I had to dash from the
Embassy, just across the road to Downstage, clutching my take-away latte. What a morning! I’m a real fan of Dave Armstrong (left), ever since
he generously talked to our local NZSA branch at one of our meetings about his
writing. The stage was set, with Ken
Duncum as the Chair, in character as I guess the devil’s advocate, supporting
the view that theatre really was practically dead. He remained ‘in character’
throughout, which could have seemed contrived and got tedious but the man is
deadpan and quick-witted and it worked really well.
Ken Duncum began the session by
pointing out that we’ve had over 100 years of cinema and on stage were the
theatrical coroners, Robert Shearman and Dave Armstrong. He chose the wrong guys for the job. They were eloquent, passionate and humorous
in their case for theatre still very much alive.
Interestingly, Dave Armstrong
began his writing career for television and moved to theatre while Robert
Shearman began his writing life in the theatre and moved to television,
famously, Dr Who. Two specifically very
funny quotes from Robert Shearman’s writing that Ken Duncum shared with us (I
think from his book ‘Love songs for the shy and cynical’) were about a heart in
a Tupperware box, and a lover having a physical allergy to your very own
happiness (much appreciative laughter).
The thrust of the defence for
theatre from the two guest playwrights was that theatre is marvellously
ambiguous and nothing else can replicate it.
Robert Shearman was full of
praise for the play ‘Peninsula’ (a play I have seen and loved). He talked about how as a kid you want to be
at the circus performance where the trapeze artists miss the swing (well, he
spoke for himself of course), but he used this idea to illustrate how immediate
and involving theatre is... how, when an actor balances on a chair (as in
Peninsula) you are right there worrying, will he or she fall – but with film,
no matter how violent or scary, you don’t feel that immediacy. To illustrate his point, he told us that in
the actual making of the fencing scene in the filming of ‘Sherlock Holmes’
actors were actually hurt, but that when you watch the film you get no sense of
the danger.
Both Dave and Robert spoke of the
joy of a play growing as it runs in a production – the fact that no two
performances can ever be the same and as the writer this is the joy, to turn up
and see what the actors have done with your work. Robert pointed out that on film, the camera
directs your gaze and tells you how to view something, whereas with theatre,
you choose. Dave spoke of a
production of one of his plays where a beautiful tall Samoan actress was
lamenting in character ‘how ugly she was’ and a young man from the audience
called out ‘no you’re not, you’re beautiful’.
He loved that, and so did Robert Shearman – this direct response to a
theatrical moment. Dave also spoke of
sitting in at school productions and watching a group of six local Pacific
Island girls watching his play ‘Niu Sila’ and how they slapped their thighs,
hit each other laughing and cried – and what joy that was for him as the
writer.
There was this delightful quote
and I’m not sure who said it, but the idea of the playwright watching a
production of his own play, and so absorbed and thinking to himself “I hope the
writer doesn’t ruin this”. I think it
might have been Robert who said it. He
described looking out his window one night when the Dr Who series he was
writing for was screening and realising that possibly inside one in three
windows out there, people were watching something he had written – and yet he
said he felt very little connection to this, whereas he feels very connected to
his theatre audiences.
They spoke of how the least
special thing in a play is the special effects – unlike in the movies. And Robert related this to the play
‘Peninsula’ which is virtually without any props and relies on the actors to
ensure you work out whether they are in character as the child, the adult, or
the dog – absolutely brilliant, I agree.
The answer they said was to turn down spectacle and turn up the
emotional stakes. They also agreed that
in theatre, if it is bad, it is really bad and you can’t just go into the other
room and turn the TV off. Theatre,
demands a commitment.
Dave Armstrong said he would
quite like to produce a play around the Ports of Auckland crisis – he thinks he
could find a resolution with all the parties on stage in a play. Robert Shearman shared with us that he had
once been an aspiring actor but been told his talent was such that he could
only ever aspire to be mediocre. He
started writing plays because people wouldn’t cast him, and then he wouldn’t
ruin the play by putting himself in it.
Both agreed, that they love the collaboration of play and cast, and Dave
told us about his very first theatre experience at Downstage as a young boy and
his sheer delight when a character came down from the ceiling (a quite
beautiful woman) on a ladder, and then turned out to be an actor in drag – he
was immediately engrossed in the magic of theatre.
The session ended with Ken Duncum
finally coming out of character (someone from the audience requested that he do
this... but he already had plans afoot to come out). The final cry was “The theatre has always
been dying and long may it die.”
Maggie Rainey-Smith
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