 adaptations this study is suggesting what vaudeville, the circus, or Hell's a POppin' are to the legitimate theatre. Unfortunately Laterna Magika utilized the unique powers of the screen media to the point of overpowering the stage. The producers chose to overlook the problems of scale in both volume and size, and completely mixed, in the same stage plane and at the same time, the oil of the film image, that is flat but appears three dimensional, with the water of the live actor, who is three dimensional but often appears, to the distant live audience, to be flat. The live tree and the painted tree can fit on stage to- gether, but not naively, Side by side, without any doctor- ing or accounting for their differences. For those stage directors who feel the actual screen image on stage would be an intrusion, the second most direct method of adapting the cumulative montage to the stage could be used: the live staging of the montage. Such an adaptation can be made in several ways and for a variety of purposes. A few examples will suffice. First, the director must determine what kinds of situations or sequences will lend themselves to stage montage, and second, how they may be staged to allow for maximum integration into the script. Some sequences that can be replaced or augmented by montage are as follows: the messenger reporting an off~ stage event, a subplot, a large event such as a battle that 286 occurs off stage between scenes, crowd movement, an emotional climax that occurs at the conclusion Of a scene, group attitudes in contrast to each other or to the attitudes of the main character, and various background actions that may be parallel to, or symbolic of the main action. Of these, two types of scenes emerge. First is the on stage depiction Of what is usually large off stage action; second ‘ is the on stage depiction of an underlying or contrasting mood or emotion. \ An example of how cumulative montage may be employed to revitalize off stage action is in the example of the Greek messenger. Perhaps in the original scene the messenger is describing the fall of an army in battle following which description the victorious general enters the scene. To integrate the montage technique into a Greek play the chorus and general may enact the montage. A symbolic battle, in small scenes in various parts of the stage, may Show in montage fashion the onslaught, turning of the tide, and defeat of the army. Such a sequence can be stylized in dance choreography. The speech of the messenger may be foreshortened, edited, deleted, spoken antiphonally with the action, or whatever seems appropriate to the scene. Melodic or rhythmic instruments may help to stylize the action so the audience does not expect realism. To be sure, musical comedy has already employed techniques of expression similar to the montage. It remains 287 for the play director to make adaptations that suit his particular stage form. Borrowing old ideas and giving them a new form and context is one of the most rewarding methods of creation. The familiar and the new are combined to give fresh perSpective on both meaning and matter. The dance sequence is one such example. Pantomimic scenes in plays would use a combination of the dance sequence of the musical and the montage of the film, and, perhaps in more realistic fashion than the dance, draw attention to the pictorial aspects of theme and plot. A typical pantomimic sequence, illustrating the second major category of filmic cumulative montage, might be an insertion of a montage in the conclusion of a love scene. The montage would enact the dimensions of the emotion instead of the mere proximity of the individuals. To illustrate, usually in the conclusion of a love scene, when two people find each other, there is an embrace. The positions are relatively static but the emotions are strong. The realistic approach is to fade out on the embrace. The motion does not reflect the emotion. Often music carries the emotion of the climax and builds during and beyond the fade, or curtain, to suggest the growing passion of the embrace. An alternative, used by musical comedy, is to have a couple dance or sing together, usually also followed by the static embrace. The montage approach could result in an action conclusion and punctuation, combining screen montage with 288 musical comedy. A choreographed sequence between the two actors, with accompanying music, could pantomime their relationship in abstract line patterns combined with stylized realistic pantomime; such a sequence could use as its metaphor a chase, or the bubbling brook, or a bouncing ball, or whatever seems appropriate. The choreographed sequence could, alternatively, in- volve background action that takes over as a foreground fade out occurs on the main action. As an example, the lovers could sink into an embrace on a foreground couch, either concealed or in silhouette. Behind a scrim,_ or outside a picture window, movement starts. Happy laughing peOple, conflict scenes, shouting, chasing, horn blowing, music playing, all build to a climax. In a fantastic interpretation, either two dancers portray the two lovers, or else other characters in the play provide the montage, while a fantastic lighting separates them from the two lovers. Such a montage of underlying emotion could also pro- vide contrast as much as support to the main action. In fact, the kinds of elements chosen for the montage will determine what comment the director wishes to make on the emotional realistic scene. Less direct methods of applying cumulative montage principles abound. Crowd scenes, climax scenes, rapid dialogue repartee scenes, action sequences, and scenes 289 whose meaning is largely carried by movement all can profit from montage principles. The crowd scene is perhaps the easiest to adapt. The screen battle, or crowd, montage usually starts with an establishing shot, to give a context to the whole sequence. Then occurs rapid and rhythmic intercutting of typical actions, facial expressions, parts of bodies, and objects that express in sequence rather than Simultaneously the idea of the battle or of the crowd's purpose. On the stage the simultaneous presentation is difficult to avoid but the eye can be directed in staccato and rhythmic fashion to various places in the action to create the excitement of the montage sequential crowd depiction. The staged crowd Scene usually suffers from either of two extremes: it is too active or it is not active enough. The too active distracts not only from the main action but also from itself; it eventually becomes tedious, giving the audience too much perSpective and not enough immediacy; it reduces the crowd to mass, undifferentiated movement with which it is difficult to empathize. Also it may allow the attention of the audience to wander at will with little control of focus by the director. Often weaknesses in staging are spotted more easily if un~ differentiated movement continues. However, if the eye is led on stage (as it is more forced by the screen montage) the entire audience, to some extent, can be swayed by the 290 rhythm of the sequence and be led to the same details at the same time. One way to adapt the consecutive crbwd Shots of the cumulative montage to the simultaneous stage scene, while retaining some of the qualities of the screen, is to plan consecutive focal points in the action. A quick move accompanying a shout, or other sound, will draw attention to itself; a temporary isolation of a character or a unique body position, or a rapid physical interplay, or a place- ment in compositional emphasis, or a combination of all these, will alternate the person in focus in the crowd. These attracting sounds or larger actions can be timed to provide a beat, or a rhythm, desired by the director for the scene. Surrounding the accented movement the rest of the crowd can keep moving, reacting, acting, or whatever, but in ways which will keep it deemphasized until some segment of the total scene needs to be again in focus. Thus by using stage compositional elements, carefully choreo- graphed, various individuals are alternately emphasized and deemphasized at appropriate moments. The simultaneous stage crowd can thus isolate typical details in rhythmic sequence as does the screen consecutive montage. 3-Conclusion: Advantages and Limitations of Montage Adaptation. How the director introduces elements into his montage adaptation is largely a matter of his analogical imagination. What can substitute for a close up, for a shot 291 of some object-symbol, or for nature as an actor? Perhaps nothing will substitute directly, but the purposes of each may be fulfilled in different ways. For example, the screen use of fields of waving grass, storm clouds blowing, ocean waves dashing, and streams bubbling may be difficult to apply to the stage. Still, they may be applied, possibly as metaphors to supply qualities of movement for the actor; or, more closely approximated, as pantomimic dance ac- companied by music. Certainly a direct stage application of the screen's ability to present nature as an active partici- pant may not be practical. However, the other possibilities of both direct and analogical adaptation of screen montage to stage purposes seem to be well worth the adaptation effort. 3p Composition in Motion Within the Screen Frame, Adapted pp the Stage Now that some of the screen's abilities to manipulate time and Space with shots, joinings, and sequences have been related to the stage, attention is turned to the peculiarities of the screen picture itself, principally to its composition in movement. a) Eppnomy Within The Frame.--From the television field, Biegeleisen advocates overlap of scenic units com- bined with simplicity of composition.3 His points are that 8 3J. I. Biegeleisen, Poster Design (New York, 1945), p0 90 292 the overlapping of compositional elements helps to lead the eye around the composition, while a minimum Of elements helps to make a clearer statement of compositional intention, or meaning. From Biegeleisen's suggestions the stage director can learn to maintain an interconnected but uncluttered stage picture. Nothing on stage should be without purpose. Further, if something on stage is not actually, physically used perhaps it should be removed. If something on stage is a symbol and only used as background, perhaps it can be made to have a more practical purpose. If something is seen to carry the same symbolic connotation as something else, perhaps one of the two things can be eliminated. In short, from the television screen, the stage director should learn economy of means. Cluttered ideas, cluttered symbols, redundancies, and elaborate compositions are apt to confuse the audience and conceal the purpose of the symbols. Even a script that requires ornate production can well use a modified selective realism, that is, one simplified symbol can stand for the ornate whole, and thus convey the idea "ornate" graphically and immediately without actually being ornate. b) Mpvement Within the Frame.--The moving content of a screen picture uses ideas from the still picture but with certain definite modifications and for certain definite purposes that can, in many cases, be readily adapted to the 293 stage. The more important movement purposes served seem to be for contrast and impact, for motivation, and for depth. l-Movement for Contrast and Impact. For greater contrast and impact screen composition of elements is usually sequential rather than simultaneous. Eisenstein points out that alternation of contrasting pictures makes a stronger contrast than Simultaneous contrast within a single frame; a background, no matter how it contrasts with foreground action, is static and is soon unnoticed.“ However, he notes, if the background is presented in alternation with the fore- ground, both will have a stronger impact and consequently so will the contrast. Of course the stage director is less able than the screen director to move his static background in and out of the stage picture; however, he can still be warned by the principle of moving contrasts. He can be reminded that his scenery, his static furniture arrangements, his color schemes, even his pictures composed of stationary actors are quickly assessed by an audience and almost as quickly become unnoticed. So from the principle of contrast by alternation the stage director can more readily assess how actively or inactively involved are his scenic elements in telling the story of his play. 43ergei Eisenstein, Film Form and The Film Sense, Edited and Trans. Jay Leyda (New York: Meridian BOOKS, 1957), p. 172. 294 2-Movement for Motivation. Television findings concerning eye movement seem to have important implications for the necessity of motivating subject movement. Bettinger, in the field of television, has learned that the audience eye tends to lead a movement, as if to see where the movement is going. If a character is moving, the audience eye tends to move ahead of him to divine the actor's purpose .5 Not only does the eye lead but Bettinger points out it tends to move along contours and lines and to jump from greater to lesser contrasting points, or intersections. Such a discovery supports strongly the need for motivated movement in all its motivational dimensions. A character needs, in order to take advantage of all of his potentialities for communication of meanings, at least a three part motivation for every move. What Bettinger's study supports is the need for a motivating destination, for the audience eye seeks a destination out and should only be disappointed for some very good reason. His study also supports the careful use of line and contour for the movement since the eye follows this contour, dis- cerns it, and interprets it. The use of internal motivation, the outward appearance of the character's inner purpose, is supported by every 5Hoyland Bettinger, Television Techniques. Revised by $01 Cornberg (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1955), p. 170. 295 author who discusses motivation for a cut in television or in film. Some anticipation, some pointing, some expectancy is set up within a shot to motivate cutting to a new shot. Often this motivation to cut is supplied by an actor showing an interest in something outside the frame. The interest is satisfied by cutting to the object of his interest. On stage the audience interest is satisfied by the actor's eye movement to the object of interest and then the audience eye leading the actor's movement to the object. The screen in this, and many other ways, can enrich the stage director's conception of motivating movement for suspense, audience satisfaction, clarity, and believability. 3-Movement for Depth. Film can also contribute to the pictorial staging of movement in the use of three dimension- ality. Spottiswoode discusses the phenomenon of the screen's two dimensionality appearing to be three dimensional.6 Part of the effect is, of course, produced because the camera can record great depth in actual surroundings; the screen picture can record the contrasts in size of objects and speed of movements that result from actual perspective. The screen's own adaptation of the location camera's ability to catch perspective is the multiplane camera. It allows, for example, Disney, in his more elaborate cell animation 6Raymond Spottiswoode, Film and Its Techniques (Berkeley: university of California Press, 1958), p. 40, 296 process, to reproduce the effect of three dimensionality within a small studio.7 An application of its principle can be of value to the stage director who also has limited actual depth. The purpose of the multiplane camera is to create the impression of depth through varying the Speeds of motion and the size of objects at different depths in the picture. It creates a forced movement perspective. It also uses alternations of dark and light moving depths both to contrast the depths with each other and to lead the eye past the dark foreground framing plane into the depth of the picture. One way to illustrate the effect in real life is with the view from a moving train. The foreground objects, telephone poles and the like, seem to go by at a rapid rate; middle ground objects such as houses and trees, go by slower; while background objects, such as mountains, go by with al- most imperceptible Speed. The multiplane camera uses drawings placed in planes several inches apart and drawn to resemble the objects in the various foreground to background planes. As the animation camera takes pictures of the fore- ground cartoon character the various planes are moved be- hind him at varying rates to resemble the apparent rates of Speed of planes at different distances from the plane in which the cartoon character moves. The result is the appearance of great depth. Of course the stage director 7Ibid., p. 138. 297 cannot easily move the audience point of view, as in the illustration of the moving train, except possibly with revolving and wagon stages; however, he can use some of the principles of this screen effect.even with a stationary audience, to return to his stage more of the feeling of depth that it often lacks. The stage director can adopt the multiplane idea directly onto his stage by analogy. The background plane is his background static scenery. His foreground is his downstage actors in focus. Here are his two limits: un- moving background and rapidly moving, enlarged moving, animatedly moving downstage characters. He now needs to establish one or two other planes of movement and possibly a dark downstage frame, in addition to the ever present proscenium, if he wants to create the impression of greater depth. Each plane can have its own appropriate speed and Size of motion and possibly even size of objects, without the audience point of view necessarily moving by the stage. In effect, the stage composition moves by, or in relation to, the audience. In a crowd scene, the participants can best be grouped in depth either on a raked or a stepped stage. To suggest the reduction in scale, upstage people can be shorter, or seated. To give the impression of reduced scale without actual size change, movement can substitute for size. 298 Smaller moves, Slower moves, less distance covering moves, graded in planes, can to some extent capture the idea of the multiplane camera and increase depth of stage through stage movement. The relatively shallow stage picture can thus recapture some of its three dimensionality through analogy with the screen. 0) Camera's Point of View Reflected in The Frame.--The composition of the frame's content and its meaning are functions in part of the camera's special ability to adOpt almost any point of view while using a variety of lenses. This Special ability can provide some instructive analogies for the stage director. The camera's versatile point of view is something for which the stage provides no simple substitute. The camera can be in a variety of planes and move in a variety of ways whereas the audience for a stage play must always see the action of the play from its seat in the auditorium. Many of the typical camera movements and positions, such as the pan, the tilt, the close up, and the long shot, have already been discussed. However, the meanings that are imparted to the screen because of the camera's point of view and their implications for the stage, are the more subtle subjects to be covered here. l-Point of View of Camera as Point of View of Audience. One of the normal assumptions that needs to be questioned and clarified is that the camera's point of view becomes the 299 audience's point of view. To clarify the concept two of the camera's vieWpoints need to be examined. Subjective and objective viewpoints are described as those which view the action from inside the story and those which view it from without. A typical subjective camera technique is the follow shot, usually a trucking, or dolly, shot, where the camera goes right along with the action. Perhaps the camera follows beside a man walking. An even more subjective technique is described by Spottiswoode as the result of a hand held camera. The cameraman walks, runs, or falls while holding the camera. The effect supposedly places the audience in 8 the position of the moving person. By convention, present day audiences seem willing to enter into the technique and pretend they are seeing the action as if they were a part of it. The problems arise when it is attempted to discover with whom or what the audience is identifying. Is it with a character, with some mysterious third person who is going along within the action, or is it with a complex multiple person who now sees from one subjective view and now from another? The first observation is that the point of view of the camera seems to vary independent from the audience identity with one or more of the characters. For example, an over the heroine's shoulder shot of the hero, as seen by a woman, 8Spottiswoode, _p, cit., p. 31. 300 may make her think of herself as the heroine. But the same shot probably makes a man think of himself as the hero. A follow shot of the hero probably puts the audience beside the hero, from the point of view of the camera, at the same time the audience identifies with the hero. If the follow shot then cuts to a hand held moving camera shot probably the audience point of view is suddenly the same as that of the hero and as that of the camera. Such a cut may be disturbing, for example, if a woman was imagining herself beside the hero and suddenly finds herself inside the hero. When a camera point of view is over the shoulder of a monster attacking a hero, the point of view of the camera would seem to be that of the monster, but it certainly isn't intended that the audience adOpt that point of view, or identify with the monster. Instead the audience empathizes with the hero and in turn fears the looming foreground figure. Possibly the audience does not think of itself as the hero through seeing what the hero sees so much as through seeing the hero himself; it is only through the latter that it may empathize with the hero, though it is through the former that it may feel the same motivation as the hero. In effect, the audience would seem to adopt a point of view in film according to where its sympathy lies, and its sympathy is usually aroused by the emotional content of the scene, rather than by the point of view of the camera. 30l 2-Point of View of Camera as Ideal Point of View. The camera, then, seems to provide an ideal audience point of view rather than any simple objective or subjective audience vieWpoint. It seems to fulfill its chief role in present- ing characters in relationship to each other. The camera presents them in ways that will best express the under- lying meaning of the script more than it substitutes for the point of view of the audience. The camera gives the audience an ideal viewing position, whether it is in the middle of the action or at some distance from it. The camera allows the audience to see over a shoulder, up from the floor, through the window, or wherever it can best see what is going on. The camera's contribution to point of view seems to be more subtle than simply the replacing of the audience point of View, except point of view in the above very practical and physical way, rather than in an identi- fication way. 3-Point of View of Camera as Revealer and Concealer. One of the subtleties of camera point of view consists in what the camera can reveal and conceal. In the over-the- Shoulder shot the camera reveals a reaction by one character while concealing the reaction of another. By Simple inclusion or exclusion from the frame any subject may be revealed or concealed with ease. Of course the over-the- shoulder shot has a special significance in that the person whose reaction is being concealed is in the frame. 302 By reversing the angles the revealed becomes the concealed while the concealed immediately becomes the revealed. On stage the director can use this principle to greater advantage than he usually does by using more alternation of face and back by his characters. Many directors seem to prefer a relatively shared stage position between two characters even though the script may not always call for an equal emphasis upon both characters. Of course a rapid repartee scene on stage is difficult to transcribe into reverse angle technique, Since it is the actor who must move back and forth in order to change the audience point of view, but the ingenious director can devise an equivalent for Short periods of time. An up-to- down-stage pacing maneuver would be one such device. 4-Point of View of Camera as Distorter of Reality. Another subtlety consists in the way the camera's vieWpoint can distort reality in order to provide a comment about that reality. For example, in the low angle shot a character looms large over the camera and is thus expressed to the audience as looming large over them, as being strong and portentious. A feeling of looming may be possible on stage when principles of facing, of elevation, and of audience identification are combined. A character may be Sitting with his back to the audience, which will make him weak but in a way that may arouse audience curiosity; another character may stand facing both the weak character and the 303 audience, making him strong by contrast, by facing, and by elevation. As the audience watches the action of the scene described above, with the standing figure looming over the sitting one, the audience may be objective and merely recognize the relationships between the two char- acters. To include the equivalent of the camera point of view, however, the script and the director should have established prior to this scene a strong audience identi- fication with one or the other of the two characters. If the audience has identified with the character who is Sitting the audience may imaginatively assume the low angle camera point Of view, and the standing figure will appear to loom with greater force. Should the audience identify with the standing character, the audience is more apt to assume the equivalent of the high camera angle and to feel secure in the role of the "loomer." The audience may feel suspense to add to the feeling of looming. Identified with the standing figure, the audience may wonder what he sees; identified with the sitting character, the audience may wonder what his reaction will be. The suSpense of not knowing is apt to increase the sense of looming. Given the same relationships between characters but the standing man with his back to the audience, perhaps the suspense and mystery will increase the looming even more . 304 5-Point of View of Camera as a Function of Lenses. Another role the camera plays is dependent upon its lenses. The wide angle lens will serve as a sufficient example for adaptation to the stage. When viewed through a wide angle lens, a straight line of peOple, at right angles to the point of view of the camera, appears to be curved. The two ends of the line appear to curve back away from the camera. Therefore, to create the impression of a straight line the line must actually be curved such that each person is at the same distance from, and facing, the camera. A person in the front row of a theatre audience has a comparable sensation when a man crosses the stage. Although the audience member knows the character is walking in a straight line, parallel to the plane of the proscenium, still the character is first approaching and then retreating from the audience. The character's face, then side, then back is seen as he crosses. This optical illusion of the wide angle lens and of the close member of the audience may suggest some ideas to the stage director. First, if the director wishes to simulate the purposes of the screen follow shot, that is, to have the audience maintain a constant focus on a crossing character, then he will wish to maintain a consistent and constant relationship between the audience and the char- acter; a curved cross may be the most effective way. The long curved cross may also be strong because of audience eye movement. It is generally agreed that the 305 eye jumps from subject to subject over a static scene, or from phrase to phrase when reading words from a static page. During the jump there is no focus, and there is only a blur. The eye does not seem able to move gradually across a field and remain in focus; however, when the eye is following a moving object, the eye seems to maintain a stationary focus on the moving object, and the background is blurred. Hence, in a camera follow shot, and in a focus maintained on an actor during a cross, the background can become blurred thus strengthening the actor. If the actor keeps the same relationship to the audience as he moves the eye is not tempted to, and need not, make a jump, and the actor may maintain a greater strength than in an actually straight cross. The director may thus minimize the weakening effect of the long cross and maintain a stronger focus on a moving character. 6-Point of View of Camera: Conclusions. Conjectures about how the camera point of view can be adapted to the stage and audience relationship have infinite possibilities for formation and testing. Simply by, first, replacing the camera with the audience in an analogy and then, second, seeing how the added dimension of audience identification may influence where the audience thinks of itself as being, the director may open the door to all kinds of new movement possibilities. One of the most daring, perhaps, is to reinstate some version of the mystery play stage in 306 which the audience actually moves about. Thus the modern director could experiment with giving his audience physically the "ideal" point of view of the action. C. Principles of Live Television Considered for Adaptation to the Stage 1. Introduction: Immediacy and Spontaneity of Live Television For this study immediacy is defined as a combination of proximity and ideal point of view, whereas spontaneity is defined as the appearance of, or actual, first time un- rehearsed presentation, hence a presentation whose outcome is uncertain. It seems that live television may be the medium that has these qualities together more than any other medium, and these qualities seem to have certain values for the stage. The film and the stage both present what is usually pre-planned material. The stage play is usually well rehearsed while the film is, rehearsed or not, permanently set on a plastic strip in an unchanging performance. Film brings the audience closer to the action than the stage but is canned; the stage presents live action, but it is pre- set. Only live television,though often as pre-planned as the stage play, can provide an audience both with the immediacy of close-up and ideal point of view and with the Spontaneity of reporting an actual event while it is 307 happening. Such qualities distinguish the medium and are its chief attraction. The quiz show, the football game, and the interview all picture events whose outcome is uncertain, yet events which are usually structured for maximum interest, conflict, and suspense. The order of Spontaneity and the order of immediacy among the media seem to be quite different. Perhaps the order of Spontaneity might be as follows: first the live event, then the televised event, the radio broadcast event, the stage presentation and finally the film. The order of immediacy, on the other hand, seems to be first the film, just slightly more than live television, then the stage, then the live event, and least of all the radio broadcast. It seems that the screen can get an audience closer and more ideal views than can a live event. Hence, it would seem that the medium with the greatest combination of immediacy and Spontaneity would be live television rather than either the live event or the motion picture film. Can the stage director in any way avail himself of the values that television has found in immediacy and Spontaneity? a) §pontaneity Applied to the Stage.--First, what are the factors that contribute to the Spontaneity of the tele- vision show? One is the audience knowledge that the performance is live and unrehearsed. Second is the structure that enforces conflict. Third is an unknown conclusion that is built to by suSpense. Fourth is the fact of people appearing as themselves, not as actors portraying characters. 308 All of these factors make the live show a real life event instead of a fictional story. To follow the television lead, the stage director needs to experiment with making the stage play a real life event. Toward that end, the stage is already familiar with the semi-scripted form of commedia dell'arte; a revision of some of its techniques exist today in the Broadway per- formances of a Bea Lillie or a Mike Nicols and Elaine May. Even certain method actors vary their timing, thoughts, actions, and even lines from night to night to keep per- formances fresh. However, there is still a wide gulf between the improvisational stage show and the spontaneous television Show. One of the chief obstacles to Spontaneity in the stage play is its fictional nature; events are being enacted,not lived. ‘When an actor, rather than his character, is in danger, changes the script, or talks to an audience, the frame of the stage is broken and the illusion with it. The fictional character disappears and the actor emerges. In other words, the audience predisposition toward psychical distance militates against extreme Spontaneity, and immediacy as well, and of course stage spontaneity is useless unless it is known to be spontaneous; the audience will believe it is rehearsed. Perhaps the stage needs a new form in order to gain the spontaneity of the live television show. b) Immediapy Applied to the Stage.--Many theatre experiments in immediacy have been performed, but somehow 309 they remain the exceptional productions; they are the oddities whose form never seems to become pOpular. It is this study's surmise that an audience generally dislikes the forced breaking of psychical or aesthetic distance through immediacy, as well as through Spontaneity; they do not seem to like an illusion broken by an actor either addressing them or being in their midst. If in a particular play, or method of production, the audience does like the effect of im- mediacy, they are probably beginning to react to the performer and not to either the character he is portraying or to the situation of the play. Either that or the immediacy effect is accepted as part of an illusion and ceases to be im- mediate or Spontaneous. The director, it seems, is rarely successful in having both audience involvement in an illusion and the effect of a real life event. Two reasonably successful experiments in immediacy are Waiting for Lefty and The Night of January 16th. The latter aims for both immediacy and spontaneity but usually achieves status as a curiosity. The play uses a jury made up of audience members who each night have to bring in a verdict in a trial. Even with this amount of uncertain outcome and direct involvement, however, the audience knows the basic play is not changed and that two endings have been written to account for either verdict. It is a kind of game where the audience role is ambiguous. They really don't change the progress of the play and yet they are asked to pretend 310 they do. They are not quite audience and not quite performer; however, it seems the experiment deserves modification and repetition until its principles of im- mediacy and spontaneity for the stage can be clarified. In the case of waiting for Lefty the audience is drawn into the plot through being addressed directly by the players and by having players in their midst. Players on stage address the audience as if they were in a union meeting; players in the audience respond to the stage as if they really were in the union meeting. Reactions to the play's immediacy effects have been quite varied all the way from reports of complete involve- ment to reports of complete alienation. However, this study feels that the form of Waiting for Lefpl expects too much of its audience; it expects them to change roles in the middle of the production. Sometimes the audience is watching an intimate scene in a house, something they could not realistically expect to see and overhear; they are at such a point a conventional proscenium audience. Suddenly they are participants; their privacy as onlookers is invaded and they are expected to react to peOple in a wholly new way, not as part of an illusion but as part of a meeting in which they are participants. Yet at the same time the audience realizes it should not reSpond by Speaking out in the meeting. In other words, the play forces involvement and withholds ultimate participation. The split is more 311 than a director should reasonably expect from his audience. Other forms such as arena theatre, theatre on all four sides of an audience, or theatre in the audience have also been tried with mixed success. It would appear to this study that none of them quite achieve the Spontaneity or immediacy of live television, primarily because the audience knows of the production's pre-planned nature and quickly accepts the new conventions in order to maintain apprOpriate aesthetic distance. Possibly the only way to achieve an effect on stage Similar to live television is to have a carefully structured production whose details throughout are dependent upon the improvisation of actor and audience, a production whose ending is deliberately in doubt even to the performers, performers who are playing themselves in a battle of dramatic wit. In other words, perhaps the theatre could gain some of the advantages of live television by a Special contemporary version of Commedia dell'Arte. D. Relationship Between Sight and Sound on the Screen: Adapted to the Stage Highly sophisticated relationships between sight and sound have been developed by the screen media, relationships which can suggest both direct and analogical adaptations to the stage. What seems to account for the sophistication is a combination of the precision possible when a production can be set in plastic and the unique historical backgrounds Of the media. 312 The sound film can perhaps give the stage director a unique view of movement because of its background in the silent film. When the film makers were without sound they had to discover what meanings could be conveyed almost exclusively with movement. They developed Special insights into filmic movement thereby. Conversely, television, with its origin in radio, already knew what sound alone could do. It had develOped audio communication to a high degree. The resulting Observations from the two screen media, after having combined their Specialties to use both Sight and sound, can add a Special dimension to the stage, the medium which has always been able to take both sight and sound for granted. ip_ Some Relationships Between Sight and Sound Suggested by phe Screen Media Generally, the old guard film theorists, remembering the silent film with pleasure, draw attention to the tendency of sight and sound together being in conflict or competition with each other. At least one or the other is usually supposed to be superfluous. The assumption is that either sight or sound has its own special language as a pure art form. Neither needs the use of the other. The isolationist and reactionary view is only useful to this study, however, to challenge the director to discover the strength of, and to perfect both his pictorial and his sound techniques and to find how they can best be integrated 313 into a sound and sight medium. Also, the director needs to find ways of keeping the Sight and sound, as Arnheim puts it, from "fighting each other for attention."9 a) Relationship of Parallelism and Hierarchy,—-Arnheim proposes a parallelism and a hierarchy for the relationship Of sight and sound. He maintains that both the dialogue and the picture story must be complete, that one cannot substitute 10 His for the other Since they are different media. labelling sight and sound as different media recalls that Arnheim tends to think of sound film as the combination of film and recording, and not yet a single integrated medium. His solution is to advocate a complete movement script coupled to a complete verbal script such that each tells the story in its own way.11 He adds that one should dominate the other, and they should complete each other by dealing with the same subject differently.l2 In effect he maintains that there is a hierarchy of media in any work of art and for film the image, the picture, is dominant while the dialogue is recessive.13 He feels, like many film theorists, that the reverse is true on stage; that, for example, Shakespeare and Moliere are complete without movement.14 ____ 9Rudolphe Arnheim, Film as Art (Berkeley: University of California Press), 1957):'p.‘l99. 10Ibid., p. 208. 11Ibid., p. 211. 12Ibid., p. 216. 14 13Ibid., p. 224. Ibid., p. 221. 314 There may be some justification for saying that Shakespeare is complete without movement; certainly many literary theorists have so maintained, though this study disagrees. Certainly in the case of Moliere, who wrote using the traditions of elaborate stage business of both the French Farce and the Commedia dell'Arte, in many cases seemingly presupposing specific bits of comedy business, it seems Arnheim is mistaken. In any case, it seems to this study that the stage can profit more from Arnheim by treat- ing the stage the way Arnheim describes the screen than by accepting his evaluation of the stage. Arnheim's theory of parallelism for the screen has a certain importance to the stage director in suggesting that movement does not nearly occupy the prominance it ought to on stage since, as a general rule, sight draws so much more concentrated attention than sound. His challenge adapted to the stage director seems to be to experiment with the stage as a visual art; to see if stage can make anything like the screen impact by also making the picture dominant. b) Relationship of Alternating_Balance.--Bettinger supplies an alternate to Arnheim's Parallelism theory. He refers to it as the "attention balance"; "the mind can con- centrate only on one thing at a time"; therefore attention must be switched back and forth between sight and sound, because attention cannot effectively be maintained on both at once.15 His relationship, in summary, calls for _— l 5Bettinger, pp, cit., p. 14. 315 restraining the dialogue when the impact is carried by the visual and the reverse when the impact is carried by the dialogue. He allows that for a brief moment of climax, possibly, both sight and sound may be accented. Bettinger maintains that sound is more effective than sight in stimulating imagination but visual memory and believability are stronger than aural.l6 His point, how- ever, only seems to suggest to this study that the more abstract a representation, or the less content it has, the more the imagination is stimulated; sounds conjure up visual images in the mind. This study is not Opposed to stimulating the imagination; however, the study is more directly concerned with the attempt to communicate specific meanings, hence with the designed visual picture which is the image itself and is director controlled. ‘When actually presented on stage the image is the same for the whole audience; the audience's mental image obviously varies according to the background of the individual audience member. However, one positive point that Bettinger's ideas suggest to this study is for the stage director to consider adding a sound track to his play script, a sound track more elaborate than merely the required doorbell or fire siren, but a complete effects track, possibly with almost con- tinuous music as a stimulant for audience imagination. L 16Ibid., p. 18. 316 Such a track could easily supply the larger context, geo- graphical Or emotional, in which the smaller play exists. The play might even float in a pool of sound, including the ambient sound that would be present if the stage set were really in its larger context, sound that is, however, orchestrated with the movement and dialogue. Of course the screen technique would require a degree of synchronization and precise relationship between sound and dialogue that is more than most live actors can achieve. Ultimately, as with the music in a musical production, the director would probably have to decide whether the actor or the sound track would lead. c) Pprallelism vs. Attention Balance.--In the main, this study prefers Bettinger's attention balance relation- ship over Arnheim's parallelism. It seems that picture and sound may express different things, or the same thing in different ways, but that for both to be expressing a complete story in parallel may well result in a ponderous redundancy. To avoid the redundancy, at times the sound can be dominant, at times the sight, at times one or the other need express practically nothing, even be missing. In other words, sight and sound seem most capable of providing a variety of expression in a combination of contrasting with or supporting each other, and in waves of dominant and recessive relationship. 317 d) Relationship of Sight and Sound Analogous to a Montage.--The relationship of sight to sound described above finds a parallel in the montage. For the stage, perhaps one of the most effective translations of that mon- tage is the juxtaposition of movement and Speech to create patterns of meaning. 'Where a movement fundamentally tells the same story as the dialogue there is a support, or a cumulative montage. Where the movement tells a contrasting story there is a dynamic, or dialectical, version of the cumulative montage. Such stage montages may present both sight and sound simultaneously, but Bettinger's advice appears to be best. If Sight and sound impacts are alternated, they can each have an effect without clouding the other. In practice, both sight and sound continue in a flow, parallel in a way, but the element making the point takes dominance at any one moment. Such a sight and sound sequence may reflect a chase sequence (simultaneous montage), a normal time sequence (a continuity montage), or a contrasting sequence (the dia- lectical cumulative montage) all to good effect. e) Sight as a Commentary Upon Sound.-—Usually the script words are thought of as providing the commentary and the context that clarify the meaning of movement. One example that reverses that relationship, where sight comments on sound, should hold special interest for the stage director; it is what Pudovkin calls "unsynchronized 318 Speech"17 and what Reisz means when he says "it is frequent- ly more important to Show a reaction than the speaker."18 In effect, the screen technique is to place the listening character on the screen while the Speaker is temporarily either out of the frame or has his back to the camera. The technique can accomplish several things the stage director may use. It helps continuity by bringing the reacting character prominently into the scene before he Speaks; that is, it provides an overlap. On stage, this overlap could be one of position; for example, the reacting character has his face to the audience, the Speaker his back. The overlap could be one of movement; for example, the reacting character starts a gesture or turn to gain focus before the Speaker has finished talking. In other words, the stage director can break the general rule (which is to keep the speaker in focus and to allow movement only from the speaker) in order to present a vital reversal. A montage-like con- trast will result between the Speaker and the listener, a more dynamic interrelationship of sight and sound, than the mere alternation of attention. 17v. I. Pudovkin, Film Technique and Film Acting. Trans. Ivor MOntagu (London: ViSiOn Press, Ltd., 1954), p. 165. l8Kare1 Reisz, The Technique of Film Editing (New York: Farrar, Straus & Cudahy, 1958), p. 87. 319 2. Special Relationships Between Sight and Sound on Stagp There are certain relationships between Sight and sound on stage that the screen director may help the stage director to clarify and to turn to his advantage. One of those is the necessity for simultaneous effects on stage, and another is the probable dominance of sight on stage in spite of the prominence of the script lines. a) Sight Congruent with Sound.--Although both stage and screen directors may advise one thing at a time, usually on stage one thing does not occur at a time. In a screen montage, often one thing does because of the selectiv- ity of the camera; on stage there is usually a relationship of dominant and recessive with many things happening at once, including both in sight and in sound. The point to be made is this: even though an audience may only con- centrate on one thing at a time the audience is quickly aware of discrepancies around the point of concentration. Although the audience is listening at a given moment, the Sight factors need to be congruent with, or Obviously in con- trast with, the sound. Peripheral vision and its aural counterpart both exist. If they did not, the director would find it difficult to redirect attention away from an Old focus and toward a new one; a movement or sound else- where in the audience's field of vision or hearing could not serve to control a change of audience focus. The only instrument of redirecting attention would be the object in focus itself. Since peripheral awareness does exist, the 320 stage director needs to supply enough movement and sound around the point of focus so the audience realizes the focus has a context. At the same time he needs to allow no sound or movement of a speed or a magnitude to distract the audience until the director desires a transition. b) Sight Dominant Over Sound.--Because screen movement is so prominent much attention has been paid to what kind it is. Arnheim, and others, have observed that the variety of pantomime that usually accompanies screen dialogue is insufficient, unexpressive, and monotonous. The arms and head usually beat time to the rhythm of the dialogue, but the movements contribute little more to the scene than a punctuation or an emphasis.19 His suggestion is to re- place the man who talks with the man who acts. Bettinger supports this view by suggesting limits to the screen dialogue. Dialogue should convey only the minimum informa- tion necessary for exposition and characterization. The screen image should do the rest.20 Curran supports the Opinion further by proclaiming that the screen reaches its greatest heights as a medium of pantomimic expression; dialogue ought to be kept to a minimum.21 Herein is another 19 Arnheim, _p, cit., p. 228. 2OBettinger, _p, cit., p. 76- 21Charles W. Curran, Screen Writing and Production Ipchnique (New York: Hastings House, 1958), p.‘2l. 321 challenge to the stage director. Need the play script be so wordy? Can't the visual on the stage have almost as much prominence as the visual on the screen? Although the pantomimists and dancers will reveal to this study additional insight into what movement with few or no words can mean, the film can lead the way in suggest- ing fruitful relationships between sight and sound where sound is still important but sight is predominate. Indeed, perhaps the dominance may already be as true for the stage as Stasheff maintains it is for television. When scripts, whose main interest was verbal, were adapted to television Stasheff says that a strange reversal took place; the picture became prominent.22 Possibly the same relationship is true on stage whether or not the director knows or wants it. If so, then the director might well take advantage of this prominence and not let it do trivial things or suppress it in favor of the less impressive words. E. Summary Conclusion: Screen's Challenge to the Stage Director The conclusion of this chapter consists of two suggestions to the Stage director. They are to use the analogical method of adapting Screen techniques to the stage, and to adOpt the screen's creative directing role. —_. 22Edward Stasheff and Rudy Bretz, The Television Prpgram, ips Writing, Direction, and Production (New York: A.A. Wyn, Inc., 1951), p. 24. 322 1. Challenge of Analogy. By the method of analogy the stage director can borrow creatively and imaginatively from the screen. He can start by letting the audience substitute for the camera, the scenery for the horizon, or anything substitute for anything else in moving relationships until some new idea occurs to him that may be fruitful. In the process he may adapt to the stage screen techniques, larger screen principles, or merely small screen idiosyncrasies. For examples, he may use the large principle of the free manipulation of time and Space all the way to merely the results of an early imperfect motion picture projector. The possibilities are unlimited for the imaginative director. All he needs is a knowledge of the techniques and principles of the two screen media, a few methods of abstraction, and the desire to experiment. 2. Challenge of Creativity The desire to experiment is perhaps the director's biggest asset in relating film to stage; for a Special challenge to be creative by analogy and by example is clearly implied in this entire chapter. But perhaps more than the screen techniques themselves, or even a method of adaptation, the stage director needs the point of view and the creative freedom of the screen director. And to use that freedom, he also needs a thorough knowledge of his own medium to fulfill the responsibility that the freedom 323 implies. The chief freedom the screen director has is the emancipated view that the written script is only a scenario, a skeleton which he must dress. The Scenario is usually not considered a work of art, but a story line from which a plan, a shooting script, derives and from which a work of art hOpefully will emerge. The stage director on Broadway, or wherever original Scripts are produced, often feels as does the director of film. The script is incomplete; it needs rewriting and testing. The stage director can aid not only in inter— preting but in creating both the script and the visual production. Such freedom to create must be assumed by a stage director, both with original scripts and with those scripts which were original dozens or hundreds of years ago, before they too had undergone testing, otherwise he can never be anything but tied to the decisions of other artists. 'Specifically, as Tyler suggests, the director should look through his script to "translate his feelings into images as though the words did not exist'.‘23 Not because the stage director must become filmic, but because the filmic idea will add one more powerful string to the director's bow. He should look for places to interpret 23Parker Tyler, The Three Faces of the Film (New York: Thomas Yoseloff, i960), p. 57. 324 feelings visually, places for pantomime scenes, places for montage bridges, places for fully orchestrated sound effects and musical backgrounds, places where special points of view or distortions are possible through character identi- fication, places where people and ideas may be freshly presented by alternating relevation and concealment, and places where the depth and scale of pictures can be changed by application of filmic concepts. In short, perhaps the stage director should be more daring than an interpreter; he Should seriously consider being an originator, looking for places where he can originate not only pictorial but also verbal script in order to provide for stronger pictorial representation. In order to availthimself of bolder and more expressive movement techniques a director needs to be at least a play doctor if not an actual playwright. He needs not only to be aware of the potential for movement on stage but to be able to provide himself with the script framework that will help him to realize that potential. CHAPTER‘VII MOVEMENT WITHOUT SPEECH: CERTAIN PRINCIPLES OF DANCE, PANTOMIME, AND PSYCHOLOGY ADAPTED TO STAGE PLAY MOVEMENT A. Introduction: Special Contributions of Pantomime ‘ and Dance to Dramatic Movement: from The Theatre and Life Even as with the silent film makers, the dancers and pantomimists have Special light to throw on the meaning of stage movement because of their reliance on theatrical movement without speech. When movement is presented by itself, divorced from words, a language of movement takes on much greater importance. Without a verbal context to explain the meaning of a movement, the dancer or pantomimist must depend upon the movement pattern to supply a meaning context, and upon each individual move to contribute to that context as well as to supply specific individual meanings. Many of the principles and techniques of movement in both dance and pantomime draw from the same theatre heritage as the play. Much is held in common by all three art forms They use the same stage, the same audiences, and seek Similar goals of expression, communication, and entertain- ment. 325 326 All three forms also draw directly from an observation of life, partially from the psychological and physiological aspects of body movement and motivation but also from move- ment that has been learned in cultural life. Consequently similar conventions and principles are practiced by all three forms. This chapter is concerned primarily, there- fore, with what the pantomimist and dancer can add from their interpretation of theatre and life to what has al- ready been accumulated in this study. 1. Theatre's Contribution: Conventional Language Because of dance and pantomime's need to communicate with movement alone they have adapted theatre's movement heritage in more complete and special ways than has the stage play. Conventions of stage areas, the meaning of abstractions, the use of metaphors, and the stage stereo- types of emotion and attitude have all been explored in greater depth. The peripheral aspects of stage movement, such as rhythm and tempo, have become central and powerful. The size and shape of movements have become enlarged, simplified, and more explicit because there is no verbal context to clarify their meanings. Hopefully the stage director can benefit from the deeper and broader search into the common theatrical movement heritage. 2. Life's Contribution: Human Behavior This study is also interested in dance and pantomime's 327 sources in their observations of life, largely because both art forms maintain a partial dependence upon these observa- tions. From the beginnings in Delsarte both forms have maintained some dependence upon clinical observation of behavior and the meanings behavior apparently has, that is, Observation of the real life situations to which that behavior seems appropriate. The psychologist is of interest in this chapter, partially, then, to the extent that he may support or counteract the Specific claims of the pantomimists and dancers concerning the meaning of body movement; but perhaps even more the psychologist is of interest to the extent that he can clarify the source of the pantomimist's body language. PsycholOgy is to the meaning of body movement, after all, like the study of etymology is to the verbal language. The Origins of the verbal language help to explain its meanings, but the language now has taken on certain meanings through usage apart from its origins. So it is with pantomime and dance. The backgrounds are of interest, but can neither affirm nor deny the current cultural meanings of movement. They may, however, suggest ways to help modify or enrich the current modes. The psychologist is not brought into this chapter for the purpose of testing what is communicated by the movement language to an audience. This approach is beyond the scOpe of the present study, even if such specific tests were available. The experience of this study is that 328 most available related investigations do not bear directly upon the problems at issue in this study; the investigations would have to be related analogically and hence would loose their scientific authority in the application. It is the opinion of this study that special tests would have to be devised if psychological testing were the aim. At any rate, the dancers and pantomimists are primarily dependent upon studies of behavior in real life contexts, studies conducted by Delsarte over half a century ago, studies that did not separate out the psychological, physiolog- ical, or cultural bases from the observed movement forms. So that movement drawn from observed life, rather than from psychology in particular, is the second main source for pantomime and dance's movement meanings, while the testing of the language currently used by those arts, to see what is communicated, is the subject of another study. 3p Order of Presentation: From Gross to Fine It is the job of this chapter to combine the concepts and observations of those concerned with the meaning of movement as movement is divorced from words in order to garner for the stage director whatever may be useful in his art. To be consistent with the rest of this study the material will be presented in order from gross to fine move- ment. The imitations of life and the theatrical conventions will be discussed simultaneously as they become apprOpriate to the discussion of gross and fine movement. 329 The choreographer is the artist in this chapter most correSponding with the stage director and most concerned with the meanings of the gross movement in blocking. The choreographer's view of the use of the abstract elements of mass, line, form, balance, emphasis, and rhythm will con- tribute new insights to the stage director's use of com- position and picturization. The section on fine movement will be divided into the same movement divisions this study used in Part I: Mimesis, metaphor, and symbol. The mimetic basis for dance and pantomime is drawn in part from certain psychological principles, in part from Delsarte's views of natural move- ment meaning as classified into a language, and in part from the direct observations of life made by the dancer's and pantomimists. The metaphorical and symbolic basis for move- ment meaning in this chapter derives almost entirely from the use of theatrical convention and stereotyped behavior as used by the dancers. flpp Movement as Expression or Communication in Dance and Ppntomime There are many schools of thought amongst dancers and pantomimists as to what the role of movement should be. Some feel movement should merely express the feelings of the mover with no necessity to communicate to an audience. There are those who insist that dance exists for its own sake and not for communication. Their view will be discussed; 330 however, strictly speaking, their view falls outside the realm of the meaning of movement. The majority, however, consider movement as a method of communication. The practitioners and theorists herein consulted con- cern themselves with meaning, that is with derivation of stage movement from natural behavior, from moving objects in life beyond the stage, and from culturally symbolic languages that have grown out of stage practice. There are those who insist there is a universal language of the body, with a definite body movement or position correspond- int to each feeling or attitude, and those who maintain that only a very general emotional mood can be conveyed by natural body movement. Still others have an eclectic point of view and suggest combining observation, abstractions from nature, metaphor, symbol, psychological principles, and established theatrical conventions into a more or less integrated system. The latter course is the one this study will suggest for the stage in more detail at the conclusion of the chapter. B. Gross Movement Composition Elements Interpreted By the Choreographer When the choreographer plots group movement he employs gross composition principles that are very similar to those the stage director uses in the gross blocking of his play. Because of the similarity much of the choreographers art 331 needs little translation to be used by the director. In- deed, because Of the media's common heritage much that both artists use has already been discussed fully in the first part of this study. It remains here to collect what additional principles and techniques the choreographers have to suggest. Both Hayes and Humphries cover the compositional principles of group movement quite completely and concisely. They include mass, line, form and balance, emphasis, and rhythm. However, certain special aspects of some Of the above elements emerge that might be useful to the stage director. 1. Mass Considered as Density Mass has been previously defined by this study as the appearance of weight; it can also be considered as the appearance of density. The idea of density is really a poetic image with an analogical basis. Hayes employs the image to suggest a Special quality of group movement on stage. The term density derives from physics. The density of the medium (air) through which the dancers move, deter- mines certain qualities of movement.1 To try to apply the idea, if the air is thought of as being more dense than normal, even as dense as water, the dancer moves in a sort -__. tElizabeth R. Hayes, Dance Composition and Production (New York, 1955), p. 46. 332 of slow motion. However, the slow motion is distinct from the filmic variety. A motion occurs that is Slow because it appears to be overcoming opposition. On the other hand the air could be thought of as having no density and movement becomes rapid and flitting. Coupled with analogical variants on other physical laws, such as gravity, density of movement can suggest a great deal toward setting the overall mood of a play. 2. Line Considered as Abstraction and Textural Dynamic Line has also been discussed at length in the first part of this study; however, Humphries has some interesting additional comments on some of the connotations of line patterns in opposition. Opposed lines suggest force, energy, and vitality, whereas successional lines that flow or curve suggest grace and languor.2 Her special point is that Opposed lines seem to hold in, or retain, energy while unopposed lines of movement allow for energy loss from the body.3 Her way of expressing herself sounds at first rather mystical, but there is an important principle involved. A sympathetic illustration would be this: if an actor moves up against another actor, or his line of march is cut off by 2Doris Humphries, The Art of Making_DanceS (New York: 1959). p. 57. 3Ihid., p. 58. 333 another's line of march, his movement comes to a halt, or at least his line pattern stOps abruptly. This stOpping gives the audience an impression something like that of water being held back by a dam, or of a sentence being held in by a period. The movement is restricted, enclosed, and hence retains its energy. If the movement simply flows unimpeded, it is like the stream without the dam; water flows away and is lost. The impression of force is not present until that force is opposed. Or, to change the metaphor, the unopposed movement is like the sentence that ends with a series of dashes. It is weak; energy seems to escape with a sigh at its conclusion. As this chapter continues it can be seen that many of the choreographers' abstract compositional elements, like the above, have a metaphorical basis. Line can also be considered in terms of the shapes and patterns it forms that will give a certain dynamic impression to certain movement textures. Dynamics for Humphries 4 include what she calls variables in texture. Texture it- self is also a concept that seems to be more analogical than literal. In materials, such as fabric, texture refers to such qualities as Smooth and rough. In movement, texture refers to Similar qualities such as angular, sharp, circular, and smooth, but also to gradations in tension. These com- positional components are expressed by various parts of the _ “Ibid., p. 97. 334 body. Sharpness is usually conveyed by small movements of knee and elbow, while smoothness is expressed by the large muscles of arm and leg prOpelling the whole body in space. The meaning of these textural variations is closely associ- ated with the meaning of abstract line patterns. The sharp and angular are supposed to be stimulating, while the smooth are supposed to be soothing. Humphries combines two dynamics to form a contrapuntal effect; an example would be for one arm to move sharply while another is moving smoothly.5 She notes that the Spanish dance uses simultaneous dynamics; sharp foot movements combine with smooth arm movements. How may the stage director use dynamics in his move- ment? Direct adoption is, of course, quite possible. Actors can aid their characterizations by using textures that Show emotional qualities or attitudes. The director can create an underlying mood to a scene by these same textures of movement. However, Simultaneous dynamics provide the most exciting possibilities. Any part of a scene, or of a human body, that contrasts with another part affords fine opportunity for directoral comment on the scene. Two moving elements are apt to be more noticeably contrasted than one moving (the actor) and one static (the scenery). The director needs only to decide what two moving elements will best express the two different textures of 5Ibid., p. 101. 335 movement. The two dynamics, or textures, may occur within the same actor. For example, two dynamics may help to provide a revelation of a hidden facet of his character's personality. A smoothly moving torso and head with fidget- ing hands and elbows behind the back can reveal a surface calm with an underlying tension. One arm gently enfolding a young lady while the other arm is nervously reaching for a wallet, can suggest a conscious effort to be suave with a hidden fear of not being able to pay the bill. Or, in such a stylized form as Gilbert and Sullivan, a director may support the author's comments with less realistic simul- taneous dynamics. The upper part of the actors' bodies can be carried proudly erect, in a smooth flowing static symbol for ego and breeding. Meanwhile the feet can be moved in an almost acrobatic fashion, in a satirical comment on the upper part of the body. The impression is almost of two bodies in one, as if a mischievious bottom man were carrying around on his shoulders, and ridiculing, a pompous top man. 3, Form and Balance Considered as Abstraction and Image Generally, Humphries considers balance as a prOperty of form rather than as a separate category. Balanced or unbalanced forms exist in many kinds; but there seem to be two general varieties as discussed by Humphries; there are forms that seem to derive mostly from compositional abstracts, and forms that more Obviously derive from objects or ideas external to themselves. In other words, there are abstract 336 form and analogical form. The abstract formal elements of new interest to this study are symmetry and linear two dimensionality. To Humphries, symmetrical compositions have the same stability, repose, and harmony that they do for stage directors. She does, however, mention a unique set of uses for the form. Symmetry can be employed prior to or after the operation of will and desire; it can also be used for conclusions.6 The stimulus her suggestion offers to the director's imagination can be far reaching. Symmetry followed by asymmetry followed by symmetry may well help to interpret a scene that should start calm, become excited, and end calm. Balance, unbalance, then balance might be added to the same sequence. Smooth, angular, then smooth might also be used. To avoid redundance, and to allowibr some anticipation of the middle phase, asymmetry, perhaps an opposition sequence would match better than a supporting one. Such a sequence could start with rough texture matched with symmetrical balance, followed by smooth texture matched with asymmetrical balance, as passion operates and overcomes its Opposition, and completed by the repose of symmetry and the equal re- pose of an even smoother texture. 6Ibid., p. 160. 337 Humphries' linear two dimensional composition is useful, she maintains, only for ritual, impersonal, and cold sequences. At all other times linear two dimensional compositions are too devitalizing, lifeless, monotonous, and inhuman.7 Here her observations are not so new to the study as they are more Specific, and specificity is usually what stage directors most lack. It seems the need to find out how to apply principles may be more pressing than the need for more principles. Form in its aSpects of complexity and simplicity receives additional attention from the choreographer. Humphries says that "the solo instrument can be quite elaborate," as it "has the sole reSponsibility of expressing the total group movement'.’8 On the other hand, the larger the group, the simpler each individual should be. For the total grouping will still be more complex than the most complex, single individual alone on stage. In effect, no element in a group Should be complete in itself; only the whole composition should be complete. When music, costume, and lights are added to all the movements, the stage picture should be complete, but not before. The stage director can learn a great deal from this formal principle. In realistic theatre the director often tends to be Victorian. Every realistic detail is often present in costume, gesture, 8Ib1d., p. 61. 7Ibid., p. 160. 338 prOperty, and scene. The result is an interesting museum piece around which the audience eye may at first wander fascinated. The result, though a unity of style, is not a unity of production. The whole may fall apart if each part is a whole. In effect, the suggestion for the director is to use selective realism especially applied in relation to the number of characters and scenic elements on stage. Form is also considered by Humphries in terms of its metaphorical sources. She notes that early modern dancers abstracted their forms from as wide a variety of objects as buildings, people, dynamic relationships, trees, and machinery.9 There seemed to be interest primarily in seeing just what could be expressed with movement, what could be done by the new medium. Such forms are still expressed, but more and more the theme dominates the form. Humphries suggests starting to look for themes and formal elements by being attuned to the spirit Of the times. To her this century is symbolized formally by the right angle.10 She maintains that a keen observer of his life and times will find an "inevitable relationship between the accumulated store of visual and mental attitudes dominant in our age, and composition.ll Among these compositional principles Humphries derives, such as the right angle, is the demo- cratic grouping. The latter she likens to the Greek chorus, wherein the group is important as a group, and also as k 9Ibid., p. 22. 1°1bid., p. 29. 111bid., p. 20. 339 individuals.12 Her decision about what is the Spirit of the times is perhaps not so important to the stage director as her method. By comparing ideas, concepts, architectural shapes, or typical styles of a particular time, or play, a director can derive images and forms that can be depicted in move- ment. 4. Emphasis Considered as a Function of Stage Space In the emphatic use and meaning of stage Space Humphries fundamentally agrees with the findings of the stage directors. She also adds some interesting observa- tions in the categories of direction of movement and area strength. a) Direction of Movement.--Humphries maintains the most powerful movement on stage is straight forward, next is diagonal, and third is circular; the circular gives the audience a sense of continuity, but because the body line keeps changing the body gives a weaker impression.l3 "Straight forward" needs some explanation; Humphries is not explicit. It seems that straight toward the audience would be the strongest move, diagonally across the stage the next. However, the stage director can make another fruitful com- bination here with the principle of character-audience 12Ibid., p. 91. 131bid., p. 81. 340 identification. A straight move toward the identity char- acter is also a strong move, the diagonal move in relation to that same character can be somewhat weaker. If the director uses the fact of audience-character identification he may then strengthen or weaken any move in two ways. This identificatiOn becomes more important in arena theatre where there is no consistent "toward the audience" move. b) Area Strength.--Humphries has an interesting variation for dancers in the order of stage area strength. To her, the order of strength is center, up right, up left, down right, down left, up center, and down center.14 Most directors think of down center as the strongest area, and generally center next; then the areas become weaker as they fan out from the center. Humphries feels down center is weak- est. She does not give a total rationale for her order, but some of her observations are enlightening. To her, up right and up left are strong beginnings for movement: they are supported by stage verticals (such as back drOps or box set corners) and the right angle support (intersecting corner lines) of power and excitement.15 From these corners the diagonal is the strong move. The move becomes weaker as it approaches the center, strongest at the center, and then weaker again until it attains some support from the vertical 16 lines at the down stage corner. 6 1“mid” p. 83. 15Ibid., p. 70. 1 Ibid., p. 75. ‘- -...-_ 341 There seem to be two weak points in Humphries observa- tions. First, in the stage play there may be no strong supporting scenic verticals at the corners, and , second, possibly a support weakens the body rather than strengthens it. By the principle of contrast, the body should be stronger if it provides a contrast, not a concurrence, with its background. Humphries does not express an Opinion of area strengths when there are no verticals in the setting, nor does she seem to reconcile her views on contrast and support. It seems to this study that Humphries is mistaking strength for potential. At the center of the stage the actor controls the situation and can move in any direction. At the upstage corners the actor has high potential to move into strong areas and to make strong moves. At down stage center the strong move is at an end and can go no further. There is no potential left. However, lack of potential is brought about because the actor is already in the strongest area. 53 Rhythm Considered as A Natural and A Musical Organizer Rhythm, established by repeated elements in movement, is considered by Humphries to be "the great organizer"; its natural sources, from which to abstract in order to decide which rhythm will be used, are, first, the breathing, Speaking, singing apparatus which leads to the rhythms of the phrase; they are second, the semi-conscious rhythms of 342 the heart beat, peristalsis, contraction-relaxation of muscles, and waves of sensation from the nerve endings; third, they are the movement of the legs in alternate steps; and, fourth, they are the emotional rhythms of passion, or the surge and ebb of feeling.17 The source list provides a director with natural rhythms he may use with empathic power. Not all of these sources are in regular use by the stage director, but through them he can attune a performance to the feelings of his audience. Hayes draws attention to the rhythms derived from music. These, combined, form cumulative, simultaneous, and resultant meters; these are combinations of rhythms to provide more complex rhythms.l8 Music as a metaphor, or direct use of musical rhythms, can suggest ways in which natural rhythms may be combined into formal unity. However, the more the director draws upon music as his rhythmic source, the more abstract and remote from meaning becomes his communication, since the movement is twice removed from its original source; music derives its rhythm from life and movement derives its rhythm from music. The more the director uses natural rhythms directly, the better chance he has to produce a controlled empathic response. The phrase is one natural rhythmic unit of organization. The phrase originates according to Humphries from the length 1711315.” p. 105. 18Hayes, 22. 0113., p. 76. 343 of a breath when a person Speaks or exhales. The breath phrase dominates dance movement as it is an easily com- prehended length of stress. A phrase consists of an expenditure of energy followed by a rest, or a tension and relaxation sequence, or a sequence of punctuations of energy.19 The phrase as a unit of rhythm, according to Humphries, is essential in order to maintain the shape of nature. ‘Without the phrase, attention has no focus and movement becomes exhausting for the audience. Too quick punctuation in phrasing can also be tedious. It is pre- sumed by this study that audience empathy with the tedious rhythm would bring about the audience exhaustion. Without a periodic rest, or with too rapid a pace, audience exhaustion may take place. The basic pattern of Humphries' phrasing is Aristotelian, consisting of a beginning, middle, and end, followed by a Slight hesitation or rest. An accent may come in either part, depending on the connotation desired for the rhythm.20 The phrase may also be fragmented into clauses, phrases, and punctuation that add up to a small unit of meaning, even as does the sentence. Repetition in rhythm has a Special significance for dance because of the necessity to establish a rhythm in some relationship to the repeating rhythm of music.21 _— l9Humphries, pp. cit., p. 66. 201mm, p. 68. 21Hayes, pp, cit., p. 13. 344 Repetition is, in fact, usually shunned by the realistic director, or else allowed to be tedious through oversight, to the detriment of his play. Controlled repetition Of formal elements in movement not only helps to establish a rhythm but combined with variety of expression and with recurring groups of movements it helps to provide increasing tempo, complication, excitement, and climax. ‘Without repetition of formal elements there would be no comparison of an early occurrence with a later occurrence in order to perceive increases. Tempo, the Speed of rhythm, is calculated on stage, Humphries notes, as a variation of the Speed of a normal walk.22 If a person moves faster than a normal walk the tempo is felt to be fast, if Slower his tempo is felt to be slow. Her observation gives rise to some other con- jectures. Normal breathing, heart beat, or phrasing rates may also establish norms for tempo depending on the context of the tempo. Her important point, however, is that the established, normal, regular tempo is neutral; it is too dull to arouse an audience. Faster, slower, or irregular tempi are needed to create interest or excitement. C. Fine Movement Adapted from the Psychologist, the Pantomimist, and the Dancer: Movement of Individual People 22Humphries, _p, cit., p. 108. 345 The choreographer's abstract elements of composition fit quite readily into the stage director's picturization vocabulary. When the meaning of movements as made by individual dancers and pantomimists is considered it does not appear to receive such general acceptance. The problem exists largely, it seems, because of strong claims for a psychological basis and a universal application of the movement principles. If the movements are considered as culturally derived and with meanings dependent partly on psychological behavior but largely upon a knowledge of the movement language, many of the problems abate. ipp Bodprovement: Three Kinds Combined; Mimesis, Metaphor, Symbol Body movement as described by authors in this chapter still follows the categories of mimesis, metaphor, and symbol. However, it is often difficult to discover what body movements are derived from which source. Even those that are mimetic may be an imitation not of universal psychological behavior but of culturally learned symbols for feelings and attitudes. Which body movements are reflexive, which natural to all human beings, which ones learned but highly typical of the culture, and which ones are symbolic conventions is not always easy to discover. It may be good for the director to know the difference in source in order to know principles for creating new meanings, but it is often quite unnecessary in order to communicate on the eclectic 346 American stage. Further, as long as the director understands accepted meanings and has principles of psychology, metaphor, and convention to derive new moves and meanings, the audience may receive a unified impression of meaning without the use of some single mode; the audience probably needn't even be conscious of which modes are being employed. 2. Mimetic Movement: Meaning Derived from Imitation of Natural Body Movement The difficulty in correlating views of the meaning of body movement derived from human behavior is largely one of terminology. For this reason although there seems to emerge a relative agreement in principles and techniques, the agreement is difficult to evaluate as a whole. The most valuable agreement between views of artists and scientists comes with the observed behavior of human beings. The objective behavior when a man is under the influence of an emotion, expressing an attitude, or reacting to an expressed emotion or attitude is described by the artist and the scientist alike, and in quite Similar ways. The divergences occur within the vocabulary used and within the overall classification of the objective phenomena. One man uses psychological jargon, another uses theological, mystical, or philosophical jargon. One groups his observations in terms of kinesthetic responses, neuromuscular sequences, or actions and reactions; while another groups his findings in threes 347 according to a trinitarian religious vieWpoint, or Spatially according to the part of the body affected by the movement. One Speaks of inner motivation and outer stimulus forcing a neuromuscular reaction pattern; another Speaks of the inner soul or purpose creating the outer form. However, if the compiler of ideas can discount the terminology and structure imposed on his observations by the artists'or psychologists overview of life there is much that each can contribute to the stage director. Many of the divergences of view are more apparent than real. a) A Psychological View of the Meaning of Body Movement: The Dancers' Interpretation of Psychological Principles Combined With Related Psychological Views.--The psychologist is in part a systematic observer of human behavior. As such his findings can be and have been of value to the director and choreographer who wish to communicate by the imitation of nature. A danger exists, however, in assuming that if it isn't proven by psychology it doesn't exist. unfortunately, psychology has not yet undertaken very thorough studies of what movement means to an audience; hence most of the material available is the result of clinical study of clinical symptoms, not of mass communication by movement. Unfortunately, such material Often uses terminology that is difficult to translate into theatre terms. For example, when the psychologist maintains that emotions all have the same symptoms, his observation is less than helpful for the 348 theatre man. The psychologist in this instance is not studying everything the theatre man needs to know, namely, the correSpondence between body movement and attitudes, emotions, motivations, and learned overt responses. In other words, the theatre man needs to remember that not everything in human movement behavior is in the psychologist's domain. The psychologist's study under laboratory conditions also tends to devaluate his conclusions for the theatre man to some extent. The very controls he needs in order to make valid tests often result in testing emotion under inhibiting conditions. The more overt symptoms, such as Show up at the scene of a human disaster, are apt to disappear leaving only the subvert. His records may well Show only emotion inhibited. Until testing is undertaken in the field, testing of normal human beings as they are moved by a real stimulus and are reacting spontaneously, as much as possible before their cultural inhibitions set in, will a complete and accurate survey be possible. So far, only Delsarte has undertaken such a survey, and his View was perhaps over colored by the 19th century. Still another survey that needs taking is one of what audiences understand from stage movement symbols. How much is communicated to an audience by theatrical styles, as compared to the psychological symptoms of emotion and attitudes, may help to uncover some principles of effective symbols. So far no such a survey has been made. 349 Unfortunately, also, psychologists and those dancers and pantomimists who apply psychology do not always agree with each other any more than do stage directors. Each supposedly witnesses the same, or Similar, sets of symptoms, but each is apt to put a different interpretation on his findings. The problem of the reversible process of the cause and effect of emotion is a case in point. l-Empathy and Kinesthesia, Reversible Mechanisms in Communication by Body Movement. Mary Todd says, "Bodily postures definitely influence the emotions. Certainly the reverse is also true." She adds that "peculiarities of postures associated with mental diseases and abnormalities have long been observed,"23 Her precept is, "we sit and walk as we think," "living, the whole body carries its meaning," "for every thought supported by feeling, there is "24 a muscle change. To her, "function preceded structure." "Everything moves, and in the pattern of movement life is objectified."25 In these statements lie the basis for kinesthetics and empathy, most important concepts for the communication of feeling through body movement. Just how the body and the emotions interrelate as applied to the dance is more carefully stated by Hayes. 23Mary Elsworth Todd, The Thinking Bogy (Boston: Charles T. Branford Company, 1949), p. 36. 24Ibid., p. l. 251bid., p. 3. 350 Kinesthesis is the study of the movement of muscles as they provide sensations for recall, recall that is necessary for the individual to repeat a movement. Kinesthesia is some- times called by method actors muscle or sense memory. Hayes points out that the state of mind associated with a move is also recalled along with the move.26 In performance, she maintains, a dancer or actor produces a movement, and the audience reproduces the movement in its own body. In turn the audience feels or recalls whatever associative meanings each member has for that particular movement.27 She cautions, however, that the audience may not have the same associative meaning for the move as the dancer has. Communications depends upon the degree of universality of the feeling and universality of the bodily expression of that feeling.28 It is well to note that several sources are in agreement concerning the kinesthetic and empathic pro- cess, Doctor Campbell from the psychiatric field, the only doctor this study could discover who has written recently on this particular subject. As has been seen already, Todd agrees in principle; Stebbins also has been shown to agree that the inner thought determines the outer form and the outer form tends to reinstate the inner 26Hayes, pp, cit., p. 22. 28 27Ibid. Ibid., p. 23. \J-LV 351 response.29 It remains to note that Douglas Gordon Campbell, neurologist, psychologist, and psychiatrist, is equally certain of the process. He states, "often our words contradict our movements, symptoms, attitudes, posture, and gesture, which can be read accurately if the code is known, but will certainly register even without conscious n30 recognition. To Campbell, obviously, movements have definite meanings, meanings that may be in contradiction to words spoken at the same time. It is equally obvious that Campbell feels these meanings are specific enough to be considered a language, if one knows how to read that lan- guage. Unfortunately he does not supply the code. Perhaps his most important idea, for the stage director, though, is that these meanings will register with an audience even if not consciously read and understood. 2. Verbal and Movement Communication Contrasted: Symbol vs. Symptom. Here is where movement language differs from verbal. Since verbal language consists only of symbols, a lack of knowledge of those symbols renders the language un- intelligible. Since the language of movement is at least 29Genevieve Stebbins, Delsarte System of Expression. (6th ed. rev.; New York: Edgar S. Werner Publishing and Supply Company, 1902), p. 141. 3ODouglaS Gordon Campbell, "Your Actions Speak SO Loudly," Impulse 1954 (San Francisco: Impulse Publications, 1954), p. 27. 352 part symptom, however, and these symptoms are conveyed by empathic means to an audience, and take on an associative meaning to that audience by kinesthetic means, movement conveys its meaning in part regardless of the intent of the director. The challenge here to the director is obvious. He needs to know how to read these symptoms and how to have his actors perform them if he wants control over his communication to the audience. Campbell complicates the issue somewhat by suggesting that movement has two kinds of meaning. These are, first, conventional signs in culture, understood by an audience, and second, "subliminal" indications of true feelings; both 31 The complication may, he maintains, occur simultaneously. does not seem to affect the empathic process, however, for, as Kempf says, "a feeling consists in the autonomic reactions "32 and what the audience eye aroused by what the eye sees sees in terms of muscle tension and relaxation, body position, and body movement, tends to be reinstated in its own body. If the movement symbol has generally understood meanings, then it will create emotional associations in the audience Similar to those of the performer, just as readily as will the "subliminal" movement and meaning of innate and 311bid., p. 28. 322Edward J. Kempf, The Autonomic Functions and the Personality (New York: Nervous and Mental Disease Publishing Company, 1921), p. 4. 353 truly felt emotion. The converse can also be true, that "pure movement," being performed without connotational interest, will take on connotative meaning as empathetic tensions in the audience draw on its past experiences.33 As Todd Observes, "we copy postures of emotions and they "314 become symbols again. The audience and performer alike are usually unable to distinguish between the "subliminal” movement and the symbol that the culture has adopted for the feeling. Symptom and symbol alike have become natural. 3-Psychological Support for Contrapuntal Words and Movements. Campbell's assertion that emotional meanings of movement can be seen, or felt, to contradict verbal meanings, or even contradict other movement meanings, is a strong support for the director's natural use of a movement subscript. In the chapter on film this study suggests the artistic possibility of a montage Of contrast, a dynamic dialectical montage, where the movement carries a meaning apart from the words. Camp- bell's findings support the psychological feasibility of the artistic device. One could only wish that Campbell would compile his language of movement so that all directors could read the symptoms. Probably if he did, however, he would be guilty of the same absolutism as Delsarte, and would soon fall into disrepute because of his over eager "pOpularizerS." 33Hayes, op. cit., p. 91- 34Todd, _p, cit., p. 2. .2 ,_r heir—i 354 4-Retroactive Inhibition a Hindrance to Symptomatic Rein- statement. "Method" performers usually maintain that no movement language is necessary because recall of emotional situations will, through kinesthetics, reinstate the apprOpriate muscle tensions and relaxations symptomatic of the emotions. The difficulty this study has is not so much with the "method" view of the psychological process of kinesthesia, however, as it is with the process of rein- statement of a "true" feeling. The process of retroactive inhibition, or "active forgettery," sets in quite soon after a particularly strong emotional situation occurs, making it sometimes difficult even for a trained psychiatrist to help a person recall the circumstances of an emotion. For an actor to recall these circumstances clearly enough, to relive them sufficiently without inhibition, in order to provide a clearly differentiated set of symptoms to match the dramatic situation is highly unlikely. The method performances by and large support this contention. The Specific symptoms that Stebbins, Hayes, Delsarte, Kempf, and Campbell all describe simply do not usually occur in theexperience of this study, under auto-recall of Situations. A knowledge of what those symptoms are seems to be the best guarantee of reinstating them in an actor and in an audience. 5-Possibility and Problem of a Specific Psychological Body Language. The final Opinions used in this section will be those of Dr. Kempf. His are the most extreme in support of 355 empathic communication of specific emotions by specific motor response. His views are somewhat old, as psychology goes, however, and tend to recall the controversial James- Lange theory of emotion causation. However, he maintains that the nerve apparatus with which our body receives outer stimuli compels the body to take apprOpriate postures.35 "An emotion only comes into existence as the peripheral n36 autonomic reactions become active. In other words, an emotion is not a product of thought but of a stimulated autonomic nervous system which sets up feelings of pain, or other, and results in an emotion. The significance of this for empathy is that the body's reception of stimuli always results in setting up these autonomic reactions. Then there are always apprOpriate bodily reactions that result in typical postures, or bodily attitudes, which, together with the autonomic nervous system, enforce an emotion upon the receiver of the stimulus. According to Kempf, then, the apparatus is there in the human body to enforce specific reception of emotion. The problem only remains,according to this view, for the director to send the apprOpriate movement message for the reaction desired. A false, or unintended, message is received as sent regard- less of intent, and hence it needs to be accurate. In 1921 Kempf called attention to the "need to cooperate between the 35Kempf, pp, cit., p. 1. 36Ibid., p. xiii. 356 physiologist and psychologist in working out the relations of definite affective traits to particular postural tensions" which exist but have not yet been carefully codified.37 The need still exists, though the groundwork has been laid, in principle by the psychologist and in practice by Delsarte. b) Delsarte: Body Movement. A Classified Language.--In a study of natural body movement as communication one name stands out above all the rest; it is Francois Delsarte, born in France in 1871.38 l-Delsarte's Present Influence and Interpreters. There is much of controversy about his name and his methods, but the bulk of contemporary American dance, and both American and EurOpean pantomime, depend to some extent upon his findings and theories. Unfortunately for Delsarte and for the theatre, he wrote very little, so his "popularizers", imperfectly understanding his empirical method, over Simpli- fied, distorted, and made rigid his views until his name fell into general disrepute. The pOpularizers devised from his principles simple rules of elocution and exact meanings for body stance and succeeded in cutting off his promising empirical beginnings. Few in the theatre field realize that the main positive use of his principles continues unabated, having evolved _“M 37Ihid., p. xiv. 38Ted Shawn, Every Little Movement (Pittsfield, Mass: Eagle Printing and Binding Company, 1954.), p, 14. i} ‘I 357 under the cultivation of certain leading pantomimists and dancers. Most of Delsarte's credible and useful findings were handed down from teacher to pupil without ever becoming published. Unfortunately, most of Delsarte requires demon- stration, not words, not alone because words are quite inadequate to describe movement, but also because of the outdated words Delsarte's followers use. Ted Shawn has r tried to remedy this situation somewhat in his book EXEEX. Little Movement. Shawn's School of Dance at Jacob's Pillow in the Berkshire Mountains, preceded by his and his wife's Denis—Shawn school, acknowledges almost complete dependence upon Delsarte. Countless other professional and academic dancers, choreographers, and pantomimists have mushroomed from Shawn's Delsarte import, originally brought to America by Steele MacKaye.39 The school numbers among its early students such artists as Ruth St. Denis herself, Martha Graham, Jerome Robbins, Doris Humphries, Charles Weidman, Louise Gifford, Jean Erdman, and Agnes DeMille. Because of Delsarte's great influence and early empirical methods it is important to outline his views as sympathetically as possible for a modern audience, largely as seen through the eyes of Ted Shawn. Shawn not only learned directly from Delsarte's own students but compared all the extant sources of Delsarte's work before writing. 39Ibid., p. 13. 358 2-Delsarte's Methods and Findings. Delsarte based his ideas about the meaning of movement upon years of empirical study of human beings in a wide variety of emotional situations. His is the only such systematic attempt dis- covered by this study. According to all of his followers, including Ted Shawn, Delsarte went to see mine disasters, floods, and hurricanes; funerals, weddings, and demon- strations; to see individuals alone and in groups in order to take careful notes of what he observed about the movement, body postures, and voice idiosyncrasies of those actually involved in emotional situations. After making his observa- tions he noted that behavior followed certain recognizable patterns corresponding to the stimulus and to the expressed attitudes and feelings of those observed. Being a strong trinitarian Christian, he grouped his Observations easily into what was for him natural sets of threes. The form in which his observations were made has been a stumbling block for many who could have profited from his Observations. But those who have practiced his tenets have always been completely convinced of the basic validity of his empirical observations and of their effectiveness in performance. His observations must, however, in order to appeal to a contemporary stage artist, be seen as principles, as points on continua, as early formulations, and not as sterile and absolute designations. His principal dictum became a simple one: The inner 359 purpose determines the outer form.uo Later his observations convinced him that the process was reversible. An accurate creation of the outer form will tend to create the inner feel- ing both in the mover and in the audience.41 3-Delsarte's Three Part Designation: Mental, Moral, Physical. The first principle of Delsarte's is that various parts of the body express different kinds of feelings. The head is the mental or intellectual area, the torso is the moral or volitional, and the limbs are the vital or physical.42 These in turn each have three parts. Within the vital physical limbs the hands and feet are the mental, the fore- arm and lower leg are the moral or volitional, and the upper arm is the vital or physical. Within the torso the upper chest or shoulders is the mental, the chest volitional, and the abdomen and pelvic region the vital physical. Delsarte's subdivisions are made of the head as well, with the forehead the mental, the eyes the volitional, and the chin and mouth the vital physical. Concerning Delsarte's mental type of movement, in general if an inner impulse to act is intellectual in nature the body movement that results seems to originate from the head. Usually gestures involving such interests as curiosity stem from the head. It is a favorite expression of Louise Gifford, pantomime consultant for the Theatre _— 40Stebbins, _p, cit., p. 141. 41Ibid., p. 141. uzIbid., p. 117. ~ 360 Guild and follower of Delsarte, that the eye, the ear, or the nose leads. If there is an intellectual curiosity one of the senses is seeking to perceive the situation more closely and one of the sense organs in the head seems to lead the body to its object of interest. If the sense of touch is involved, the hand may lead the body; the hand, in Delsarte's terms, being the intellectual area of the vital-physical arm. Concerning Delsarte's moral-emotional type of movement, if a person is motivated by moral considerations, by will, or by Objects that are noble or beautiful, the resulting movement seems to originate from the torso, especially from the upper portion of the torso, the chest. When a person, for example, is moved by an impulse to approach a beautiful sunset, there is an intake of breath, the breathing rate increases, the chest seems to start a gesture that may lead out along the shoulders to the hand and then the hand may point. In this case it would be said that the chest leads. The final part of the gesture resides in the hand, the intellectual part of the arm, and just precedes some speech concerning the outer stimulus, i.e., the sunset. The intellectual aspects of the sequence come last, the hand and Speech. In Delsarte's terms, the mental (hand) is the final concern in a sequence that originates in the plane of nobility (the chest). Concerning Delsarte's physical-emotional type of move- ment, when the inner motivation is one of physical appetite 361 the pelvis or stomach region seems to lead the gesture. Such a lead extends to hip movement that flows along the upper leg, to the lower, to the foot, and ends up in a walking movement that seems to originate in the pelvic region. Even a hand gesture, motivated by some physical appetite seems to originate in the pelvis. In general Delsarte observed that movements originated in the torso when some emotion was involved and in the head when a mental concern was predominate. 4-Delsarte's Law of Successions: Flow and Direction. Delsarte noted in what Shawn translates as "the law of successions" that the sequence of movements could be either from inner to outer or from outer to inner depending on their motivation?3 If a walk, generally using the vital physical legs, starts with a foot movement, it is an intellectually concerned move- ment. If it starts with the torso and thighs it is a strong and primitive movement. In effect, gestures that start from foot or hand are affected. They are the result of the mind's deciding the body will make a gesture instead of some inner feeling determining an outer gesture. If the gesture is thus "affected," or originates from a desire to take or to beckon, the hand starts the movement. The movement moves in succession through the forearm and upper arm to the torso. Usually when the gesture is outgoing, giving, active, motivated from inner feeling and not by thought, the flow _— 43Shawn, _p, pi§,, p. 35- 362 is in the reverse direction. Generally, when one center is typical of a character, when only one kind of motivation is involved, sometimes movement seems to stay centered in the apprOpriate part of the body without flowing to the rest. As an example, a primitive, stupid, or highly physical man who is not particularly noble or mental usually makes his arm and leg gestures largely with the upper arm and thigh. His gesture usually originates from the plane of the appetites without flowing to the rest of the torso. The man who is primarily moved by intellectual considerations and is in control of his mind is usually rather unmoving in his torso and in his larger arm and leg muscles. His head is usually quite active, even coy, in its punctuating movements, and his hands and feet gesture usually in affected ways. If a larger gesture is needed by the "mental" man the rest of the body merely seems to follow head, hands, and feet with- out quite the feeling of an organic, healthy physical unity. 5-Delsarte's Nine Laws Of Motion. Other observations of Delsarte resulted in what he called his nine laws of motionl.“l These are laws of altitude, force, expansion-contraction, sequence, direction, form, velocity, reaction, and extension. His view was that the laws of motion and principles of motivation held for all peOple. Superimposed on these uthid., p. 50. 363 universals were personal styles or idiosyncrasies born of habit, cultural accretion, and personal profession or way of life. The laws, of course, were not absolute, final, or even essential, but principles arrived at empirically. With— in the context of belief that every movement has form, tension, and relaxation, Delsarte felt the following principles were Operativezl45 Law of Altitude: Positive moves are always upward, outward, and forward. Negative moves are always down, in- ward, and backward. Law of Force: Conscious strength assumes weak attitudes while conscious weakness assumes strong attitudes. His observation pointed to the conclusion that strong men do not have to parade their strength but often appear physically humble, while the weak usually compensate for their weakness by trying to appear strong. paw of Expgnsion-Contractipp: Excitement expands motion; thought contracts motion. Emotion, feeling, or overt con- cern results in larger, more overt, movement. Mental activity or contemplation usually results in slower, smaller, and more inward movement. Law of Seqpence: Body movement occurs in a normal sequence, what in another context may be called a normal reaction pattern. In a reaction to an inner impulse thought, emotion, feeling, or idea come first; in a reaction to an —‘ ”51bid., p. 50. 364 outer stimulus sensation comes first through some organ of perception. If the inner impulse is thought or idea, next comes expression of the face; if the inner impulse is emotional, next comes a breathing change. Next, in reSponse to the feeling or idea, comes a new attitude of the body, or body set; next comes gesture, an arm or leg movement origin- ating from the new body set; next comes ejaculation, the emotional, or primitive, aspect of speech; and finally comes speech, the last, most civilized, and most intellectual part of any reaction pattern. Law of Direction: Moves of feeling are toward or away from their objective. Moves of intellect are up and down in the achievement of relative heights. Moves of Volition, those of will, are from side to side. Moves of conflict are diagonal. The last three principles of this law of direction are not so apparent as the first one. They are somewhat clarified if movement is seen not as floor pattern but as gesture. Regarding moves of intellect, perhaps the relation- ship of height to intellect is one of aspiration. The reaching upward possibly symbolizes an aSpiring after something mental and not an effort of will or desire. Regarding moves of volition, legs spread to the side and arms akimbo, indicate an open aggressiveness and a strong base of support. Such a stance shows strong will. 365 Arms by the side and feet together rarely go with a strong will. Hence gestures to the Side to Delsarte Show degrees of volition. Regarding moves of conflict, the line of a body that is leaning into an activity may show conflict with an external adversary, while lines of a body crossing each other may Show internal conflict. To try to make such directional moves apply to basic floor patterns would necessitate a method of analogy; because for Delsarte they are merely classifications of observable body postures and movements. ng of Form: The outer form of a movement correSpondS in special ways to the inner impulse. If the outer reSponse to the inner impulse is pleasant then the movement is circular, if unpleasant then angular, if mystical then spiral, if vital physical then straight, if mental then circular. There are others but these will suffice by way of example. These forms at first glance seem to reflect the meanings of abstract line. However, the reverse is more likely. If Delsarte's observations were accurate these body forms are really part of the reason why abstract line forms have their meanings. It would seem that a pleasant feeling results in less restricted, more relaxed movement, which is probably move- ment in circles; while the excess tension resulting from negative emotions is likely to result in jerky, angular move- ment. The mystical-Spiral movement is beyond the capacity 366 of this study to conjecture, but the straight line move certainly seems to correspond to a strong, efficient, physical motivation and purpose. Whether these principles of form involve cultural determinants of movement patterns or not, or whether a predisposition about the meaning of abstract line patterns influence Delsarte's observation or not, is something else about which it is difficult to con- jecture. In any case, if the moves actually occur in human beings under circumstances such as Delsarte describes, it is of purely academic interest to the director as to what the source is. The language is the same regardless of its causes. Law of Velocity: The rhythm and tempo of a movement is in general in proportion to the mass to be moved. This principle seems to be consistent with the one of physics whose effects are noted chiefly in pendulum and metronome movement. Carrying this principle of motion into emotion, the greater the passion the Slower the movement. The smaller the feeling, or the more surface the feeling, the more rapid the movement. Law of Reaction: The body reacts automatically in a pattern of surprise and recoil. It is stated in physics that for every action there is an equal and Opposite re- action. Delsarte noted that for most stimuli there are emotional-physical reactions; if the reaction is self protective there is a recoil, or immediate withdrawal, 367 similar to what might be called a shock pattern of reaction. Law of Extension: A gesture can be extended in space by holding it in time. There is a more subtle principle. An example would be the throwing of a ball where the thrower leaves the arm extended then follows the ball with his eye until the ball descends. When the ball descends the thrower would adopt a new body set, thus indicating the throw was I at an end and that the extended gesture was also completed. 6-Delsarte's Principles of Gesture. Most of Delsarte's observations concerning gesture stem from his bodies of law. Gesture means in this context any physical reaction from hand gestures to gestures of the entire body. A fair sampling of principles and illustrations is given below to indicate the seeming accuracy and far reaching effects of his work. In hand gestures, the use of the thumb, observed by him in life situations, was one of the specifics that led him to his principle of expansion and contraction.46 When the thumb is held close to, or is enclosed by, the hand, there is a negative feeling, an insecurity. When the thumb is extended there is a love, a positive feeling or an out- going attitude. When those same hands are gesturing Delsarte observed that they seemed to describe a cube in front of the body.47 When extended out beyond the cube with palm toward the body, ”5Ipid., p. 45. 46Ibid., p. 13. 368 a hand means to include. When held next to the body with palm out the hand means to exclude, above it means to bless, and below it means to support. The inclusive gesture is meant to summon someone; the exclusive gesture is meant to reject. Perhaps human gestures do not always follow these principles, but Delsarte provides an interesting memory system for some basic observations from which individual idiosyncrasy may depart. Where gestures of the entire body are concerned, Delsarte provided the material from which Selden derived his idea of the giving in to, or the opposition to, gravity. Falling is a negative expression. Giving in to gravity is a giving in to Opposition to the forces of life. Over- coming gravity is joy. Fear lowers, joy raises. The ultimate expression of joy is the weightless feeling of a leap. Related to the downward or upward body moves, were Delsarte's outward and inward moves. They formed the principle of expansion-contraction. To Delsarte, outward, or Opposition, movements Show strife, successive movements Show love, unfolding movements Show growth and life, and inward, or folding, movements Show decay and death.47 These observations, as will be seen, closely parallel the observations of many psychologists as well as of later 47Ibid., p. 55. ~——-—-— 359 writers on pantomime, although it may never be certain how many of the moves are analogical and how many psychological or cultural. The front and the back of the body during movement had special meaning for Delsarte; his observation was that the back expresses universal feeling while the face expresses unique feeling.“8 The back may be bent from sorrow, over- work, or disease. The back may be straight from pride or dignity. The back may be bent in protection of the vital organs or the back may be straight in an expansive and open attitude. The back is supplemented by the lower limbs in expressing these very basic, and hence to Delsarte universal, feelings or attitudes. The face is in the plane of the intellect. The face expresses the individual rather than the basic emotions. Possibly Delsarte places too much reliance on the meaning of facial expressions in the light of such filmic experiments as those conducted by Eisenstein to prove context gave mean- ing to facial expression, but this study is inclined to see some validity in Delsarte's findings.49 To begin with, facial expression is usually the most inhibited form of outward human expression. Hence, a blank face can have varied meanings dependent upon its context. However, when the inhibitions are released, laughter, tears and various _— 48Ibid., p. 56. * 49Eisenstein, pp, cit., p. 13. 370 broad general classifications of facial expression become more discernable. To be sure, the exact label placed on these expressions is Often determined by knowing the context of the expression, but the unique quality of these ex- pressions is sufficiently differentiated for pantomimists, as will be suggested later in this chapter, to codify an entire language of what is to them recognizable facial expressions. The expressions are also differentiated enough for Tolch, in his study of facial expressions, to get a significant prOportion of recognition of meanings, both in and out of various contexts.50 When the whole body makes a gesture it seems to Delsarte that the movement will have a Special relationship to a center. The relationship will express power, wisdom, or love.51 Power is displayed by movement grpp a center, wisdom by movement toward a center, and love by movement around a center. When an external stimulus results in an internal impulse to act, the body movement starts at a center, such as in the torso, and moves the body toward its objective. When a thought motivates a gesture, often the gesture is an enfolding and inclusive one originating in the mind and extending to the hand, and moving into an enclosing or summoning gesture. When love is the internal motivation, the center of movement is not located in the mover, is not —_‘ SOTolch, _p. cit., p. 95. 51Shawn, _p, cit., p. 60. l1 371 an appetite or a thought of the moving individual, accord- ing to Delsarte; but the center is external to the individual, 'that is, in the Object loved. Hence the movement is one of surrounding the object of interest. Of course, Delsarte differentiates between love and desire, the latter center being located in the lower torso. To distinguish between love and desire, and other E emotions whose centers seemed to be either in or beyond the self, Delsarte evolved certain workable variables for emotion. Each emotion, to Delsarte, is composed of either attraction or repulsion, and positive or negative self interest. For examples: if one feels weak and impotent in the presence of something that repels one, the emotion may be described as fear. If one feels strong and able, in the presence of something that is attractive, the emotion can be described as aggression. To Delsarte love involves negative self feeling, or no feeling of self at all, only an attraction, or liking for, the object, plus a certain identification with the object. Desire involves a definite positive self feeling combined with attraction. Delsarte also observed a relationship between the direction a person faces and his attitude. When a person faces an object directly he is being frank, honest, and concerned with the object. When he faces obliquely, he is being two faced. When he faces away from, at a right angle 372 to, the object he is honest and frank, but not interested in the object so much as in some other subject.52 Delsarte's rationale for these observations was that a man faced in the direction of his interest regardless of the position of his listener. Of course, such facings presuppose an uninhibited Speaker. When the speaker has a divided interest, divided between his speech and its listener and some other purpose, 1 his facing is oblique, his speech is not sincere, he is apt to be conniving or hyprocritical. When he faces his listener his attention and interest are frankly focused on the same thing. Whether or not Delsarte's reasons are accurate, the feelings expressed by, and created in, an actor when he uses such facings are proof of some basis in fact for Delsarte's Observations. 7-Delsarte's Principle of Breath in Body Movement. Another principle that Delsarte derived from his Observations is that breath is life.53 Breathing rhythms show emotion. If breathing is strong and rapid then an individual is very ex- cited, if strong and Slow then alive and peaceful, if weak and rapid, then weak and excited. If the breathing stOps for a moment, then life is temporarily suSpended. If breath is released in a sigh then life is released, the individual is relaxed and is living at a low emotional level. Laughter is the result of having so —_I 521bid., p. 57. 531bid., p. 59. 373 much joy of living, and so much breath, that the excess is exploded in rhythmic bursts. Laughter is impossible without a great deal Of breath. Crying is the result of the in- dividual giving up. He has no breath, but the autonomic nervous system won't let him die, and the breath is forced in, in gasping inhalations, or sobs. Crying by bursting exhalations is either a fake or the result of a positive, life affirming, emotion of anger and frustration. 8-Delsarte Evaluated. This study has attempted to give Delsarte's laws of motion and body area a simple and sympathetic interpretation. They form the basis for most contemporary choreography and pantomime, and so are important both as an early attempt to systematize observation and as a key to understanding certain contemporary stage movement forms. Delsarte's life work convinced him that movement was rooted in universal human experience and hence communicates universally. If he was correct, a director cannot arbitrarily change the meaning of a movement, because movements already carry their own emotional and universal meanings. The only place where new meanings may arise would be through unique idiosyncratic or stylistic distortions of the basic univer- sal movement. If a director is unaware of the universals, he may convey their meaning in spite of his intent. For this reason, a dancer, pantomimist, or actor ought to start by learning the language of the human body and of the stage. 374 Such learning will not restrict him, but free him if he learns the language as principles, not poses, as general and empirical truths, not absolutes. The learning of any verbal language is imperative for free expressive verbal communication. Learning the language of movement should carry the same importance for movement communication. Perhaps Delsarte's principles and Specifics are not universal and convey meaning for reasons other than his. However, the actor need only try to use these principles sympathetically and in modern context to be convinced of their efficacy whenever the desire is to communicate through the duplication of nature. It is up to the psychologist to determine whether this nature is innate or learned. All the actor needs to know is that the be- havior described by Delsarte is natural to the adult human being. If the human being is using learned symbols for emotions, the symbols are being used unconsciously as a part of the heritage of his culture. In any event, Delsarte will prove rewarding to the director who has the patience to wade through outworn terminology, to reconstruct, test, and improve upon Delsarte's empirical findings about the meaning of movement. Especially valuable is the experience of having Delsarte's principles demonstrated. Movement's meanings ultimately must be self evident to be true, for they are their own language and must speak for themselves. To replace Delsarte's system really requires that 375 someone replace Delsarte's study using his methods without his trinitarian prediSpositions. Observations need to be made in America to correlate movement with emotions, attitudes, and situations in real life events. Tests in the laboratory or in the theatre will not accomplish the same task. The result of field observation will not be a list of pure psychological symptoms, but it could well be a natural, cultural language of movement. 0) Pantomimists' and Dancers' Views of Mimetic Bopy Movement.--From the views of writers on pantomime and dance emerge three tendencies in mimetic movement: the first is to accept Delsarte without much question; the second is to emphasize a more modern psychological concern with motiva- tion rather than resultant form; and the third is to stylize mimetic movement into Special theatrical symbols of realistic behavior. l-Pantomime and Dance Dependent Upon Delsarte. There is a strong need to take up investigation where Delsarte left off. Many dance and pantomime authors state certain agree- ment with Delsarte's principles without presenting any Specific approaches as to how to move to convey meaning. Albright, speaking directly of Delsarte says, "Certain bodily actions are so directly and universally expressive of basic emotions or attitudes of mind that it would be foolish to ignore them."54 He goes on to state that some —_ 514H. D. Albright, William P. Halstead, and Lee Mitchell, Prificiples of Theatre Art (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1955), p. 60 376 actions are instinctive and universal and some are derived from theatre practice. However, without some systematic formulation of principles and of Specific bodily actions Albright's statement is useless. The actor and the director must work not with statements but with Specific movements on a stage under particular circumstances. Other authors, when they do become specific, merely present some updated version of Delsarte, using the triune designations and often the same body-mind-soul trichotomy. Humphries states, with Delsarte, "every emotion has a concomitant bodily movement."55 While Lutz proclaims, "Panto- mime is the revelation of human emotion through bodily expression," and again, "bodily expression is less individu- ally characteristic than verbal expression, but it is more universal and fundamental."56 Lutz follows up her Delsarte convictions with a loosely worked out Delsarte system. However, She does not give any of the credit to Delsarte. Most Of her discussion concerns establishing the need for principles in any art form, especially in pantomime.57 Her chief principles stem from Delsarte's Observation that expressive actions stem from the intellectual, emotional, 55Humphries, pp, cit., p. 114. 56Florence Lutz, The Technique of Pantomime (Berkeley, California: Sather Gate BoOk Shop, 1927), p. 3. 57Ibid., p. 9. 377 and vital parts of the body which are the head, torso, and legs.58 From that point on her system is almost exclu- sively Delsartian. His point of view is well presented by her, however, and by a woman who taught pantomime at the American Academy of Dramatic Art and in the California University system. Humphries, whose fundamentals also follow Delsarte quite closely, has more original interpretations than Lutz. Her ideas are a combination of general principles of form and structure in art and of psychology with a firm basis in Delsarte. For the above reasons, not a great deal that is new to this study appears in a survey of Pantomime principles. However, certain fundamentals do stand out, original or not, and deserve to be mentioned. 2-Pantomime and Dance Movement Dependent Upon Motivation. The pantomimists and dancers all agree that movement should be motivated, but the stress is variously placed either on the inner feeling or on the outer form. How to achieve the outer form stimulates a similar controversy in acting, the method vs. technique controversy. Should results be achieved by performing techniques or by thinking right? The way of achieving movement that has meaning is only of passing interest to this study; however, it Should be noted 58Ibid., p. 27. 378 that inner motivation without attention to outer form can at best result only in realistic body movement. At best the actor can only achieve the first, or unstylized mimetic, means of communicating meaning by movement. In fact, each of the authors studied assents to the limitation of mere internal motivation. Either it is recommended that the performer learns his techniques first before he performs in a Situation that must be motivated, or else it is recommended that the result of performing from inner emotion needs to be stylized before presented on the stage. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of motivation from the point of view of the theatre man is that many dancers also insist upon it. Humphries insists on a conscious motivation for every dance move. Her view is that in dance, people are communicating to peOple about people, and as all moves in nature are motivated so should they be in dance. The order in which her dancers proceed in rehearsal and in training is from emotion to mime to dance movement.59 Louis Horst also feels the dancer Should have inner con- viction, that it must be expressed, abstracted, and sublim- 60 ated into dance movement. Ananda Coomeraswamy, Speaking Of the highly stylized and specific Hindu dances, maintains 59 60Louis Horst, "Louis Horst Considers the Question," Impglse 1954 (San Francisco: Impulse Publications, 1954), p. . Humphries, pp, pp,, p. 110. 379 that the dance-artist must be absorbed in his theme, not absorbed in resultant forms.61 He obviously feels the dancer should know both his technique before dancing and his motivations while dancing. Humphries declares that the alternative to motivated movement is virtuoso technique. In effect, in virtuoso technique, movement for the sake of movement replaces move- ment that communicates?2 Her parting advice concerning motivation is not to intellectualize but to motivate.63 The result she wishes to avoid is the dancer-actor who ceases to move like a human being who is motivated by a complex variety of feelings, and begins to move like a machine dominated by the one center, the brain. The re- sult, as was mentioned in the section on Delsarte, is affectation in movement. The specific practice which she warns against is the imitation of other arts such as painting and sculpture. Such imitation will do for the dance what similar imitation would do to blocking techniques in stage plays, namely "put a blight of immobility on the dance" and provide only "static relationships."6u One of the few even partial opponents to Delsarte is Agna Enters. Enters says "Delsarte had tried to free French ¥ 61 Ananda Coomeraswamy, "The Dance of Shiva," ibid., 62 Humphries, pp, cit., p. 110. 63Ihid., p. 165. 64Ibid., p. 165. 380 theatre of its stylized form but had only achieved a formula himself. His formula, adapted to Opera, theatre, and dance, succeeded in all but killing mime as a legitimate form of theatre expression‘l65 It must be reiterated that Delsarte and his "popularizers" belong in separate categories. Delsarte intended no formula. However, it seems that most of what is usable and most of what is stagnating in the stage conception of the meaning of body movement stems from Delsarte. The only other significant strain originates with Stanislavsky; and even his "popularizers" have succeeded in eliminating much of his insistence on the use of bodily symptoms. Tharuse only the inner motivation. Both Delsarte and Stanislavsky insisted on both "inner" and "outer" but the achievement of both is hard work and painstaking, so free expression rules the day and the grammar of movement continues to be in relative disuse. 3-Pantomime and Dance Movement Dependent Upon Stylizing Mimesis Into Symbol. Although Agna Enters warns against learning a Specific dance form, She does recommend learning universal symbols .66 It seems only the modern method actOr has lost touch with technique. Problems arise, how- ever, when the universal symbols are made specific. What Symbols are universal and what ones are pure theatrical —.__ 65Walter Sorell (ed.), The Dance Has Many Faces (Cleveland: The World Publishing Company, 1951), p. 89. 66Ibid., p. 93. 381 convention; Humphries adds to Delsarte's specific symbols a four part designation of her own that She maintains is universal. She calls it her principle of standardized gestures ("gestures" meaning integrated movements of the entire body). In any culture, She maintains, there are four types of gesture: social, functional, ritual, and emotional.67 Examples of the social are the bow, the handshake, and the embrace. These are gestures with specific meanings in social contexts. They are accepted forms of social gesture. Examples of the functional gestures are those concerned with work such as burden carrying, climbing, and throwing. Examples of ritual gestures are the genuflect, the hands held in prayer, and the prostration. These gestures have accepted meanings in worship and civil ceremony. The emotional gestures, Humphries maintains, are less standard- ized though she subscribes in general to Delsarte's observa- tions. Her point is that these gestures are less automatic, less under conscious control, less habitually practiced, and hence can have a greater range of individual expression within the universal basis. Charles Aubert's Specific language of pantomime also involves a mimetic basis for a symbolic language.68 His 67Humphries, pp, cit., p. 114. 68Charles Aubert, The Art of Pantomime. Trans. Edith Sears (New York: Henry Holt Company, 1927), 382 book is a catalogue of body and facial expression covering every nuance of feeling and attitude. The reader's first inclination may be to discard Aubert's system as being too categorical and old-fashioned. Then the reader may look at Aubert's pictures and try to decide what Aubert says is being expressed. After a near perfect score, allowing for differences in vocabulary, the reader may decide that Aubert's system needs a closer look. From the closer look will emerge two principles: the first is that Aubert's gestures follow certain sets of matched Oppositions. The second is that the Specifics of eXpression are exaggerated realism amounting to accepted symbols of what expression means. The former principle is not unlike Delsarte, while the latter is not unlike Delsarte's so-called "pOpularizerS." However, both have communication possibilities, and should not be shunned. Some of the Oppositions that emerge from a comparison of Aubert's Specifics are as follows: advance-retreat, ex- pansive-contractive, give-take, expose-protect, and posi- tive-negative. In effect most of the attitudes or emotions that.Aubert illustrates divide themselves into positive and negative expression. The basis for them is not unlike Dietrich's designations in the first part of this study, nor unlike Selden's. The only unique contribution is the attempt to present these principles in usable form. Other principles that emerge from Aubert's illustra- tions are the gestures that draw attention to, or originate 383 from, parts of the body. These principles are the same as Delsarte's principles Of successions. Still another Aubert principle involves symmetry and asymmetry. His Observation here closely resembles Delsarte's Oblique facing. An asymmetrical gesture, or asymmetrical mouth, is supposed to originate from a conniving or hypocritical attitude. A symmetrical gesture is supposedly expressive of frank, Open ) honesty. Symbolically, possibly there is a certain meta- phorical validity. If both Sides of a symmetrical body ) are engaged in the same activity then there is a consistency of external, hence, by association, of internal, approach. If one member, or side, of the symmetrical body is denying what the other Side is doing, the impression of divided purpose, or affectation, is conveyed. The variety of terminology used by the various authors studied is perhaps the major obstacle to comparison and understanding. Delsarte preferred a trinity, Aubert preferred a duality, and mystics and modern psychologists seem to prefer a unity of multiplicity. Whatever the cataloguing system, or the metaphysical prediSposition, however, all seem able to add new principles and techniques to the mimetic movement language of the stage director. 3. Metaphor Applied to the Dancer's Body Movement The dancers yield more suggestions than the pantomimists concerning the use of metaphor in body movement, Since it seems the pantomimists feel their movement is primarily 384 mimetic. The dancers view the use of metaphor variously as: an analogy through substitution of parts, a kinesthesia of analogy and abstraction, a non-verbal poetic image, and a special metaphorical relationship where the script is re- lated to stage movement as the music is to dance movement. a) Humphries' Substitution of Part§,--Humphries has a Special analogical use for her language of gesture. Not ‘ only does her gesture provide a vocabulary of culturally standardized mimetic movement symbols, it also provides a point of departurefbr dance movements. Beyond the normal pantomimic exaggeration and stylistic distortion of the standardized gestures Humphries also adapts them to dance by what this study calls analogy. Her term for it is "substitution of parts."69 One example will suffice. If a real emotion resulted in rapid, heavy breathing, a normal mimetic pantomime distortion would merely heighten or exaggerate the heaving chest and the sound of air being inhaled and exhaled. In the idea of substitution of parts first an analytical breakdown of the real life action must take place. The breathing is composed of a moving part Of the body, a definite rhythm and velocity, a sound, and an empathic meaning. Humphries might decide, for dance, that the legs would take over the role of the moving part and maintain the rhythm and velocity of the breathing. If the 69Humphries, pp. cit., p. 114. 385 director-choreographer has succeeded in providing an emotional context for the leg movement-breathing, the rhythm of the legs should become attuned to the rhythm Of the audience breathing. The larger leg movement Should carry better in the theatre than merely heavy breathing. The problem becomes one of what is communicated. Will leg movement stimulate audience breathing rate as surely as breathing rate would stimulate audience breathing rate, or will leg movement be largely an intellectual symbol instead of a motivated action? There is no easy answer. Tests would have to be made. However, at this point, Humphries has definitely added to the director's possibility for communication by metaphor, and suggested a direction for combining metaphor with imitation of the natural. b) Hayes' Kinesthesia Through Abstraction and Analogy.-- Hayes calls the alternative to literal dance pantomime "communicative symbolism," what this study means by metaphor. Examples she presents to illustrate the principle are abstractions of pleasure sensations such as in Swinging?O The literal mimetic pantomime of swinging would involve putting a swing on stage. The metaphorical use would be to abstract the rhythm and the to and fro movement, along with the pleasant joyous pantomimic moves, from the swinging movement. These moves could be translated into the hand 7gayes, pp, cit., p. 91. i 3 ‘ 386 swinging and the body dancing forward and backward. This study maintains such adaptation is metaphorical because it illustrates the relationship A is to B as C is to D. One situation is comparable to, has analagous parts with, another. The rising and falling Shape of the swing is taken over by the arms swinging. The to and fro movement is replaced by dancing to and fro. The rope is to the seat of the swing as the arm is to the hand; the body of the swinger is to the ground as the body of the dancer is to the stage floor. Hayes suggests in her approach to abstraction that "spacial rhythms and kinesthetic effectiveness" be abstracted from literal moves and used in the dance. The stage director may have equal success in abstractions even to the point of adding new dimensions to his realistic moves. Realistic actions could also be "swinging" as well as real. c) Erdman's Non-Verbal Poetic Image.-—Jean Erdman thinks of dance not as pantomime, but as "non-verbal poetic image".71 Hers is a form of metaphorical meaning where dancers become the embodiment of interplaying forces. In depicting these forces it would seem that She would need other metaphors, such as waves or winds of force, to help her picture her movement. So in effect she uses a double metaphor. L 71Sorell, pp, cit., p. 197. 387 d) Music and Dance Analogous to Script and Stage Move- pppp,--Because dance is almost always performed to the accompaniment of music, choreographers have depended upon music a great deal for the form of the dance, as stage directors have depended upon the script for the form of the stage movement. In fact, it seems possible for the stage director to consider the relationship between music and the dance as analogous to that of the script and the stage movement. The emotional values in the rhythm, tempo, and structure of music can be analogically related to the script, while the dance is related to the stage movement. To illustrate the use of the analogy, Hayes warns that a dance Should not "ride the music"; for example, if there is a rising and falling of the scale the dance should not synchronize with it in a rising and falling movement.72 The result would be comic, melodramatic, or certainly redundant at best. Her suggestion is to provide contra- puntal or contrasting movement, to dance to the underlying theme of rhythm of the music instead of to match the music line by line. The same principle is of value to the stage director who relates movement to words. Contrapuntal rhythms and meanings between the movement and the words provide more depth and interest. They also tend to provide in the play what the bass is to the music, i.e., a solid 72Hayes, _p, pip,, p. 96. 388 foundation to the structure, an emotional plot line, or a theme line, that consistently portrays the spine of the play. In any event, pantomime that has strictly verbal meaning Should be avoided in accompaniment to words, even more than in accompaniment to music. Two forms expressing the same thing provide an echo that can be very confusing. Humphries suggests that the relationship of dance to music Should be like a dialogue; here she is using the stage Situation as an analogue for the dance.73 Music, to her, editorializes on, does not dominate or duplicate, the movement. The actor should be dominant. Probably here the analogy between play and dance breaks down, but it is at precisely these "break" points where some of the best ideas occur. The analogy breaks down because music, unlike Speech, is only the accompaniment for the dancer. The dancer, it is understood, is to be dominant. However, music and Speech do not have a parallel function. Speech originates in the actor, and so either speech or movement would still keep the actor dominant. However, if one carries the analogy further, the idea arises of considering the Speech and the movement of actors as having a dialogue relationship to each other with the movement aspect of the actor the dominant one. An example of this dominance might be a Situation devised to make the underlying intent of the scene more important than the words. Perhaps a casual 73Humphries, pp, cit., p. 80. 389 conversation is being held on stage as a cover for some momentous action afoot. A daring application of this analogy could be made, however, in scripts whose verbal repartee is not all that it should be. Every director sooner or later must face the script that is light and fluffy, that has little literary merit and rather hackneyed Situations. A creative director, by using contrapuntal and dominating movement, can do wonders in depth with such a script. A peculiar result of working with movement alone is that the artist becomes aware quickly of just what cannot be expressed by movement, what Situations require words. Humphries notes that philosophy, statistics, mechanical and literary themes, and vast scale universals cannot be ex- pressed in movement.74 Movement primarily needs human action, not human ideas, to perform. Hayes adds that words are needed for anything specific and factual; also that words are much more efficient than stage movement in bringing two ideas together in quick succession.75 Of course the filmic montage accomplishes this joining feat with some ease, but her point is still well taken for the stage. 7uipip,, p. 36. 75Hayes, _p, cit., p. 125. 390 4. Symbol in Dancer's Body Movement: Meaning Derived From Dance "Sign Language". What the inexact communication by body movement logically leads to is the prospect of a standardized Sign language of movement meanings. Dancers and pantomimists alike realize there is no such language of movement in our Western HemiSphere. The closest the director can come to it is with the four types of standardized gesture of which Humphries writes. Even so, those gestures do not substitute for words; even though their meaning is Specific, it is mostly non-verbal. For a verbal language of movement the director must turn to the east. It takes a long established culture, or one that is inbred and relatively immobile, to develop a dance or pantomime form that has as many Specific meanings as a verbal language, especially one that is as generally understood as a national verbal language. Hand movements of the Hindu, Ceylonese, Burmese, Chinese, Japanese, and Balinese dancers have approximately achieved such uniformity of meaning. Even the Hawaiian hula has to some extent standardized its hand gestures, though its vocabulary is as small as its verbal language. Is there any way that the stage director may employ this third method of communicating by movement, this movement Sign language of certain dances? To do so would seem at this point as monumental a task as perfecting a 391 movement ESperanto. The first task would be to devise the language from symbolic and symptomatic movements already in the vocabulary of the culture, from pantomime that would have the most universal associations, and from metaphors that would be best understood. The next task would be to establish and standardize such a language through usage. Even to approximate such a goal would take many lifetimes and even then would probably not be successful. It is true that fast moving cultures like to watch movement that they understand, that is relaxing, diverting, and cathartic. However, they do not seem to like to add more work to busy schedules. A language of movement that duplicates, without improving upon, the verbal language already in use, would be one tool too many. It seems that busy America would not be dilletante enough to cultivate such a literal language of movement, even if it were desirable to do so. Communication by Bodprovement Starts From Reality Something that Picasso said will serve to end this section on communication by body movement. In Speaking of the source of his art he said, "There is no other point of departure than reality'l76 To retain meaning in a movement, that movement's relationship to reality should be apparent. It can be apparent regardless of whether the stage director's language of expressive movement relates to reality by _— 76Sorell, pp, pi§., p- 245. 392 abstraction, mimesis, symbol, or metaphor. If he evolves his language with as much imagination as Picasso evolves his paintings, the director should have no trouble in both reaching and startling his age and culture. D. Conclusion: Fine and Gross Movement Without Words, Vehicles for Expression or Communication Not all dancers feel their role as artists Should in- volve communication. Some desire to express themselves either for the joy of expression or for presentation of formal beauty. Communication of specific plots, ideas, or feelings is not in their province. Their thought is that the dance can and should only express itself. 1. Communication Problem: The Uhtranslatableness of Art A proponent of the "dance for dance's sake" point of view could well draw upon a concept from aesthetics, the untranslatableness of art: No art object can be successfully translated into another medium, or even into the same medium, without some loss or change. A painting can be described by literature, but the two media are not equivalent. A dance can portray a story, but the two are not the same. A movement can be described in words, or felt as emotion, but the words or the emotion are not the movement. The movement is itself, says itself, and can only be adequately translated by repeating the movement itself. 393 This point of view about the untranslatableness of art is valid enough. No two things are equal, and certainly when a change of medium occurs there is very little equiva- lence remaining. However, approximate translations can be made; given the loss or the change as a necessary part of the process, translation not only can but does occur. For example, as has been previously discussed, empathy accounts for a translation of actor body movement, through audience associations, into audience feelings regardless of the communication intent of the dancer or actor. Some communi- cation takes place through empathy with even the most abstract or formal movement. 2. Audience Reaction to Communication: Diverse or Controlled Although some communication will take place with any movement, the more abstract, the more esoteric, and the less contextual that movement is the more diffuse will be the reactions of the audience. Each member will respond according to his own experience; the very esoteric nature of the dance of "pure eXpreSSion" will allow for diverse, chance, uncontrolled audience reactions. However, the more generally recognized the dance movements are the more they allow for, or even enforce, uniformity of audience response. It seems to this study that a dancer or director would want to control whatever there is in his art he can control. He would not want to leave anything to chance where he could 394 exercise control. If so, then it behooves the abstract artist to know what connotations his abstractions have, and to control the affect they have on his audiences. In any case, if a performer successfully expresses an emotion (unless it be by some intellectualized concept of a symbol that somehow has connotations for himself alone) he will successfully communicate that emotion as well. In fact, if he truly expresses the emotion, the expression must first reinstate the emotion to some extent in himself, by the process of kinesthetics. If the symbolic or symptomatic expression does not reinstate the emotion in himself at all, he is probably not expressing it. If the performer has been an active member of the human race, and is per- forming in his own cultural environment, then the pymbolic expression should be at least similar to that of his audience, and should be communicated to them. The accurate pymptomatic expression should communicate itself to any audience anywhere. Of course, if the findings of this study have any validity, even the abstract formal elements of dance will communicate feelings to, and provide associations for, an audience. It seems, then, that a strictly expressive, or formal abstract, pantomimic or dance art does not exist in any pure state. Hence either the artist controls his medium and designs his communication or he allows certain aspects of his art to be out of his control by letting each 395 person or cultural group derive the meanings that are forced upon it by its particular background experience. 3;. Content of Movement Communication: Musical and Emotional vs. Ideational Some dancers maintain that movement can have a pure empathic communication function without plot content. A sequence of movements may provide build and climax, vari- ation and contrast in emotional meanings, much as in music, without a Specific story line. A movement theme may be an emotional rather than an ideational one. For examples; the structure may be according to musical or emotional rather than narrational forms. a) Movement Content Structured According to Music.-~A typical dance and music form is the ABA, where a first section of music is repeated, with variations, in a last section. The movement pattern is also repeated with variations. The familiar section with a new twist pro- vides satisfaction for an audience; the dances comes full circle, and the end is tied in with the beginning. It is tied in largely by way of formal and emotional movement elements, not by narrational content. There is a suggestion here for the theatre director. It is to structure his movement patterns in some way which will formally and emotionally relate to each other by tying the beginning to the end, or by alternating patterns throughout his play in some symphonic way. 396 b) Movement Content Structured According to Emotion.-- A second suggestion from dance to the stage director is to provide his play with some pure emotion. This can perhaps help him in two vital ways: one is to unite his audience with his play, and the other is to give his audience a cathartic release of tension. No matter what the idea content of a play, no matter how universal and appealing, the ideas are apt to be controversial to some extent and involve the audience in thinking. Thinking can both divide an audience and tire them. This is not to suggest that thinking is bad, but a director desires to consolidate his audience, not divide them, even in thought. So, a purely emotional scene, carried largely by emotional movement, such as a dance insert, can help for that moment to unite an audience emotionally instead of to divide them rationally. Once they are united, they enjoy the play more, and it may be easier for the director to direct their think- ing and feeling with his techniques of communication. The second aSpect to the emotional scene, the cathartic release, is implied in the first aspect. The cathartic release, the abandonment to emotion, really precedes the unification and provides a healthful empathic exercise and release of tension. The director has to remember that a play may be work for him, but it is play for his audience. In essence, the dancer suggests to the stage director the playing of the pure empathic scene. In it, symptoms 397 and symbols, symbols that are so well learned that they are thought of as symptoms, communicate the emotional nature of man directly to the audience in a way that can unite the audience in feeling with the play. 4. The Dance Trend: Communication Over Expression Usually the contemporary dance choreographer, who deals with silent movement, is compelled to be concerned with what is communicated by the expressive qualities of movement. His is the struggle to avoid becoming esoteric, i.e., moving for the sake of movement, and to avoid merely perpetuating certain virtuoso dance steps. Ballet, tap, and acrobatic dances have tended toward this lack of communication. But when a choreographer is not only an artist but has a social consciousness and something to say, communication by movement is essential to him, and the stage director can learn much from such a choreographer to enrich the play's language of movement. The conviction of modern dancers, pantomimists, and many psychologists is that every body movement means some- thing. AS Louis Horst puts it, one "can't invent a move- ment. All have some original emotional meaning and arouse kinesthetically some correlative of the original experience."77 When a universal symptom or symbol is 77Horst, pp. cit., p. 5. 398 discovered it will convey a universal meaning, a meaning much enriched by each individual's experience. Movement has great untapped potential. A study of Hutchinson's book on Labanotation convinces the reader of the vast number and subtlety of possible movements.78 This system for recording movement also convinces the reader of how few of these movements are actually consciously employed on stage. Delsarte's pioneer investigations and the views of certain present day psychologists show the vast potential for meaning that the large number of movement variations have. Together, these studies reveal how much investigation still has to be made into natural symptomatic and symbolic movement, into the application of metaphor to movement, and into the possibilities of a standardized language Of move- ment. In the meantime, these studies also reveal a great deal that the practicing stage director already can add to his craft from the principles and techniques of the pantomimists and the dancers. 78Ann Hutchinson, Labanotation (New York: James Laughlin, 1954), PART III CONCLUSIONS: TOWARD A LANGUAGE 0F MOVEMENT CHAPTER VIII A FOCUS ON MORE DYNAMIC MOVEMENT MEANINGS: COMPOSITION,PICTURIZATION, MIMESIS, METAPHOR, AND SYMBOL Movement variables have been grouped in this study into two major categories: movement for emphasis, or focus, and movement for meaning. Alexander Dean, as has been seen, makes Similar distinctions which he calls composition and picturization. The first category, composition, draws attention to the structural aspect of movement; the role structure plays in bringing audience attention to bear on the meanings of the whole play, be those meanings conveyed by movement, picture, or words. The second category, picturization, draws attention to the meaning of that same movement, the role the movement plays in supplying meaning to a play. Composition principles Should enable the director not only to point to a single element in focus, but to create an entire range of values in both time and space, and also to determine degrees of importance in either simultaneously or sequentially presented material. Once composition has determined to a large extent what will hold the attention of the audience, picturization, or the meaning of moving and pictorial relationships, Should supply the moving content to which the audience attends. These meanings of movement seem to be of three varieties: mimetic, 4OO 401 metaphoric, and symbolic. In this chapter some suggestions will be made to the director to help him organize and supplement his principles and techniques of composition and movement meaning. A. More Dynamic Composition: Through Balance and Flow One of the challenges of this study is to find more dynamic movement compositions that will take advantage of the strong impression movement makes upon an audience. The crux of dynamic movement seems to be in keeping the element of balance from becoming static, and in keeping still pictures from interrupting the flow of continuity. By combining principles from various media, for the most part already discussed in this study, certain dynamic balance and flow compositional relationships emerge. They are presented here for the scruntiny of the director. He may pick what he likes and discard the rest; he may recombine to suit his own taste or production. However, the method of abstraction, combination, and reapplication may prove helpful whether or not individual suggestions have for him direct use. 1. Dynamic Use of Balance in Moving Composition Balance in moving composition provides the director with additional possibilities for a combination of principles. Most lists of aesthetic elements include balance as a must in composition. However, the dynamic use of balance is rarely discussed, beyond the suggestion that balance should 402 be thought of on the stage as an equilibrium in time, not just in space; balance may not ultimately be achieved until the final curtain. a) Balance in Time as Well as Space.--The general con- cept of balance in time and space suggests a useful ratio. In static physical balance, as has been seen, a mathematical computation is made to assure balance: the distance from the fulcrum times the weight of the Opposite object. In moving balance somehow time needs to be considered in the computation. Given the product of the mass and distance from the fulcrum of one compositional element, one can multiply that figure with the length of time the weight is held at that distance. If the total product of mass, dis- tance, and time on one Side equals the same product on the other side of the fulcrum, the total play movement is balanced. l-Actual VS. Apparent Balance in Space. Of course it is to be remembered that impression of weight and distance are more important on stage than actual weight and distance. It is also to be remembered that the fulcrum is not only a center point in the plane of the stage floor, it is also a center point in the plane of the proscenium. In effect, to some extent the fulcrum has to be thought Of as being at the center of a rectangular cubic space that lies within the Six bounding planes of the stage space. To complicate the computation still further, it has to be remembered that up and down stage space does not seem as deep as it really is, 403 that raised and lowered movementStend to find their center closer to the stage because of the given "weight" of the stage floor, and that the eye tends to find the center of a com- position slightly left of the mathematical center. The above considerations suggest that it would take all that physics and art can do, together with the help of an electronic computer to establish when a play actually finishes in balance. Such a computation is, of course, not advised. However, the principles and variables that go into such a computation can be very valuable in estimating the balance of a scene, of an act, and of a total play. 2-Apparent Balance in Time. Fortunately for the director, another factor makes an actual balance, such as described above, unnecessary even in theory. The audience tends to place most emphasis on that which is most recently seen. Minutes of imbalance may be compensated for by seconds of balance; minutes of stage left can be compensated for by seconds of stage right. So, using the principle that the last seen creates the strongest impression, the director can achieve apparent balance in time with relatively uneven totals in a computation of actual balance or even of apparent balance in space alone. To illustrate, in a dynamic balance in time, rather than simultaneous in space, there is a balance relationship that may exist between two unequal scenes. The movement and its speed may give scenes of different lengths equal weight. A short Scene of more rapid, intense, or massive movement will 404 balance with a longer scene of less rapid, intense, or massive movement. For example, in a sequence of scenes that are building to a climax, each scene may be shorter than its predecessor. The last and shortest scene, how- ever, is expected to carry the greatest impact, that is the greatest impression of weight. To give this sequence its prOper build each scene can have more peOple in it, more movement, more rapid movement, more volume, and more in— tense or Violent movement than the preceding scene. An approximate ratio then is seen to exist. The shorter the scene, the more mass and movement is needed to maintain apparent weight. b) Effect on Audience of Apparent Balance and Imbalance. --Given the above variables and principles with which to work there are certain interesting ways in which apparent balance factors affect audiences. There appear to be certain static, potential, and kinetic qualities to apparent balance and imbalance. The relatively static effect of apparent balance seems to imply rest, poise, equilibrium, and stability. Imbalance with no potential for change seems to imply apprehension or irritation. Apparent imbalance with potential for change implies motion; while imbalance in motion, or kinetic imbalance, seems to imply a seeking of balance. These implications result from the audience's expecting from apparent and pictorial conditions the same thing that they have learned to expect from actual physical conditions. The relationship between real and apparent 405 balance is then analogical. l-Static Nature of Apparent Balance. There are two basic kinds of apparent balance. The symmetrical kind tends to be dull and static while the asymmetrical kind tends to be more interesting, but still static. Apparent balance appears dull usually because it contains no potential for movement. Even as no physical movement is possible when actual physical balance is achieved, so no physical or mental movement seems apprOpriate out of apparently balanced stage pictures; only an eccentric moves. When an unbalanced composition has either potential for movement or is kineti- cally in the process of achieving balance, it is the most exciting composition. It would seem, then, that even a relatively balanced composition needs someslight imbalance, a potential for movement, to keep it from becoming static. Hence, a total balance is best saved for the conclusion of a play. In fact, if the director desires any sort of continuing thought or feeling after his play perhaps the final curtain should also contain some elements of emotional, ideational, apparent, or actual compositional imbalance. 2-Potential Nature of Apparent Imbalance. There may be in an unbalanced combination of masses the potential to seek balance. Each imbalance becomes a tipping, a falling, or a similar upsetting of the entire pattern. If on stage such upsetting does not actually take place, because there is no force combined with the unbalanced masses, the static im- balance becomes not exciting but irritating. The imbalance 406 that is potential, that contains within it the force necessary to achieve a balance, is exciting. The balance achieved may again be static, pleasant at first but eventu- ally irritating; there is no place to go from the apparent balance achieved unless it, too, has in it some imbalance to give it potential for movement. 3-Imbalance Seen as Dynamic Balance. When both force and ~n‘W mass are involved to create an unbalanced stage it seems that the result can be an apparent imbalance that is really a dynamic balance of either the potential or the kinetic stage. The principles are these: an unbalanced stage picture, with force ready to work on the unbalanced masses, makes a potential stage while an imbalance in the process Of becoming balanced makes a kinetic stage. An unbalanced stage becoming more unbalanced is a stage in tension; the string of the bow is being drawn back and the stage is becoming more potential through motion. Strictly Speaking, both the kinetic and potential apparent imbalances seem to be in apparent dynamic balance, if there is some power, or force, either motivational, ideational, or physical, that maintains a taut imbalance of masses. A restraint within a character, an outer force winning a battle, or the force of an argument driving a character to a wall all tend to throw the mass of a stage picture off balance, but the mass is balanced by the force. In effect, then, there need not be any real imbalance on 407 the kinetic or potential stage, when balance is properly understood. There is only an imbalance of forces or an imbalance of masses. One side has the force and another the mass. In effect, then, the only static balance exists when each side has an equal mass and an equal force. In action, when the force of one Side overcomes the mass on another, there exists a sort of Special vacuum in the composition. To maintain balance, the victorious force, which also has some mass, expands its mass to fill the vacuum. The winning force becomes less compact and "takes stage." If the Victorious mass fills the stage in an apparent balance, then the conflict is over and probably also the play. 4-Problem of Static Balance and Kinetic Imbalance. Perhaps the only way to rescue a play from the static balanced stage or from the perpetual motion of a kinetically unbalanced stage is by a compositional form of the deus ex machina. If static balance does not have a seed of imbalance and kinetic imbalance a seed of balance it would appear that an external element needs to intrude to make a change. ‘When perpetual Off-balance cannot be modified to create a rest, a pause, or a conclusion then an outside force, or mass, be it physical or ideational, must be brought in to create a balance. When forces are in a deadlock of balance only an outside force can rescue the situation from its static condition. The director and playwright together need to tread a fine line between balance and imbalance. There should be 408 enough inequality of mass and force to provide motivation enough to impel the movement, and enough equality of mass and force to bring the moving situation to momentary rests. To be able to provide these conditions within the Situation itself, without the necessity of bringing in outside forces, masses, or ideas, is a skill as important to the planning of the movement as to the planning of the script. 0) Application of Principles of Apparent Balance in gimp, There seem to be special ways in which mental and physical movement, seen as movement of force and mass, may help to create an apparent dynamic balance. There also seem to be apparent balancing weights to tempo and rhythm as well as to the emotional tones of stability and instabil- ity. Each can add to the dynamic balance. l-Apparent Weight of Mental and Physical Movement. Some- times the director is faced with building a sequence of scenes where there are fewer people in each succeeding scene. The climax may arrive with only a dialogue. To offset the shorter time and the decreased mass, there needs to be more and faster movement and possibly a greater amount of mental movement to offset the lack of physical movement. If physical movement is difficult to motivate, weight may have to be achieved with a taut climax using the tug-of-war rope as an analogy. Contending forces bring the conclusion to a balanced tension that is powerfully potential, that shows the result of physical and mental movement, and that carries as 409 much weight, for that instant, as all of the forces and masses that the tension implies. 2-Apparent Weight of Tempo and Rhythm. Movement may achieve force for the potential or kinetic stage also through pace and rhythm. The slow move is more potential, the fast move more kinetic. The steady, Slow move has more force than the erratic or staccato move because of two things: The slow steady moving object will keep the audience's eye focus more easily and will connote a large, powerful mass. 3-Apparent Weight of Emotional Tone: Stability and Instability. There is a special way in which the relative balance of line, mass, and form may effect the emotions of the audience, through empathy, to create apparent weight. If an object on stage, moving or still, is felt to be bottom heavy, there is an impression of security and stability. Possibly the reason is that the audience empathizes with the object as if it were a standing or sitting man. A man with a broad base of support has a secure balance, and so the audience feels secure with an object having a broad base. On the other hand, when an object appears tOp heavy or leaning, the audience gets the feeling of instability or insecurity. Again the motor reactions of the audience are similar to those it would have in witnessing a tOppling human being. The object which is stable or unstable may also be Sympathetic or unsympathetic; it can also appear stronger 410 or weaker than the audience. These variables will give the compositional element additional emotional connotations. As an example, if the tOppling object is strong and un- sympathetic the audience feeling is apt to be fear; if the strong object is sympathetic and secure the feeling is apt to be one of joy; on the other hand, if a weak object is unsympathetic and insecure, there is apt to be a feeling of i ridicule or comedy. In essence, the stable base is static while the unstable base is potential. Strength and lack of sympathy attached to potential becomes ominous. The extreme Opposite, a horizontal object in complete balance as a lying man, with no potential for movement, provides complacency. The in- stability or stability of the position of a stage actor or a piece of scenery seems to get its connotations from audience empathy and motor reSponse. The entire stage seems to make an audience react by a Similar process. It remains for the director to take advantage of the excitement and potential that relative imbalance can create in order to produce a more dynamic stage movement. 2:219amic Use of Flow in Moving Composition. Ideas about flow derive principally from a metaphor from nature, that is the constant movement of life, and a com- positional element of "one thing at a time" applied to the two basic flowing movements: physical and psychological. I I i 411 a) Continuous Flow in Physical and Psychological Nature Applied to the Stagp.--Movement flow in life is constant; in nature when movement stops life stOps. In a play when move- ment stops, the life of the play also ceases. However, a constant flow of movement, with a constant tempo, rhythm, intensity, direction and magnitude, is both tedious and un- like life. There are numerous fluctuations for a multitude of reasons. To further complicate the idea of constant flow there seem to be two kinds of movement occurring Simultaneous- ly in human beings, psychological and physical. A play also has two flows of movement--that which is idea, carried largely by words, and that which is action or emotion, carried largely by body movement. To complicate constant flow still further, there is also a narrative, or plot, flow. However this script movement of plot does not result in a third type of stage movement since it is carried by both psychological and physical movement, by both Sight and sound. b) One Thing At A Time Applied to Flow.--The director can devise some interesting compositional relationships, between the amount of flow of these basic two varieties of movement, by the principle of one thing at a time. A danger in the principle that many directors find difficult to avoid is a predilection toward only movement or only words. The result is that somehow the movement of the script is almost always carried by the words, or else always carried by physical movement. Another danger is that "one thing at a 412 time" becomes such a ruling principle that movement occurs largely in a sound or verbal vacuum, while words occur largely in a body movement vacuum. Its opposite danger is that the meaning is contained simultaneously in both physical and mental movement and hence results in redundancy. One thing at a time, applied, really results in degrees of dominance of mental and physical movement rather than an absence of either. c) Flow Relationships BetWeen Mental and Physical Movement.--Severa1 relationships between the psychological and physical flow, using modifications of the principle of one thing at a time, may be useful to the director. A basic principle is this: When the movement of the script is largely mental, verbal, or conceptual, i.e., a movement of idea, physical movement should be retarded pro- portionately. ‘When the movement of the script is largely physical, emotional, or active, i.e., a movement of body action, of doing, then mental movement, or words, should be retarded proportionately. ‘Words and moves each have mean- ing separately; each by itself is capable of carrying almost the entire content of a scene. Radio directors and panto- mimists can attest to the abilities of each to provide all that is needed to communicate. ‘When both are together each must be modified to contribute to a total that is the sum Of, or more than the sum of, its parts. Otherwise there are 413 two wholes simultaneously presented and focus is confused, like in a two ring circus. There should be only one whole. The above principle can be applied in many ways depend- ing upon the play in question and the director's interpre- tation of it. Several ratios will be suggested. l-Ratio Between Physical and Mental Movement. Whenever the director reduces physical movement he must augment mental movement such that the two combined will always total a single whole. The magnitude, tempo, and complexity of physical movements are all attributes that can be varied in inverse proportion to the amount of mental movement. The number of words, the complexity of ideas expressed, and the tempo of expression are attributes of mental movement varied in inverse proportion to the physical movement. If mental- oral expressions are largely sounds, repeated words, and ejaculations then physical movement can be at its strongest, for physical movement will carry the focus and the meaning of the scene. When the sounds are words conveying a complex plot point, or theme of the play, there can be Significantly less physical movement, for the words are carrying the move- ment and the meaning of the play. The first suggestion for relationship between the two kinds of movement is, then, for the director to consider wave-like fluctuations in each medium, i.e., sight and sound, such that both are flowing constantly and simul- taneously in an ebb and flow, with one medium dominant, or 414 flowing, while the other is recessive, or ebbing. Thus the fluctuations will match the degree of mental and physical activity going on in the script at any particular moment without any one activity ever ceasing completely. 2-Ratio of Mental Action to Mental Movement, Physical Action to Physical Movement. The second application of the relation- ship between mental and physical movement concerns the type of movement presented to accompany the physical or mental script action. Using Delsarte's principle that parts of the body correspond to kinds of motivation this study postulates that mental script movement can be accompanied by physical movement of the body extremities, the "mental" parts of the body, while appetite-satisfying or emotional script movement can be accompanied by physical movement of the larger muscles and can originate in torso centers of the body. Small movement accompanying thought is not only small in Size but it is more delicate and minute. It is also carried by the smaller parts of the body that can make more intricate and rapid adjustments. Larger actions of the physical play are carried_by larger muscles as well as by larger movements. The accompanying of the type of script action with the apprOpriate type of body movement suggests a further relation~ ship that may help in creating potential for succeeding scenes. Large movement accompanies physical action that has resulted from thought. Small movement accompanies thought (mental activity) that will result in physical action. This 415 interrelated statement of the principle is pregnant in that it suggests a continuity, a dynamic. In each move or small sequence there lies the seed, the potential, for the next Sequence. Also in each scene where one medium (Sight or sound) is predominate there lies the seed of a reversal to make the next medium predominate. In this way physically more static sequences are interpreted as preludes to action, never merely as thought for the sake of thought. 3-Ratio of Cross to Fine Movement: Blocking to Business. Another relationship between physical and mental movement can be thought of as the relationship between the two basic kinds of movement: Gross blocking movement and business. Each kind of movement can be considered a continuum that relates in inverse proportion to the other continuum. One continuum would be the range from detailed, complex, important business to no business at all. The other continuum would be the range from no large body movement to large group and large Space covering moves. In general, when the movement is gross the business should be retarded prOportionately. When the business is complex, the gross movement should be retarded proportionately. In a sense, the ratio is like that between the verbal and the physical. When mental movement with business is predominate then physical movement should be recessive. Again, the suggestion here is to maintain a flow so that both kinds of movement continue simultaneously, but in a relationship that does not have more going on at a 416 time than the audience can comfortably take in. 4-Ratio of Physical to Mental Movement in Equilibrium. When the various ratios are applied there appears to be a large middle ground where both elements are in approximately equal focus. The result is a period wherein nothing is really in focus or emphasized. The simple solution is always to have some element dominant even though there is relatively equal portions of both. However, there seems to be one way in which this unfocused relationship can be turned into an asset. When the flows are approximately equal, the director has succeeded in doing in one way what the film director does in a reestablishing Shot. After a closeup, tension and attention need to be relaxed. To loosen the shot the director returns to a longer View and lets his audience eye move around a more complex, less tightly focused picture where no one element is so vital as is the total composition. To accomplish the same purpose the stage director can use his simultaneous flows of both mental and physical movement. Neither is large enough, nor important enough, to merit total attention, and so the total physical—mental movement composition carries a more relaxed or diffused focus. Then, when one element does need to come into stronger focus, a grad- ual or rapid decrease of one kind of movement coupled with an increase of the other can help to direct the attention. d) Problem in Flow Relationships: Lack of Punctuation gpd Phrasipg.--An important problem with the flow concept 417 can be that there is not sufficient punctuation and phrasing to establish rhythms, to convey units of meaning, or to allow for staccato sequences. The solution seems to be that the director ought to vary his ebb and flow to create phrasing units and to consider inserting the various kinds of blocks that might normally impede flow. Hesitation, gaps in either Speech or physical movement, "cornerS of physical movement where directional changes take place, and punctuation in Speech, all help to provide internal structure to the overall interrelationships of waves of movement. l-Punctuation Derived from Speech. The relationship between flow and pause may well be Similar to a relationship in Speech. The important part of speech is the flow of subject and predicate, coupled with its modifiers and connecting words. The punctuation takes the least Space and the least time. So it is with stage movement. The flow of mental and physical action is predominate. The stop or hesitation of punctuation Should be for the shortest time possible in order to keep the action of the script alive. The duration and variety of hesitation may find interesting analogs in the variety of speech punctuation. 2-Punctuation Derived from Nature. The director can make very effective use of "stop action" punctuation if he uses it sparingly and according to living, moving principles instead of according to static art principles. In general, a stop of a flow is the stOpping of life. However, in nature, 418 especially in human beings, there are normal hesitations that can provide clues. It would seem that the director cannot stop all action on stage, both mental and physical, for longer than a man can hold his breath if the life of the play is not to be killed as would be the life of the man. The point is, that the play can be considered as a living organism whose life can flow in fluctuations, now accenting this aspect, now that, but the organism cannot cease movement entirely for long without becoming sick or dying. The director can certainly experiment with the play whose structure is like that of a man confined to bed, or of a psychotic whose body and mind remain in a corner of the room; however, a healthy audience is more apt to be empathically pleased by a full blown, healthy, living play. 3—Punctuation to Accent Past. A structural advantage to the momentary departure from life's ebb and flow is that the unusual draws attention to itself. A gap in the flow suddenly draws a strong focus, usually to the words or the action that immediately preceded the gap. Usually the physical activity, or pose, that remains during a silence in some way symbolizes, or pictures, what was meant by the action or words that preceded the Silence. Hence a hesitation allows the audience to contemplate for an instant the relationships that have resulted from the movement. This relationship fixes itself in the audience's mind as a point, or a fact, or an idea that is now available to be 419 added to the next point and eventually to form a total complex of meaning. 4-Punctuation to Accent Future. The stop action device can also draw attention to what follows the gap. It is difficult to describe the difference between a gap that accents what precedes and a gap that accents what follows. In fact, it seems that all pauses must first emphasize what preceded them for what follows has not yet occurred. The point to be made is that the nature of what precedes the pause determines whether the audience looks back or looks ahead. If the actor says, "Wait a minute," and then pauses, the emphasis is first upon the words "wait a minute," and then those words point ahead to beyond the pause, setting up anticipation for what is to follow. A suspension is created by the words. On the other hand, a hesitation can follow "You see what I mean?" In which case the audiences' attention roams back over the preceding sequence and, in effect, it reminisces instead of looks forward. 5-Punctuation to Provide Rest. The gap may provide a re- vitalizing function as well as an emphatic one. In life, man or nature needs periodic rest in order to move ahead with renewed energy. During rest some residual activity is always present; never does all movement cease. However, if a climax of physical movement is needed, it is well for the director to find a place to physically rest his actors, and empathically rest his audience, before plunging into 420 the physical climax. Such an idea as the calm before the storm might prove helpful. If physical movement has been building toward a physical climax, mental activity, or at least its verbal expression, has been waning. Then, before the actual physical climax takes place, physical rest takes over for a Short time and finally a burst of physical activity takes place. Following the flow ratios suggested, during the pause in physical movement mental movement takes over, final plans are laid, and thematic thinking takes place to justify the coming physical action. Audience suSpense is maintained even as suSpenSion of physical action is maintained, as long as the thought is handled as the pre- lude to action, that is, as long as the scene is potential. After the rest from one kind of flow, the audience is re- vitalized and eager to plunge into the climax sequence. The same relationship would also hold true for verbal or mental rests. After much physical activity on stage the mind has been resting and the audience is ready for clever witticisms, complex themes, or involved exposition. 6-Punctuation to Provide Tension. An image may be helpful to the director in using punctuation to provide tension; the image is the rOpe in a tug-of-war. When both sides in the game are momentarily evenly matched the rope does not move. If an audience saw only the rOpe there would be a static picture. However, when the motionless picture is combined in space with the two pulling teams, and combined in time 421 with the memory of physical movement and the anticipation of future physical movement, the rOpe is seen as tension and potential. If the tug of war and the held breath serve as images for any kind of stOppage, even for the large stOp- page of a whole medium of movement for a necessary rest, the stage director has in his grasp the potential for very dynamic and continually flowing life-like production. 3:Summary Conclusion: Dynamic Flow and Balance Punctuated and Phrased to Maintain Impression of Continuous Life The challenge of this section is to consider phrasing a play with minimal stop action, of either the mental or the physical variety, and to think of movement as ebb and flow. When the physical movement is kinetic the mental movement is potential, and vice versa. In effect, there can be some sort of alternation Of phrases, first physical movement statement, then verbal or mental movement statement, then physical movement statement again. One movement can comment upon the other simultaneously, or one can comment on the other alter- nately. Units are hence set up, not with walls or moats between them but with a baton as in a relay race. The baton of movement is handed now to the words, now to the body movement, while neither stops completely. The point at which the transition takes place is punctuation, setting up memory units without providing gaps in the continuity. Such structuring, though derived from a life principle, is not life, it is art. Life does not pause periodically to sum up, except in very large ways, such as in the change of the 422 seasons. Art carefully selects its meaning, its pointing, and its hesitation to provide a cumulative structure that mimics life in part, but primarily provides structure that allows for a series of meaningful points to be made by the content of words and movement. B. MOre Dynamic Movement Meanings Through Mimesis, Metaphor, and Symbol The hunt for and the application of moving sources for meaning through mimesis, metaphor, and symbol can help the director to create more dynamic movement meanings. To do this seems to require a closer definition Of the kinds of movement and some specific and typical applications to the stage play. 1. Extended Definitions Of the Three Kinds of Movement Meaning For convenience this study has said that movement can be said to convey meaning in three ways: by mimesis, by ' metaphor, and by symbol. The three ways Often overlap both in category and in experience. To some extent, also, there is a continuum that ranges through the entire set of cate- gories including abstraction, without any distinct break in kind. In short, the distinctions of three kinds are more for the practical purpose of providing a guide to the creation of movement meanings than they are supposed to be philOSOphically distinct categories. 423 a) Mimesis Defined.--The first category, mimesis, may be simply translated as "this is that." What appears on stage is made to resemble real life as closely as possible. Belasco is said to have taken an actual restaurant and placed it on stage, complete with the working toilet. Antoine is said to have placed a real side of beef on stage, possibly complete with the working flies. Contemporary directors buy real furniture and prOperties to dress their setting. Several Russian directors are said to have experi- mented with having plays in their natural settings in a house, in a garden, or in a factory. The logical result of trying to present or to COpy exactly is the motion picture film. Through it the audience may be tranSported to the exact place at the appropriate time, and the close up can reveal the details of the real object. Even the actors are often "real people" who have never acted before. This step really precedes mimesis in the continuum of types of move~ ment meaning since it presents the real rather than an imitation of the real. Mimesis really starts at the point of being "true to life" rather than being life. Where the director is unable to put the real life object before the eyes of his audience, he often goes to great expense to research and duplicate what was existent in the times. Of course Hollywood is famous for such recon- struction in its film extravaganzas. Where the real life human being is portrayed by an actor everything possible is 1 4| '“H 424 done to make him look and sound unlike an actor. His motivations and actions must be true to life just as if his character were real rather than fictitious. His acting must be an accurate imitation of human behavior. The achievement of this human behavior gives rise to two methods. Either the artist duplicates the inner feelings and motivations which in turn purport automatically to reproduce the outer form, or else the actor reproduces the outer form of symptoms and symbols directly, and to some extent they may reinstate the inner feelings. Whether the director uses the first or the second method, he still hopes for the same result, that the acting give the impression of being a real life experience for the audience. Of course, this study suggests that a knowledge of the outer form is essential, in order either to reproduce it or to recognize it when it appears. Within the mimetic category of "this is that" fall movements that mean themselves. Usually business, such as sewing or setting the table, means itself. In mimetic performance the attempt is to use the business as itself, that is to make it as life~like as possible. In effect, in strictly mimetic meaning, there is only one statement, "this is that"; life on stage is as near as the director can make it to life out in the world. Such reproduction of life on stage is probably communicated to an audience by familiarity and empathy. AS a familiar activity is duplicated on stage, 425 the audience motor reSponseS are similar to those of the actors, and the familiar activity reinstates a familiar emotion. Everyone feels right at home. Of course, strictly mimetic meaning is incapable of making comment upon itself except as the audience already has a point of View about the familiar activity on stage. To present a comment, a contrast, or a point of View other kinds of movement meanings, or else mimetic movements that have established emotional connotations and hence can be used contrapuntally with script meanings, need to be employed. b) Metaphor Defined.--The second category, metaphor, may be simply translated as "this is like that." 'What appears on stage may resemble real life or not, but some essential qualities or dimensions of the move have been abstracted from some other source, a source other than exactly what the character would do were he faced with the stage situation in real life. The fundamental distinction of the metaphorical meaning is the existence of analogous parts. Some object in life or in art serves as a graphic or a moving image for the director. Rather than merely letting such an image vaguely influence something he calls the "mood" of his play, he can let various components of his image be replaced by various components on the stage; he may duplicate the rhythm, tempo, kinetic action, potential action, shape, color, or emotional qualities of the original image. 426 How this meaning conveys itself to an audience may be part empathic and part intellectual. The Shape, rhythm, tempo, emotional overtones, and physical action of an actor or group of actors may provide empathic responses in the audience similar to that felt when perceiving the original image from which those qualities were abstracted. When these components are translated into body movement, the empathy with the body may set up additional emotional associations. The director may easily run into conflicting empathic responses. His image may be calculated to produce one affect upon the audience, but his choice of body action to carry that image may already be a natural symptom or symbol of some other feeling. The way in which the metaphor carries meaning intellectual- ly is by making the audience aware of the source of the move- ment. If a play is set at the sea shore, and moving water is an integral part of the story, the director may block a sequence of moves in which people are in some way like ocean waves. The audience can see, in the context, where the move- ments were derived. By seeing the analagous relationship, the audience takes pleasure in uncovering each additional nuance of relationship. It may also feel the movement empathically but in addition it can literally engage in the intellectual comparison of "this is like that." The advantage of the dimension of metaphorical meaning is that two familiar things in life can be compared or contrasted to each other to give depth to the primary meaning. 427 To say people are like waves, or like swings, is to allow for editorial comment. The audience is forced into a perspective on the character and the Situation. Instead of merely empathizing, feeling into, or recognizing human behavor, it can recognize and feel what a director chooses to say human behavior is, should be or could be like. The example has already been given of the comparison between an adult walking down stairs followed by a child walking down stairs in adult clothes. Given a careful treatment and an apprOpriate context, the analogy is completed by the audience much as a problem in algebra. X is the personality of the adult. The unknown quantity is supplied by the comparison. The clothes are equal to the clothes, the stairs to the stairs, the personality to the personality. Therefore, by analogy, the adult has a child-like personality. Of course the logic in analogy is non-existent; proof by analogy is no proof at all; however, to the audience, the conclusion is inescapable. A statement Of relationship has been made by the director and for the purposes of drama the audience usually assumes the statement is true. An analogical movement is emotionally much more convincing than a logical statement, for the audience thinks it is seeing visible proof. In searching out additional metaphorical meanings to movement, the challenge to the director is to make his moves more alive, more dynamic. To do this best, the director should locate moving metaphors drawn from Objects 428 or activities in life whose motion is apprOpriate to the scene. 0) Symbol Definedr-The third category, symbol, may be translated simply as "this stands for that". It would seem that symbolic movement in its extreme form would be the least useful of the three categories; it would provide move- ments that convey not only empathic meanings already native to them, but Specifically convey verbal meanings as clearly as does Speech. However, in a very important way every movement on stage is a symbolic one. Even in mimesis a real life move is not seen. The imitation stands for the move that would be made in life were the real life circumstances the same as the circumstances of the play. Again, in metaphor, the wave-like body movement stands for the ocean waves; of course, the metaphor makes the additional comment that there is something to be learned from the comparison of the character to the wave. However, in a strictly symbolic way, the moves are not considered for their resemblance to human behavior or for their resemblance, and comparison, to other moving things in nature. They are considered for what facts, information, or relationships they convey directly to an audience. For the extreme of symbolic movement, it has been seen that Oriental and Polynesian dances do have an approximation primarily in a hand gesture sign language. Often the meaning of the gesture is derived from either a mimetic or metaphoric movement. The hand makes a circle; it is the world, or the 429 moon. One Shape is analogous to another. The hand rises and describes an are over the head; it is the passing of the sun during a day; the arc of the hand is analogous to the arc of the sun. However, such gestures either need a strong context to give them Specific meaning, or they need standard- ization through consistent usage. The point for the stage director is that he also may give a context to and standard- ize movement symbols to a limited extent within a given production. To achieve symbolic meaning in any complete way would be to create a language that had a grammar, syntax, and vocabulary with dictionary equivalents. Such a language could be translated into other verbal languages. Such a language would have as its aim conveyance of intellectual and emotional ideas and would involve movement from which most of the empathic content had been drained. Such an extreme, as has been suggested in the chapter on dance, would merely be a duplicate of a verbal language and probably undesirable except for those who are deaf and dumb. However, there are alternatives to a complete language of movement. In any culture's gesture vocabulary there are numerous signs with which a director Should become familiar. The shoulder shrug, the hand point, the hand shake, the fist shake, or the nodded head all have very Specific meanings to the American public. There are numerous other signs that a director might well compile in order to realize the potential for direct communication by gesture in his own 430 culture. Of course, the director fears he may fall into cliche movement by the use of standardized gestures. This will happen only if he is a cliche director. Knowing how to vary the cliches according to the play's circumstances and style, the character's personality, and the metaphorical possibilities will free the director from, not bind him to, cliches. However, he needs to know the cliches to begin with. After all, a cliche is merely a standardized form of communication. To Shun it as a basis for meaning is to discard perhaps a third of the meaning possibilities for movement. d) Mimesis, Metaphor, and Symbol Defined as Part of A Continuum.--It can be seen that the three categories of move- ment meaning are really not distinct but form a continuum. To illustrate the continuum, more significant mid points can be added. Perhaps a graded sequence of steps could be some- what as follows: The most extreme mimesis is really not mimetic at all. Actual life is presented on the stage. The audience is looking in on real people whose movement is natural though inhibited, cultural, unplanned, and incidental. The next step is exact replica. The performers know they are acting but they try to forget it and act as they would in real life. The movement may consist of carefully reinstated body symptoms of inner feelings or it may consist of the result of the creation of an inner life of a character. It is seen that 431 each approach has its danger; the symptom may be inaccurate or the inner life may be replete with an actor's inhibitions that impose a stilted and repetitive movement pattern upon the body. The next step in mhnesis is to distort the real to make it large enough to be seen and Simple enough to be discerned. Such a step is often called selective realism. Still within the realm of natural movement is the presentation of symbols for inner states. Through social custom, certain bodily attitudes have become so closely associated with certain emotions that they are thought of as being innate, universal symptoms of the emotion. Some of these attitudes will appear in the actor from simple internal duplication ofzhelings, but many will not appear without a specific knowledge of the form of the outer expression. The next step is a distortion of the natural symbol. The body attitude, or gesture, becomes stylized for the stage. It is simplified, enlarged, and adapted to the circumstances of the character and the play. At this point in the continuum metaphorical meanings begin to be inserted. Perhaps the first is the simple trans- lation of mental motion into physical motion. The words Show fear, or retreat, so the body moves back. The move is still a natural one for fear, but it is not an inevitable one. The move is both designed and natural. 432 The next coloration of move would be through the use of line patterns such that lines, abstracted from something exterior to movement, will provide a mood for that movement. The next step is the conscious adoption of a Specific metaphor from which to abstract elements that will un- consciously arouse the audience; allied is the use of metaphors which will arouse the audience while it is aware of the abstraction and can consciously use the image for comparison. When the images in movement become habitual, so that no conscious translation needs to be made, the movements become symbols. The move is no longer thought of in terms of its derivation; it conveys a Specific meaning directly. The next step, hopefully avoided by the director, is cliche: symbolic moves that are so habitual in the culture that they cease to create either interest or fresh meaning. It is at this point that the continuum may come full circle. The method actor, creating mimetic movement through thought, without attending to form, is apt to recreate on stage mostly culturally acquired, unconsciously cliche symbols thinking that he is creating spontaneous symptoms of inner feelings. Of course, this study maintains that even cliches of move- ment may belong on stage if they are the director's conscious choice from the continuum of possibilities. 2. Application of the Three Kinds of Movement Meaning When the director has absorbed the principles of movement 433 from his own culture he still has the problem Of designing specific movements derived from his script, his own ex- periences, and the continuum of types; principles do not automatically turn themselves into practice. For this reason some Specifics of each kind of meaning will be ex- plored. The purpose will be to provide some typical solutions, some specific suggestions, and some summary conclusions, rather than a complete coverage and classifi- cation in each category. All that is intended is a Spring- board to creative, meaningful, and dynamic movement. a) Mimesis Applied.--Most of what this study has to say about movement as mimesis has beensnid in the last chapter about dance, pantomime, and psychology. It remains here to clarify the findings concerning the communication of emotion and attitudes, and to apply mimesis in three examples. The three examples are theories of action and reaction, of three part motivation, and of evolution from inner thematic and character purpose to outer form. l-Mimetic Emotions and Attitudes Differentiated. The first part of this study has shown that both Gassner and Dietrich, among others, tend toward the point of View that all emotions have substantially the same symptoms, that the situation in context is needed for the emotion to be identified. This study has brought to bear the Opinions of several psychol- ogists, and others, who seem to Oppose this point of View, notably Campbell, cited in the last chapter as believing J 434 that every feeling has an appropriate body expression.1 The conclusion of this study is that the two schools of thought are not really talking about the same things. The symptoms of emotion are to the first school merely the organic symptoms such as heart beat rate and strength, breathing rate, and perhaps also the results of such tests as eye pupil dilation, galvanic skin reSponse, or amount of perspiration secretion. Such symptoms are undoubtedly present in any display of emotion. Such symptoms are un- doubtedly at the basis -Of all emotion. However, the culture, the arts, and some psychology seem to have found reasons to differentiate emotions on the basis of broad categories such as joy, fear, hate, or disdain. Psychol- ogists such as Campbell, pantomimist's such as Aubert, and dancers such as Humphries seem to feel there is a communicable body difference in these emotions. This study then concludes that another term is needed to supplement the term emotion, to designate what Campbell, Aubert, and Humphries are talking about. Let the term be "attitude". The term can refer to the overt symptoms of a differentiated emotion or else to something that is in addition to emotion. The point is, however, that such attitudes seem to be eXpressed in fairly consistent patterns of neuro-muscular response without any conscious effort on the part of the person reacting. There seems to be a difference of kind, which may only be a differ- ence in degree, between this natural bodily expression of lCampbell, "Your Actions . . ." op. cit., p. 27. 435 attitude and a culturally accepted symbol for the specific attitude. In any event, such an expression of attitude is not derived from art; it is distinct from an abstraction, distillation, exaggeration, or simplification of a natural attitude manufactured for the purposes of communication. Such natural bodily forms appear to be based on reflex and the result of activity of the autonomic nervous system. They appear also to arouse Similar reactions, by empathy, in an audience that witnesses these attitudes. A context can certainly distort or change many meanings. A relatively blank facial expression, an undifferentiated body expression of emotion, or a general body attitude that is basically protective, expansive, negative, or positive can easily be interpreted in a number of ways given a number of very Specific contexts. However, this is not to say that certain gross bodily attitudes, and/or subtle body movements, are not usually found accompanying certain Specific mental or emotional attitudes in real life. Studies quoted in the last chapter tend to establish such typical accompaniment. In fact, as has been seen, both dramatists and psychologists alike have noted, or made good use of, the recognizable difference between bodily attitudes and verbal statements that provides contrast in meaning. The basic symptoms for emotion, then (heart beat, muscle tension, breathing rate) seem to be merely preparation for action; they are getting the body prepared for whatever 436 physical movement may be necessary as a reaction to a specific stimulus. Body posture, movement, Specific rhythms of breathing, the part of the body that starts a movement, and actual gesture all seem to be motor activities largely controlled by a combination of the autonomic ner- vous system and conditioned reflexes activated by what the sensory perceptors perceive. What is not autonomic still appears to be typical depending on what motivation is aroused as a result of perceiving the stimulus. In fact, a spectator may actually read into another person's re- action what the basic motivation is without seeing the 1 stimulus. The specific stimulus usually cannot be guessed, but often the gipp of stimulus is clear. Of course, art- fully simplifying, spreading out sequentially in time, exaggerating in Size and shape, or removing inhibiting influences from a specific reaction will all help to clarify what is basically a built in and very early aculturized movement. 2-A Theory of Action and Reaction: Suspense and Power. The ability to recognize a reaction or a motivation without seeing the stimulus provides material for a specific mimetic movement suggestion. In each human interaction there is a pattern of action and reaction. The reaction becomes an action for subsequent reaction. The ability to discern in a reaction its kind of motivation and to some extent its stimulus provides the basis for a perspective and a suspense. 437 If the audience sees both the action and the reaction, its view is objective theatre. If it sees primarily the action the View is normal film. However, if the stage director can reverse the usual order of procedure and have the audience watch the reacting person, a new point of View for the action can be obtained. ‘When only the expression of the reacting person is seen the audience has a subjective View, to some extent seeing only what the reactor reveals and accepting his evaluation of the action. The audience is also held in suspense. Being able to tell only in general, the audience wonders what the Specific stimulus is. When it is revealed, audience satis- faction is attained. A stimulus appropriate to the reaction usually results in supported drama while stimulus inappro- priate to the reaction usually results in dramatic irony or in comedy. For example, adult fear whose cause is revealed to be a two year Old with a water pistol is comic. However, to have such a comic result it can be seen that the body attitude, e.g., for fear, has to be recognizable. In action and reaction there seems to be a sort of dynamic ratio at work. This study has already employed the physics principle, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction; a movement appears no stronger than its opposition. There is an additional application where motivation is involved; a move is no stronger than the purpose, or the resolve, of the mover. Power on stage then can be 438 considered a total of purpose, plus mass to be moved, plus actual movement against an Opposition. In effect, this relationship is another statement of the ancient idea of the necessity of dramatic conflict, a statement dressed up in terms of psychologically motivated movement. The more purpose, the more emotive and emphatic value there will be to the power. The more Opposition, the greater that power appears. It is seen, then, that if the director plans accurate symbols and symptoms for an actor's reaction, then reveals that reaction without revealing the stimulus, he can create both a unique point of View and a suspense about the stimulus. If he can also insure that both the stimulus and the reacting character are part of purposive masses moving in opposition his action and reaction will give the impression of power. 35A Theory of Three Part Motivation. The first part of this study mentioned a three part motivation which will now be clarified and summarized. Only two of the parts are psycho- logical. That is why an overview of the script by the director is necessary to insure that all three kinds of motivations are present. Internal. The first kind of motivation concerns the establishing of an inner need, response, or impulse. Something interior to the body causes a movement. The senses may record the smell of smoke, the stomach may create a feeling of hunger, or the lungs may record a shortage of 439 oxygen. Some internal impulse starts a reaction pattern sequence that changes body set, breathing, and gesture. External. The second part of the three part motivation is external to the body. If the inner impulse was caused by a body function, e.g., the stomach reacting to a need for food, the new body set can eventually result in the eye taking over in the search for food. The external motivation would be a source of food. For the motivation to be complete and to communicate to the audience, a body movement toward the external motivation needs to take place. For complete clarity the action should be finished, the food acquired, the beginning of the action tied into the end, and the inner impulse quieted, or brought into balance. The inner impulse may be in reSponse to an outer stimulus, e.g., a door slams, the ear records, and then a reaction pattern takes place. In this instance the outer motivation is presented to the audience before the inner. To complete the action, the reactor needs to do something relative to the door slam, then both an outer and an inner focus has taken place again. igeational. The third part to motivation is an extension by analogy, movement motivated by the purpose of the play. The individual's purpose can be said to create the form of his pantomime; the play's purpose can be said to create the form of the director's blocking. To be sure, all purposes derive ultimately from the overall purpose of the play, ’ i A d 440 and all movement should seem to derive from the special purposes of the individual in a particular scene. However, large movement patterns seem to have a special dependency on the overall theme and plot of the play. It is this study's contention that every stage movement can and should have all three motivations. The play may motivate a director to get an actor near a door in order for him to be shot in the next sequence. That actor should also be motivated by some inner need and some exterior goal to get to that position near the door. Of course, these inner needs and outer goals should be integrated into what the character would want both in the particular scene, and in his function as a character. 4-A Theory of Inner Purpose Determining Outer Form. Character movement seems to be the result of a composite of causes. In effect, ideally each character's every observable movement should be the result not only of the kind of person he is and of the situation in which he is at present, but also of an inner felt need that is expressed outwardly, of an external goal that is evident to the audience, and of a theme and plot requirement of a play. Of course the expressive qualities of the movement (its line, form, mass, expressed symptoms, metaphor, or symbol) are assumed to be attributes of the movement that stem from character, situation and theme. Hence, all these considerations should result in movement that will successfully depict the inner purpose in the outer form. 441 b) Metaphor Applied.--The purpose of using a metaphor for movement is similar to that of using a metaphor in speech. The good metaphor clarifies, deepens, and broadens the meaning of a particular scene by adding its meaning to that of the movement. By careful use metaphor can bring the same depth to movement that it does to literature. Of course the director is wise to use a moving metaphor that will take advantage of movement's greater emphatic and empathic meaning. An analogy will serve to Show the point of view of this study concerning the relationship between the moving and the static metaphor. On stage, movement derived from a moving metaphor is apt to be as more dynamic than movement from a static metaphor as the motion picture is more dynamic than a series of slide projections. This section will deal with some sources, some problems, and some examples of the moving metaphor that may serve as a guide in the director's selection. l-Sources of Moving Metaphor. This study suggests looking for more images of objects or processes which move. Move- ments of water, fire, and air, of machine and growth, and of basic human maneuvers such as fighting, love making, and survival, of sporting activities, or of narration in liter~ ature can all provide material for the moving metaphor. ”When abstraction of pertinent rhythms, movements, or forms has taken place and the abstracted elements given to analogical parts of a stage composition, the use of the i X- i -.:l 442 moving metaphor is complete. 2-Three Poor Metaphors: Mixed, Esoteric, Trite. The poor movement metaphors are Similar to those existing in liter- ature; they are the mixed, the esoteric, and the overworked, or trite. Ultimately, the discretion and experience of the director will determine how successfully he avoids the poor metaphors, but some guide lines are in order. The mixed metaphor is most apt to occur when the theme of the verbal script carries one image and the movement pattern carries another. An example may be drawn. from a particular production of Albee's American Dream. The theme of the play as written has as its image a strong, handsome, but emasculated male individual. The American dream is embodied in a mythical hero. Albee makes the point that the so-called rugged individual, the handsome hero, the idol of America, is really a shell. This hero is his symbol, and a handsome young character embodies that symbol. Here is the playwright's analogical construction: This character is to the play and to other characters in the play as the American dream is to America and to other Americans. In the production in question the director created a setting that resembled in detail a monOpoly game board, with the sets of cards and a die providing furniture for the room. To some extent the play's movement pattern resembled movement about the game board. To the director, the American dream was the dream of going from rags to 443 riches, the Cinderella story, or some such variety of the materialistic hope. ‘Witness the mixed metaphor in full bloom; the playwright has one American dream in mind, the director has another. The particular ideas, themes, and interactions Of the play- wright are simply not expressed by the static and moving images of the director. If the director had tried to create analogical relationships he would have seen that although his metaphor was derived from the title, the director's was an American dream, it was not derived from the content of the play. He could not match his image to his movement with the A is to B as C is to D formula. There were no analogous parts. Consequently the audience almost had two simultaneous and different plays, one the play- wright's and another the director's, with neither helping to interpret the other. An example of what might appear to be a mixed metaphor, but was so patently and uniquely obvious and original in context that the mixture went unnoticed, was employed by Marcel Marceau in a pantomime about a butterfly. Marceau is the man hunting, net in hand. He sees the butterfly and his head takes on the motion of the butterfly's flitting as it darts up and down. Meanwhile, his eyes remain the eyes of the hunter, looking at the butterfly in flight. ‘When he finally catches the butterfly his thumb and forefinger are those of the hunter extracting the butterfly from the 444 net. However, the rest of his fingers become the fluttering wings of the butterfly. Then, as he watches the butterfly, the fluttering wings adOpt the rhythm of a human heart beat as a recognizable metaphor for a living butterfly. Then the tempo of the beat decreases until the fluttering stOps. The fingers have become the wings and the wings have abstracted from the human heart beat its rhythm, and used the rhythm in its wing movement. Apparent death is depicted by the wings stOpping beatting, the wings now representing the heart. The above example is not in the same class as the mixed metaphor of The American Dream. In Marceau's pantomime one body has to portray two beings: the hunter and the butter- fly. Certain portions of the pantomimist's body, from time to time, assume the rhythm, form, direction, or tempo of the butterfly. In effect, there is no mixture Of metaphor but a metaphor within a metaphor: The hand moves like a butterfly wing and the wing moves in the rhythm of the human heart beat. The fingers have established so well the movement of butterfly wings that the audience accepts the fingers as wings. ‘When the wings then abstract from the heart beat its rhythm, there seems to be no unbelievable jump. Such imaginative, and accurate, use of analogous parts can certainly increase the director's and the actor's powers of communication by movement. However, truly mixed 445 metaphors do not communicate imagination. They only succeed in confusing or in directly misleading an audience. The esoteric metaphor is perhaps more common than the mixed. If the image the director has in mind is too remote from the audience's experience for the audience to see the relationship, no comparison is possible. However, the audience does not have to know what image the director is using if he has chosen an image that will supply appropriate empathic response. Perhaps he has in mind a bird in flight. His actor uses this image; leaping and fluttering about on stage fulfill it. If a feeling of weightlessness and effortlessness is achieved by empathic reSponse, the audience may feel like soaring; its emotions be joyous. However, the audience may never know the director suggested to the actor that his arms are like wings, his fingers like feathers, and his body is as light as air, even as a bird's body appears to be in flight. A more remote form Of esoteric metaphor is usual. For example, should the director choose the image of the bird for lightness, and the actor use the image to provide a walk, the bird walk may provide a very un-soaring response from the audience. A bird stalking about seems proud, moves in staccato rhythm, and is quick to shy away. In a human being, who does not have the light appearance of a bird, nor the fragility that makes quick movement seem shy and protective, the bird-like movement may appear mysterious, 446 portentious, overweeningly proud, and somewhat obnoxiously precious. In short, failure to recognize a metaphor may not be as misleading to the audience as a misapplication creating empathic response, which is unwanted. The problems of overworked, or trite, metaphors are so very relative to the particular play and to the background of the audience that little can be said. Perhaps one guiding principle will suffice for the overworked metaphor. The director needs perspective so he does not fall in love with his metaphor. If it is one which is used to interpret \ an entire play, then it should probably not be worked out to its most minute detail in every movement, but merely provide the over-all shape to the blocking scheme orto the characterizations. 3-Two Moving Metaphors: The Pendulum and The River. The pendulum serves as an appropriate metaphor to suggest dynamic relationships between punctuation and the moving phrase, while the river supplies interesting suggestions for dynamic flow relationships among depth, tempo, mass, and continuity. The pendulum provides an image to stimulate a partic— ular conception of the relationship between the dynamic phrase and its punctuation. Therefore, to apply the metaphor adequately the director first needs to consider the nature of the phrase itself. The phrase, according to the dancers, is a time unit derived from the duration of one Speaking 447 breath. The idea of the phrase has been incorporated into music and Speech where it is still a unit of meaning of approximately a few seconds' duration. The phrase has a beginning, middle,and end. It usually contains one complete unit of rhythm and one major accent somewhere within it. Also it usually begins with an attack and ends with some punctuation. Phrases are sometimes separated by a time gap; other times they are set apart from each other by the recognition of a repeated pattern. Each phrase has a Similarity of structure, if not of con- tent, that makes it appear as a cell Of meaning. The phrase has also been used as a metaphor; any meaningful units of varying sizes, as long as they have recognizable unity as building units in some larger structure, can be thought of as phrases. In a sense, an entire play is a phrase, within which there are acts, French scenes, speeches, sentences, and clauses or prepositional phrases which can all be structured as phrases within phrases. To change the metaphor to an organic one, the director could think of these phrase units as cells which make up organs which make up a living body. The phrase can be thought of as being either dynamic or static. If the director thinks of his units as still picture compositions, no matter how often he changes the picture the meaning is conveyed in static relationships, and the move- ment to change pictures is fundamentally a dissolve-blur. a 448 If he thinks of the meaning within the phrase as carried by moving thoughts, moving bodies, and moving plot, then the body of the phrase is motion and the punctuation is static. One way to keep phrasing intact without having static moments is to employ the metaphorical relationship of the pendulum. The pendulum moves through a swing that has certain interesting idiosyncrasies. In perfect gravita- tional balance it is at the middle of a swing, when it is pointing straight down. At that balance point it is Swinging the fastest. When it comes to the highest point in its swing it is in its greatest state of imbalance and moving at itssflowest rate, actually coming to a stop at the tOp of the swing. The pendulum moves from one state of imbalance, rapidly through the point of balance, to another state of imbalance. Hesitation takes place at a turning point, not during the main flow of action. To see the pendulum remain posed at its highest point for an instant can create a feeling of imbalance that must be resolved. If the imbalance is not resolved the Viewer can become uncomfortable with the defiance of gravity and of natural expectancy. Extended in time, this discomfort could become decidedly unpleasant. If the hesitation is momentary, held only long enough to see the imbalance, the position can arrest attention and set up an expectancy. In motion, the pendulum fulfills the expectancy. However, it swings past the state of balance and proceeds to a new imbalance, a 449 new potential. The actual balanced position is retained for the shortest period of time. Should the pendulum remain in its down position, it would be restful, but ultimately very tedious. If the director thinks Of his phrase as being analogical to the swing of a pendulum, he has a dynamic concept. At the turning point in each phrase, when the subject changes, when a new breath is taken, when a new character enters, or when an old character exits, or whenever a point for some slight change in motivation or theme takes place, there is where the director can afford his hesitation, or turn- ing point. The pendulum at that point is the most potential; the phrase at that point can move into a new swing of movement and power. The pendulum has the greatest kinetic force in mid swing; the phrase can be moving the fastest, or the greatest, or the most meaningfully, at mid phrase. The pendulum Slows down as it approaches the turning point and can be seen easier when moving at a slower rate; the phrase can Slow down just before making an emphatic point. The pendulum hesitates at the end of a swing; the phrase can hesitate at its conclusion so an audience may quickly see what the last phrase meant before the play moves on to the next one. In a sense, the pendulum is always in balance. The force of gravity opposes the inertia of the weight on the pendulum. When the forces are equal, the pendulum 450 hesitates at the tOp of the swing. Similarly, in a phrase, an audience must see forces at work making the action move through the body of a phrase. The audience must see one force come up against another force such that one or the other becomes redirected. A body comes up against a wall and changes direction; a will comes up against another will and retreats; a resolve comes up against an opposing resolve and a mind is changed; or a train of thought is cut off by the intrusion of another train of thought. All thought is cut off by the intrusion of another train of thought. All of these, of course, are typical dramatic conflict situations. If a pendulum is left swinging, without more power than inertia and gravity, it soon stOps because of the friction of air and moving parts. Some basic motive power, weights or a spring, overcomes loss of inertia and keeps the pendulum Swinging. The phrase needs within it a strong motive power, will, action, or underlying purpose, usually embodied in the main character, to keep the body of the phrase moving, and to supply the content and direction of that movement. To keep the phrase dynamic, the "over- coming" force must seem alternately stronger then weaker than the "balancing" force. As with any metaphor, this one breaks down eventually. No director wants each of his phrases to have the same length, dynamic quality, force, and location of the fastest 451 movement or turning point. Of course, the connotations of each swing of the pendulum are of chief interest here rather than its stable rhythm. Some phrases might climax early or late, some might have several beats to them, some might not hesitate even as long as the pendulum and hence resemble waves of movement while others might come to a complete stOp for as long as a full phrase. The point is, however, for phrasing to exist there has to be some recognizable unit with some principle of repetition within its structural variety. The pendulum is merely one image to help provide the director with a dynamic concept of a moving rather than a static compositional unit. The river provides an image for dynamic flow on stage because it also seems to reflect the dynamic flow of life. This flow may be punctuated, slowed down, or Speeded up, made to hesitate, to become staccato or wave like, to be grouped rhythmically, even to be stOpped temporarily. However, if the flow stops for long there ceases to be life. The river seems to fit this flow of life and to interpret life in art. The assumption is that the flowing water is analogous to the continuity of life and to the flow of stage movement. When a river is wide and deep its movement is slow but massive. When the river is narrow and shallow its flow is rapid and turbulent. ‘When the flow of life in a play con- sists of broad interests and deep thoughts or motives the 452 movement pattern can be large, general, slow, and smooth. 'When emotions come to the surface and are restricted by the friction of opposition on all sides, then accompanying movement is turbulent and rapid. ‘When a river meets obstacles, such as rocks, it flows around them, becomes turbulent at the points of impact or, if the river is deep enough, it flows over them with only a slight rise in the water. The staccato movement of the river is analogous to the movement pattern in a rapid repartee sequence, or a sequence in which many little obstacles are in the way of the action. Sooner or later the river comes up against a dam. For a while the depth increases, the height mounts, the pressure becomes strong, then either a small amount of water pours through a Sluiceway or over the tOp, or else the dam breaks. In scenes where emotion is held back, a smooth surface is apparent, under which there are Whirlpools of feeling, and mounting pressure. In pantomime, a large breath is taken and only a little bit of it is used in Speaking, creating the impression of withheld emotion, an impression like a dam withholding water. In blocking, a strong character or a potential Situation is analogous to the damming of the river. A continual withholding of movement maintains potential with just enough water or feeling allowed to slip by to maintain flow. Too much pressure and the entire flow of action that had been restricted, breaks loose into a swirling, dashing, dynamic climax scene. 453 .A scene with a small mental content is the shallow, wide, rocky river. Many small, insignificant turbulences occur which are fun and mildly exciting but not vital. Such movement is typical of comic sequences. Such comparisons between the flow of the river and the flow of movement can be made as long as the director chooses. The important reason for using a river is to replace in the director's mind the kind of movement the slide projector suggests, that dissolves between still pictures, with the movement of a dynamic flow. Throughout the life of the river, and the life of the play, there are obstacles to the flow, but flow never stOps for long, and even when it does stOp it is replaced by turbulent pressures. The director can have as dynamic a production if he thinks of his play also as a continuous action into which he may insert obstacles, conflicts, and smooth passages, an action which he may shape and restrict or even temporarily retard but whose flow from beginning to end never really stops in either emotional, mental, or physical movement. 4-Metaphor Summarized. The director, then, has a special freedom and a special responsibility with metaphor in movement. He can draw into his production meanings from anywhere in the mechanical, natural, or artistic world to compare and contrast with the meanings in his script. He also has the responsibility to see that his metaphorical relationships are pertinent to his total production and 454 can be clearly "read" by his audience. He also has a live Option to take advantage of the greater attention getting and expressive powers of the moving picture. The director can draw his metaphors from anywhere in the universe in flow around him to keep his production dynamic. c) §ymbol Applied.--Strict1y speaking, all forms of stage movement are symbolic; each occurrence on stage stands for something on stage. But in special ways certain movements are almost a Sign language communicating meanings clearly to an audience of any one culture. The director can try to create symbolic meanings for his audience or use primarily movements that already have an established meaning. Doris Humphries' standardized gestures, such as bowing, genuflecting, or burden carrying, have been mentioned in the chapter on dance; in the introduction to this chapter additional symbolic moves have been listed such as the hand shake, head nod, and shoulder shrug. It may be a worthwhile project to list a great many such gestures and to catalog them. However, this study will turn to the more exciting notion of creating a language of symbols. l-Limitations of Symbol Creating. By certain special uses of movement established during the flow of a particular production, the director may create Special symbolic mean- ings, movements that say in a moment an entire context, a complex idea, or a special relationship. Such symbols may achieve in movement what symbols like The Wild Duck have 455 in the verbal language. Such a Special language may call upon metaphor, mimesis, or previously held symbolic connotations to aid in its creation. But fundamentally such a special symbol language is born from a context and needs that context to sustain its meaning. ‘Within a play, or a given series of plays before the same audience, a limited symbol language can be created. The symbols can provide single fool for complex ideas, concepts, or Objects into which whole contexts of meaning are gathered for the audience. 2-Leve1s of Symbol to Create. There seem to be, then, two levels of special symbol that can be established, though the method of establishing them is Similar. One is the smaller, simple symbol that stands, for example, for a man, an action, a simple idea, or a hOpe. The second is the larger symbol, that stands for the play's major conflicting forces, themes, or ideologies. The former symbol can often carry little or no meaning at the beginning of a play, but is established and becomes a symbol by the end. The latter, to carry so much meaning, probably needs to have a metaphorical relationship to what it stands for right from the start. 3-Method of Creating Symbols. The method for creating moving or static symbols on stage is the Same as the method for establishing any language or equivalence, that is, through repeated association and familiarization. 456 The totally unfamiliar seems to puzzle and confuse an audience. If that unfamiliarity continues it can become boring, irritating, ridiculous, or even fearful depending upon whether the object seems to be threatening or benign, strong or weak. This new object can become familiar through association with an already familiar object and gain associative meaning at the same time. A simple static symbol for a character can be esta- blished quite easily. For example, an old man is always discovered on stage in his favorite rocking chair. During the last act the rocking chair is empty. Therefore, the Old man is dead. The rocking chair becomes a symbol for the man by constant association. The empty chair draws attention to the missing element, the man. By such associ- ation and repetition any Object can become the symbol for a character. If the object is also functional, providing a dimension to the personality of the character, the association is organic and more easily established. Simple moving symbols can also be established quite easily. For example, in the song "Happy Talk" in South Pacific words are synchronized with gestures. The result is a childlike commentary upon the words, a commentary that is apprOpriate for the scene but is also a careful estab- lishing of symbols that can be used later in the production. A larger moving symbol also may put concepts into compact understandable units, for examples, a man's 457 character, the larger point of View he represents, or the moving relationships of the theme of the entire play. The character symbol would be some repeated pattern of behavior such as a methodical routine for making an exit, a pattern of clumsy business, or a special moving relationship to scenery, e.g., a Special way of coming down the stairs, that would capsulize the character's dominant characteristics. If a particular pattern is used each time a particular concept is discussed, a particular type of decision is made, or a particular attitude is enacted that moving symbol comes both to characterize and to stand for the dominant character trait or typical contribution of that character to the plot of the play. By combining patterns of typical character behavior major character interrelationships can be depicted. By combining such related character movements with a Single larger pattern, such as Opposition, solidarity, advancing, retreating, joining, siding, encircling, rising, or falling, the specific use of the larger pattern can take on the specific meaning of the play's thematic relationship. By the end of the play the movement, such as encircling, can symbolize succinctly the basic changed or unchanged thematic relationship in the play. A single example should suffice. From the beginning of a play a father is depicted as orderly, punctual, ceremonious, and self assured. Each time he enters he is tidily 458 straightening his clothes, checking and changing the clock according to his watch, and adjusting a piece of furniture an inch; all during the movement pattern dialogue is going on (although the first time the pattern is presented possibly it should be in silence to become established). Some part of the routine, such as thumbs in the watch pocket handling the watch, may be singled out as most typical and become the master gesture for the character. Surrounding this character and his character movement is the movement of the rest of the family. The relationship of servant to master has been accepted by them. They enter from all parts of the stage, surround him, then move in circular fashion around him as the object of interest, hover, and perhaps even genuflect in their attempts to cater to his needs. The way in which these characters hover, combined with the script situation and lines, will create a movement symbol for the major relationship of the play. By the end of the play a repetition of the pattern will Show that the relationship is unchanged; a variation in the pattern may Show a new trend, a progression, or even a reversal. In effect, then, movement patterns can provide master gestures for each character, master moving patterns for each major character interrelationship, and a master move- ment pattern for the most typical, most thematic, moving relationship in the play. 459 C. Conclusion: Principles in The Use and Creation of Movement Meanings There seem to be at least two principles Operating in the successful establishment of new meanings to movement. The first is that the director must start where the audience is and carry it to where he wants it to be. He must start with the familiar and the conventional and by careful association establish a meaning for the new. He cannot expect the audience to miss a step in the process and somehow to jump to the new meaning and both to accept and to understand it. The second principle Operating seems to be some variation of "one thing at a time." To establish anything new there needs to be a solid basis in the old. If the movements are new the meanings had better be old. If bizarre or controversial concepts are being presented, the movements better be established ones. Too much new at a time is apt to be confusing, puzzling, irritating, boring or even fearful. The audience needs to know where it is before it journeys to a new point of View. It will "go along" to some extent on a new venture but not if form, content, conventions, movements, and words are all new to it. It seems better to vary one element at a time in establishing the new. Perhaps the most exciting aspect of creating new associations, when the director can use a subtle touch, is 460 the audience's pleasure in vicarious creation. The audience has been a part of a discovery; it has really been the one to draw the conclusion that "this is like (or means) that". Using a partial familiarity, a unique meaning, or a new perspective on an old element the director can make his production more hOpeful, fearful, and exciting for an audience than merely by using movement and words in their established, conventional ways. CHAPTER IX A FOCUS ON THE PROBLEMS OF COMMUNICATING BY MOVEMENT In composing his movement for a more dynamic stage the director has several special concepts that can assist or hinder his communication process. Those that this study wishes to explore further in this final chapter concern aesthetic and psychical distance, communication vs. expression, and the conventional limitations upon the stage director's creative role. A. The Problems of Aesthetic and Psychical Distance Aesthetic and psychical distance are often used as interchangeable terms. They refer to the special distance between an art object and a perceiver that makes him realize what he is watching is in a special world all of its own, not a part of the world of action and reaction wherein he must move and act daily. This Special world in which the art object exists usually reflects the real world, in some way mimics, interprets, or abstracts its forms from the real world, but it is not a part of the chain of cause and effect in the practical world. Of course a viewer can observe a practical object as if it were not a part of his real world; for instance, he 461 .i 462 can View a landscape in terms of its formal, metaphysical, or symbolic relationships; he can see it aesthetically as an object for contemplation rather than practically as it affects his livelihood as a farmer, or affects the distance he must cover to reach his destination. In the second instance the view of the object is as an instrument. The viewer thinks of the object in terms of its instrumental P value in his practical, or moral, life. In the first, the view of the object is as an end. The viewer thinks of the object as having intrinsic value for contemplation, and the object thereby becomes aesthetically distanced. 1. Aesthetic and Ppychical distance Differentiated There seem to be two kinds of distance which fit the two terms, aesthetic and psychical: distance from aesthetic, or formal, compositional elements and distance from psychical, or psychological, motivational elements of human interrelation. a) Aesthetic Distance: Felt Distance from Formal E_ements.--If an art object appears to be continuous with reality there is insufficient aesthetic distance, or, as this study will define it, the art object is underdistanced. For example, if a picture has no frame but is continuous with the wall of a building such that the picture's elements are thought of as belonging to the wall of the building, not to a separate entity called a picture, then the art Object is underdistanced. The picture is thought 463 of functionally, or instrumentally, as part of the wall. If the art object is three dimensional and its formal elements are like those in the building, then there is also insufficient aesthetic distance, for there is no discernible individual art Object; the aesthetic object is again continuous with the practical world. On the other hand, if the formal elements in an art object bear no relation to the cultural environment of the art object, then the art object is overdistanced. The audience is involved in the object only to the extent of passing judgment that the formal elements in the composition are inappropriate to its environment. The properly aesthetically distanced object contains aesthetic, formal elements that are recognizably related to life in the cultural environment of the object. It may interpret life, distort it, bear geometric relations to it, or contrast in some understandable way with life's formal elements. How- ever, this same object is clearly identifiable as separate from its environment, having a frame or limits to its form and some internal principle of integration and structure that is recognizably derived from life but is not continuous with life. b) ngchical Distance: Felt Distance from Psychological E1ements.--Psychical distance, on the other hand, is a term that can perhaps be best reserved for the emotional relation- ship between the audience and the human art object. In the 464 case of the play, the audience may psychologically identify with, or be alienated from, certain characters. This relationship is apprOpriate psychical distance. However, should the audience begin to be concerned with the actor instead of with the character the audience is overdistanced from the play; if the audience starts thinking of the character as a real person, and behaves as if he were a real person, then the audience is psychically underdistanced. If psychological elements in a play are too life-like, or physically do not stay within the frame of the play, then the audience may think of the stage action as continuous with life, not life-like but actually life. Merely life- like is apprOpriate distancing; "Life-like" still involves an awareness of the illusion. When a play is highly stylized, even esoterically so, an audience may cease to think of the play as being life-like, and the audience, becoming overdistanced, may lose interest. c) Ideal Aesthetic and Psychical Distance. The ideal aesthetic distance, then, occurs when the forms of a play are believable and understandably derived from life but are not continuous with life. The ideal psychical dis- tance occurs when the actions of the characters could believably take place in some real or imagined, internally consistent culture in life, but are not thought to be actually taking place in the practical world. 465 2. Audience Reaction to Degrees of Distance Ideal, or normal, aesthetic or psychical distance can be created or destroyed for an audience under various circumstances. The norm of audience reaction is for the audience not to try to interfere with what the characters do on stage; the audience does not get itself physically or practically involved even though it is somehow emotionally involved. If the audience felt it were watching a real life event the play would be underdistanced and the audience would behave quite differently. It would take sides, speak to the characters, enter the discussion, block the murderer, and generally interfere in the proceedings. If it were too polite or afraid to interfere it would still react quite differently to the real murder than to the stage murder. If the action becomes too real, seems somehow to be a real life event, not a dramatization, an unwary audience might try to interfere. If an audience even felt like interfering the play would be called by this study underdistanced. On the other hand, if the audience could not even get involved enough in the action to suspend its disbelief; if the action were Obviously a play, and not close enough to reality for the audience to identify with the action, the audience would soon become bored. Such boredom is one symptom of what would be called by this study overdistancing. The problem of the director is to produce his play in such a way that neither 466 over nor underdistancing takes place. a) Movement Tending to Over or Under Distance The Audience.--One way in which this study feels a play becomes over distanced is by undue audience attention to parts or details of movement rather than to the whole. Then there is not even an illusion of a unified reality; the play as a whole is overdistanced. Sometimes the illusion is broken and overdistancing takes place because one part in the whole breaks loose from its context. The determined audience usually tries to put the part back into its frame, but sometimes annoyance with the ineptitude of the artist gets the better of the audience's prediSposition and the play is overdistanced. When the stage illusion is so complete that it is thought to be real, underdistancing has occurred. If a viewer tries to walk up stairs that are painted on a two dimensional wall, the painting is underdistanced. If he tries to stop the murderer from choking the little girl, the play is underdistanced; if he tries to stop the leading man from hurting an actress the play is overdistanced. b) Audience Predisposition Toward Ideal Distance.-- Audience predisposition helps the director in his task. The audience comes to a play prepared to have a gregarious good time without interferring with the play's action. It comes knowing that the play is not a real life event. It comes prepared for aesthetic or psychical distance and seeks to maintain the appropriate distance throughout the 467 performance. The director's knowledge of expected movement conventions helps him to help his audience maintain its expectations. In the case of stylization, the audience predisposition again comes to the director's rescue. Wishing to maintain prOper psychical distance, an audience can go a long way toward accepting the symbol as a depiction of, or commentary upon, a real movement. If the director's movement language is consistent so that his audience may enter into the spirit Of it, almost any language derived from recognizable symptoms, symbols, and metaphors will be accepted by an audience. Only the unclear, the esoteric, or the in- consistent fatigues an audience and eventually overdistances it from the play. _3. Attempts to Lessen Audience Distance Many attempts have been made by directors to break down the distance between the audience and the play, usually in order to shock or to teach. a) Attempts to Lessen Distance that Increase Distance.-- Some movement conventions tend to overdistance a play with the intention of lessening the distance. Movements which bring the action of the play into the audience in a proscenium play are cases in point. Normally the audience has already psychically bridged the gap between the seat and the stage and has entered into the action of the play vicariously, as much as it wants or is able to. It retains its anonymity 468 as the audience. The director may feel his audience is not responding enough. Instead of looking to the inadequacy of his symbolic, symptomatic, and metaphorical movement language he decides to bring the actor into the audience to force the audience to take part in the action of the play. Such a director forgets his audience pre-diSposition. The usual response to such a "gimmick" is a withdrawal on I L the part of the audience in order to maintain its distance. They physically pull back in their seats, they mentally retreat from the meaning of the play. If the actor is right next to them they tend to look at the floor or fidget in their seats or laugh nervously. If the audience likes the gimmick then the play was probably always over or underdistanced, no stage illusion had been created, and the audience is reacting to an actor close up, not to a character in a play. However, an audience quickly readjusts to maintain distance. If the aisle is established as a portion of the stage the audience can accept it, providing the audience can see and hear the action well enough. When it accepts the aisle as stage the distance is set up anew such that the new aisle position no longer achieves any special underdistancing effect. Another attempt is to lessen audience distance from some particular element in the play with the result of increasing the distance from the play as a whole. For 469 example, a sudden change in stage conventions or tone can shock an audience into Special attentiveness, but the total result may not be what the director wants. The too Violent murder, a swear word, a seemingly pornographic move, an actor joining the audience, or a physical contact with the audience will all create a shock and involve the members of the audience; however, the involvement is rarely, if ever, in the plot or the theme or the characters. The audience's morality has been shockedcr the audience's privacy has been invaded. Such a Shock causes resentment, breaks the frame of the proscenium, and in effect creates an underdistancing to the offending element in focus and an overdistancing to the play as a whole. One part of the play has indeed become a real life event to the audience, but the gimmick reaches the audience where it lives at the expense of the play as a whole. The main point of the play is often lost. b) Attempts to Lessen Distance In order to Affect Audience Behavior.--As long as distance is maintained it is difficult, if not impossible, to break down audience predisposition and have a play affect an audience morally. That is, a play may move an audience because it plays upon its beliefs and emotions; the play may reach the emotions through empathy, or reach the intellect through giving assent to or dissenttn previously held concepts. However, for the play actually to affect practical behavior would 470 require that the audience un-distance itself and consider a play as an event, as a practical element in a chain of cause and effect. Hence, the teaching play, the art object that is a moral deterrent, is perhaps not possible. How- ever, this area is certainly one in which much testing can be profitably made. It seems that a play can support an audience in previously held beliefs, it can stir up emotions the audience has already felt, it can muster these familiar feelings and sentiments in support of some fictional stage character, purpose, or activity. However, it is yet to be proven that the "lesson" from the fictitious Situation is ever learned or applied by an audience in its practical life. 4. Distancing Devices vs. Theatrical Communication It is the contention of this study that a director does well to learn the language of movement, as well as the language of words, so that he may communicate as completely as possible to his audience without distancing devices. The attempt to affect aesthetic or psychical distance by, for example, breaking down physical distance is an effort that directly Opposes the predisposition of the audience. The attempt may merely destroy the unified impression of the play. If the play has a practical point to make per- haps the point is better made in an after-the-play discussion group, or in a lecture where the audience predisposition is a practical one, unless, of course, the play is understood 471 by its audience from the beginning to be a dramatized lecture and not an Object of art. The suggestion for the director is two-fold: neither underdistancing nor overdistancing seem to succeed in closing the gap between pure aesthetic interest and practical, behavior-changing interest; the audience pre- disposition is against it. Changing practical behavior by an entertainment form has yet to be proven effective. The second suggestion is that attempts to vary the distance by using inconsistencies in stage conventions usually only succeed in destroying the unity and flow of a production. Such attempts either alienate the audience or force the audience to make sudden adjustment in its way of viewing in order to maintain a uniformity of dis- tance. The conclusion remains that distancing tricks are no substitute for a solid foundation in communication by verbal and movement meaning within the usual aesthetic and psychical distances from an art object B. The Problems of Expression Without Communication Possibly in part because of the difficulty aesthetic distance presents in movement's affecting human moral behavior, while movement can affect empathic emotional response deeply, many artists have gone to an extreme, saying that pure expression, not communication at all, is the goal of art. Some artists in the theatre of the absurd 472 go so far as to deny the possibility of communication even to the point of writing plays to communicate that idea. Some try to maintain such a strict aesthetic dis- tance that, not only is there no psychical content left in their expression, but there is also little recognizable aesthetic form. However, as has been discussed in Chapter VII about expressive dance, usually the theatre wishes to communicate the content of its expression more than it wishes merely to express it. 1. Proposal: Expression Without Communication Ippossible This study would like to prOpose a View of the two activities that suggests that there is no expression without communication, and those who claim interest in pure expression have an interest in a non-existent category. Expression exists, but not apart from communication except for purposes of analysis. Their relationship is not unlike that of the two sides of a piece of paper. Each side exists and can be categorized separately, but in experience they cannot be separated without destroying both. The above point of View is to some extent dependent on the meaning of words, but this study is more concerned with the facts of experience to which the words refer than to the word play. a) Test of Expression: Embodiment.--The most practical use of the term "expression" seems to involve a process whereby the artist embodies a feeling, emotion, idea, or 473 fact in some form that can be perceived by the senses. The process involves a change of media; the change can be illustrated better than defined. For example, a thought is expressed as a painting, an emotion is expressed as a gesture, or a concept is expressed as a building. When an intangible idea or emotion is embodied in a tangible, or at least perceivable, form, the idea or emotion can be said to be expressed. b) Test of Embodiment: Communication.--The test of whether or not an emotion is actually embodied in a stage movement seems to be for someone to be able to read back out of the movement the emotion that is supposedly expressed in it. The "reading" may be in terms of a felt emotion, an empathic response, or an intellectual awareness that the emotion is expressed. If the person expressing the emotion is the only one who can so "read" the emotion out of the movement, then the expression is communicated but is extremely esoteric and subjective. If a large number of peOple can "read" the emotion then the expression is one generally understood by the culture. If everyone who perceives the expression "reads" the emotion out of it, either consciously or unconsciously, then the expression is probably a universal embodiment of that emotion. The contention of this study is that if an emotion is truly embodied in a stage movement that is perceived by an audience, the movement will communicate that emotion to the audience. The audience may be small, even so small as 474 to include only the artist who created the embodiment, but the movement will communicate. If the movement does not communicate the emotion, not even to its creator, either the emotion is not being perceived or the emotion cannot be said to be embodied in the expression. c) Expression and Communication: Two Parts of One Process.--Hence, if the above reasoning is accepted, the only basic difference between expression and communication is that expression is the first part of the process and communication is the second. The process may not be completed in some particular instance; in which case the most that can be said of the first part is that it is an attempt to express something, the success of which is still to be tested in communication. 2. The Alternatives: Designed Communication or Therapeutic Expression The communication-expression distinction is of importance to the stage director for several reasons. First, what would the expression be that did not communicate, not even to its creator, what was supposedly expressed by its creator? This study would label it a catharsis for the artist, a by-product of the therapeutic use of the techniques of the theatre art. For the emotion would not actually be embodied in the so-called expression; the emotion would merely be "worked off" in the process of engaging in the use of art techniques. The by-product would not be an .91 475 expression of the emotion but a waste product from the process. To be an art product the expression needs to communicate what the artist expected to embody. Sometimes an art product merely connotes whatever subjective associations each member of the audience has for the form and content of the art work. If this happens then communication still has not taken place, for communication is a process of conveying something from one mind to another. To have hit upon diverse associations by chance is not communication. For the theatre artist, at least, art should be no less than designed communication involving the conscious embodiment of an idea or feeling in a stage movement, embodied in such a way that the audience can generally read back from that movement the same idea or feeling the artist-director consciously embodied. To achieve this goal the artist- director should not be content until he has explored all the possibilities for meaning in movement and until he has learned to compose in its language. More often than not there are some meanings, overtones and undertones, that will be unique to the individual member of the audience or to the artist-director. But if the main core of meaning, along with many subtleties, is not communicated to the majority of his audience, the director has to some extent fallen short of his potential. This study is not concerned with communication to the 476 small ingroup, or with therapeutic activity for the artist; nor is it concerned with communication by accident. There is no craft, no principle, nor any guidance possible for the unique and esoterically subjective; nor is there an audience. Creation of art has pattern, purpose, and con- trol, and the extent to which this process is completed without undue loss of the artist's intended meaning along the way is the extent to which the creator is both crafts- man and artist. C. The Problems of The Role of The Director: Organizer, Interpreter, or Creator The creative artist is the role which the play director must adopt if any of the control and responsibility for , Communication is to be assumed by him. The writer of a script provides a verbal framework for a production. The director takes this scenario and combines the talent and the bodies of other artists into a production. The work of art is the production in performance, not the script. One of the basic tenets of aesthetics is that an art work is complete. Nothing can be added to it or taken away from it without doing violence to its unity. A script is, at best, only the auditory portion of a play. It is not complete; if it were complete it would be an art work of literature and not a play script. 477 1. The Director's Total Responsibilipyfifor the Art Product Again, if the above reasoning is appealing, the con- clusion is that the director is the only possible controlling artist in the theatre. All others are what might be called contributing artists. The total art work, the production in front of the audience, is the reSponsibility of the director. 'When an artist has this reSponsibility he must also assume the freedoms that go with such creative duties. He must be able to shape, build, add, rearrange, emphasize, de- emphasize, eliminate, and distort anything that may be necessary in order that the finished art work be an inte- grated and communicating whole. 2. The Director's Total ReSponSibilipyto The Audience Some authorities say that the director must be true to the playwright's intent. The director-artist should con- sider being "true to" the audience and to nothing else. "True to" the author's intent, the actor's intent, the producer's intent, or to the intent of any other contributing artist in the company may sometimes in practical ways produce a good play for the audience. But if that be so then the director is simply not the total artist he Should be. He is really more an organizer, a traffic policeman, or a personnel director. Such a director would have little need for a creative language of movement. J 478 D. Summary Conclusion: Movement Problems and Directions For Solution There are many problems that stand in the way of providing movement that will have meaning in the director's compositional context. Among them are aesthetic and psychical distance, the audience's prediSposition in coming to the theatre, the foggy artist's reasoning that is con- tent to communicate partially or merely to express, and the convention among conservative theatre people that the director's role is only that of interpreting the playwright's script. The director himself may err by being esoteric, by mismatching metaphors, or simply by laboring unknowingly against or to recreate what has been known and practiced for years. He may even fail to communicate at all through having no basis in tradition for his experimentation. To start solving the problems, the director ought first to become familiar with the past,the ways the directors, cheoregraphers, pantomimists, psychologists, and film- makers before him have found efficacious. He ought then to experiment in the present with these principles and techniques to develOp a style of his own best suited to what he would like to say. Perhaps eventually, in the future, some of the more scientific minded of the directors can do the others a great service by subjecting each principle slowly and pains- takingly to controlled tests. In that way, they may discover 479 what ingredients, or combination of ingredients, in each compound of movement actually is producing the desired meaning. Certainly the most challenging idea for the director is not only to discover present meanings but to create his own traditions, conventions, and unique expressions on the stage. Not the least of these creations could be a new language of movement. And in creating movement meaning he should remember that the great directors of this or any era were not held back by what others thought they should do, or not do, nor on the other hand, were they content unless the majority of their audience was swayed Simultaneous- ly with their intent. Nor need any other director of today be seriously hindered in creating meaning if he has the humility to learn what his fellow artists have discovered before him and the courage to define his role anyway he may choose. BIBLIOGRAPHY .Albright, H. D., William P. Halstead, and Lee Mitchell. Principles of Theatre Art. Boston: Houghton Mifflin 56mpany, 1955. Appia, Adolphe. The Work of Living Art and Man is the Measure of All Things. Trans. H. D. Albright. Coral Gables, Florida: University of Miami Press, 1960. Arnheim, Rudolphe. Film as Art. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1957. Aubert, Charles. The Art of Pantomime. Trans. Edith Sears New York: Henry Holt Company, 1927. Baddeley, W. Hugh. 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