Abraham Lincoln, Part Two

Dear Readers,

Remember how I like Abraham Lincoln a lot? Well, I'm going through some of my old computer files and I found this thing I wrote for a Directing class at NAU, where I directed a scene from Abe Lincoln in Illinois by Robert Sherwood. Enjoy. I think the production went poorly, but overall I'm happy with the experience.

Why I picked the scene

Sometime in September 2006 I read the play Abe Lincoln in Illinois. I found it strikingly different from most plays written nowadays. It was different because it did not try to be ultra realistic. Abe was unashamedly heroic. Abe Lincoln in Illinois felt clean. One of the scenes in particular struck me as possessing great material. It was two great monologues, and it ended up being the scene that I picked to direct. The language was higher, bigger and grander than ordinary speech.

Warning! The following few paragraphs are philosophical and only tangentially related to the content of Theatre 352, (yet it could be at the very root of art!) If this unrelated content is not on your rubric, Dr. Maier, freely skip.

I don’t support art only for arts sake, as Oscar Wilde does. I do not believe that the creation or patronization of art is justified just because it is stylistically or skillfully impressive. Art is less important than religion. Artists should not be afforded special treatment in relation to laws, morals, etc. Art should be subjugated under a moral code, a higher plan. So, according to my current thinking and feeling, a badly-acted and -directed Abe Lincoln in Illinois would ultimately be better than some well-acted and -directed amoral masturbatory play.

Of course I believe that the study and practice of style and skill and ability are important. Indeed, I’ve spent thousands of dollars of my parents’ money for college tuition in an attempt to master what is essentially style. But at the end of the day, and I predict that at the end of my life, meaning and morals, not unbridled expertise, feed my soul. I am being platonic here; I am not a sophist. Yet in order to run a public school in America, and in order to enrich the mind, we must focus on skill. For who among us can agree on which morals are best? Practicality dictates the teaching of skill. But, I say, thank goodness for time outside the classroom. Abe Lincoln in Illinois fits into my moral life-view mindset. It furthers a greater cause, which is patriotism, among other things. Some may criticize the play as being mere propaganda. Perhaps it is propaganda, but it is propaganda I cherish. And to those critics who call Abe Lincoln in Illinois a thinly-disguised hokey Fourth-of-July presidential speech, I say, what play or artwork is not propaganda, at least somewhat? No play exists in a vacuum. Every play says something about life, and about the historical and social context in which it was created. Every play at least reflects the values of the playwright. I go so far as to say that every play has an agenda, whether subconscious or deliberate. I reiterate: art must report to a higher meaning. The scene I directed fits into a higher meaning.

Another reason I picked a scene from Abe Lincoln in Illinois to direct is because of something I read in an essay titled “Tradition and the Individual Talent” by T. S. Elliot. According to Elliot, great art is not great art because it is strikingly unique, but because it communes deeply with tradition and great ideas. According to me, Abe Lincoln in Illinois communes deeply with great ideas. It deals with a part of our national heritage. Look, Lincoln is on the 5 dollar bill and the penny! So I feel that all Americans of the appropriate age should know at least something about Lincoln.

Some theatre historians see storytelling as a possible origin of theatre. Ancient Greek theatre, before Thespis came along, consisted of a line of masked chorus members reciting a long poem or story. This type of theatrical performance has been repeated among several different places and times. For example, Beowulf was dramatically retold by one man over and over again, to audiences’ delight. For another example, Samuel Beckett wrote Not I, a play which consists only of a woman’s mouth, her lips and teeth and tongue, (the rest of her body is shrouded in darkness) speaking the play. Also, playgoers in the Elizabethan era wrote in their journals that they “heard” a play, not “saw” a play. These examples show that in times past, the aural aspect of a play was held in higher esteem than the visual aspects of a play.

Nowadays, theatre has changed from being a primarily auditory experience to being a primarily visual experience. Look at the Lion King. Look at Cats. Look at many of the big Broadway shows right now. I dare say they are more akin to three-ring circuses than to plays 500 years ago. Probably this visual influence comes from movies. Plays on a stage cannot replicate the special effects we’ve all seen in Mission Impossible 2, Spiderman 2, or Harry Potter 2.

I admit there is a place for quickly-moving, brightly-colored objects traversing a stage. I just feel that there is too much of that eye-candy in too many plays. Sometimes theater should return to the words, to the beautiful language. Yes, it is high time that theatre makes its heroic exodus from the Babylon of special effects to the promised land of beautiful language. My humble scene was definitely not Moses, but maybe, just maybe, it was one of the sons of Aaron.

Reflection on Rehearsals

Rehearsals were held at various times in November, usually in my apartment. I only had two rehearsals where all three actors were there, that was the very first meeting and our final dress rehearsal. Other than that, the actors did not see each other much in the process. I don’t think that’s a problem, though, because the scene does not require an ensemble cast. Also, meeting this way made scheduling easier.

The hardest thing about directing is knowing how to get what you want out of your actors. Did I say too much? Did I say too little? Who can answer these questions? Certainly no one could give me a script of what to say at every moment while directing. But time, experience, luck, and interaction with good directors should provide me with the wisdom to know when to talk and when to refrain from talking.

During the process, Dr. Maier, I seriously considered scrapping the whole Abe Lincoln scene and saying “see you later” to Tom and Joe and Rocky. I contemplated starting from scratch with a more audience-friendly scene. I thought, for example, that I could quickly put together a more entertaining Neil Simon scene or something. But, during a particular rehearsal, while chit-chatting with Tom, he said to me something like this: “The other day I was talking with my friend and I told her that I was going to be Abraham Lincoln. She laughed and said, ‘Oh, that’s so like you’” He didn’t say much more than that, and I don’t remember where the conversation went next, but, at that moment, I could see his happiness, and I thought to myself, “No, I should not cancel the scene! Tom loves being Abraham Lincoln. Shall I rob him of his delight and of his pride, to satisfy my ego-centered social ambition?” And then, the night of the performance, when I saw his mother come, and I perceived her love for her son, I knew that continuing with Abe Lincoln in Illinois was a good choice. Perhaps directing is more than the production of a good play.

Am I ready to direct again? Yes, I am. Next time, though, (If there is a next time) I will pick a scene that more easily lends itself to experimentation with levels, psychological areas, and etc.

I’ve learned many things about myself as a director during the process of producing my scene.

In a forced, anti-climatic conclusion, hopefully the preceding has adequately fulfilled the requirements of the final reflection paper.

Sincerley,
Telemoonfa