by Kirk Woodward
[Frequent guest-blogger Kirk Woodward keeps contributing the most fascinating articles on theater and several other topics. This time around, he’s reporting on a group that uses theater “to depict realistic scenarios involving mental health issues,” according to its website (http://www.mhanj.org/mental-health-players/). It’s an education outreach program intended to teach audiences about mental illness in a dynamic and direct way that bypasses the clinical jargon and academic atmosphere of lectures, texts, and even documentary films. Kirk got to know the program’s director and got involved with the group and felt that it was an experience worth writing about and disseminating on ROT. But leave it to Kirk to find a unique take on the experience: he sees it as profoundly Brechtian. I’ll let him explain that, but I’ll add that it adds a dimension to what was in any case an unusual encounter.]
[Frequent guest-blogger Kirk Woodward keeps contributing the most fascinating articles on theater and several other topics. This time around, he’s reporting on a group that uses theater “to depict realistic scenarios involving mental health issues,” according to its website (http://www.mhanj.org/mental-health-players/). It’s an education outreach program intended to teach audiences about mental illness in a dynamic and direct way that bypasses the clinical jargon and academic atmosphere of lectures, texts, and even documentary films. Kirk got to know the program’s director and got involved with the group and felt that it was an experience worth writing about and disseminating on ROT. But leave it to Kirk to find a unique take on the experience: he sees it as profoundly Brechtian. I’ll let him explain that, but I’ll add that it adds a dimension to what was in any case an unusual encounter.]
“I’m not asking you to sit back in your chairs and enjoy the
show. I’m asking you to sit on the edge of your chairs and think about what
you’re seeing.”
Bertolt Brecht (1898-1956), the German playwright and
director, could easily have spoken those very words as a summary of his
theories about plays and how he wanted audiences to experience them. However,
the words were spoken instead in August 2014, in a recreational room at a New
Jersey YMHA, by a man named John Rogers, then the Interim Director of the New
Jersey Mental Health Players (MHP).
John Rogers is a retired high school guidance counselor and
a fine actor. I have seen him in several plays at the Union Congregational
Church in Montclair, New Jersey; I wrote about one of those plays, Paul
Claudel’s The Tidings Brought to Mary,
in this blog (see “Religious Drama,” 19 January 2014). I knew him slightly, and
our sons know each other.
When John sat next to me at a production in the same church
of five Chekhov one-act plays, he mentioned that he was leading a group that
performs short improvised plays on mental health subjects. He invited me to
talk with him further about it, and I met with him a few days later. The upshot
was that both my friend Martha Day and I signed up for the program, which began
with two training sessions.
According to a history provided by the group, the Mental
Health Players began in Elmira, New York, in 1978, and members of that group
created eleven troupes in New Jersey. Predictably, as the structure and
approach of mental health organizations changed, so did the Mental Health
Players. Their numbers shrank in the late 1990s, as responsibilities of their
parent organizations increased; eventually there was only one group left in New
Jersey, in Somerset County.
However, starting in 2002 the entire program was refunded
and reconceived to “focus entirely on presenting real life accounts of
individuals showing the signs and symptoms of a variety of mental illnesses and
disorders.” Its aim became to have at least fifty trained players, giving at
least five community educational performances per month. The presentations
are given at no cost to the host organizations at such locations as
universities, hospitals, assisted living residences, and community centers.
Here’s how the MHP works. When an organization signs up for
a performance, it indicates what topics might interest its audience the most.
The performance might be for “consumers” – persons who have, and/or may have
been treated for, mental health issues – or for more general audiences. In
either case, John Rogers creates two scenarios for the event, each for two
actors, each intended to last about six to eight minutes, followed by a
discussion period with the audience. The entire presentation, with both scenes
and both discussion periods, takes about an hour.
John writes a new scenario for each event; he doesn’t
recycle earlier ones, although he may modify scenes from past performances that
have worked well. Each scenario dramatizes at least one mental health issue;
often, because of the complexities of life, it actually will dramatize two or
more. The two actors in each scene discuss the scene on the phone in advance,
making sure they’re focused on the issues and in agreement on the logistics of
the scene, like where it’s taking place and what objects it might require. There
is no rehearsal except that the actors meet to run through the scenarios right
before the event, and then they perform them for the audience. A scenario may
have actual lines in it, but they are meant to be suggestions indicating points
to be made, rather than things the actors must say.
The scenarios are structured, John says, like a three act
play – except that he “interrupts” the actors after the “second act,” at a
logical stopping point in the action, and in “Act Three” the performers, still
in character, discuss with the audience what the audience members have seen,
what they think about it, and what they recommend to the “characters” to do.
Not until the end of the evening do the actors introduce their “real” selves.
Martha and I found John’s training sessions for the program
challenging and interesting. The scenes, obviously, are improvised, but they
have definite points to get across. In fact each actor is instructed to identify
at least three symptoms appropriate for the character’s mental state, and to
make sure these are clearly presented in the play. (For example, a character in
a scene about depression might demonstrate frequent tiredness, loss of interest
in activities, and too much or too little sleep.) The entire performance has
two aims: to help reduce the stigma associated with mental illness, and to help
people think about steps that they themselves could take toward recovery.
A few technical details:
- The troupe discourages yelling and screaming as a part of scenes; those may grab attention, but the scenes aim to demonstrate behavior, not to carry the audience away emotionally.
- During the question-and-answer period, the actors are not supposed to “continue the scene” with each other, although they stay in character; they are urged to direct their responses to the audience members, not to each other. (The temptation for actors to keep on acting with their partners is very strong.) It is the audience that needs to change, not the actors-as-characters.
- Actors are requested not to take part in scenes that represent mental health challenges they themselves are currently facing. A sufferer from severe depression should not do a scene about it.
- Given the opportunity to have the lights in the auditorium turned off so the audience can focus on the actors, John says no. We’re not doing conventional theater, he says; we’re giving a presentation. (See below for more on this very Brechtian approach.)
If I may put it this way, the aim of the Mental Health
Players is realism but not reality. Another way to say this is that what the
MHP does is not the same as psychodrama. Eric Bentley, in his book Thinking About the Playwright
(1987) gives a fascinating account of the theatrical techniques that the late
Dr. Jacob Levy Mareno used in group therapy, with actual patients conceiving of
scenes and participating in them (sometimes assisted by professionals), in
front of an audience. The primary aim of Dr. Mareno’s work was the healing of
the patient, but of course the audience was invited to grow too. Bentley
suggests that the central purpose of the experience was education. Although a performance by the MHP’s may not necessarily
be immediately therapeutic, it does share with psychodrama the purpose of
educating its audience, and thereby of changing it.
A few days after our first training session Martha and I
went to see the performance of the MHP that I described at the beginning of
this piece. There were a table and chairs for the actors in the front of the
good-sized recreation room; those pieces made up the entire set. John Rogers
began and ended the evening for the audience of perhaps thirty people by
ringing a small bell and explaining that it symbolizes the Mental Health Bell,
weighing 300 pounds and on display in Virginia, forged in 1953 from chains and
shackles that mental patients had worn in “insane asylums” in the
1800s.
Then John invited the audience to watch the play, as
described above, and the actors began.
About three minutes into the first scene, an audience member
began, too – she began to comment on and respond to just about every line the
actors spoke, and she continued for the rest of the evening. Participatory
theater! The actors incorporated what she said as best they could, but she was
overwhelming, and she was equally active during the discussion periods that
followed each of the two scenes. John Rogers did his best to give others a
chance to talk, and of course then the lady talked to them. John told us afterwards, both amazed and amused, that in his
thirty-five years in the program, that had never happened before.
John brought two people in to watch the scene Martha and I
brought to our second and final training session. The theme of the scene was
depression, and Martha managed to represent just about the most depressed
person I’d ever seen – very effective. Afterwards John led the discussion in
the direction of steps for recovery – how could Martha be helped in her
situation? Alone with us again, he pointed out that I had left out anything
that would help the audience realize the relationship in the scene – that we
were supposed to be brother and sister, not, say, a married but separated
couple. (John’s critiques were always generous but accurate.) I also realized
that I had been vague in my own mind about which symptoms we wanted to
demonstrate, and that I would have to spend more time becoming familiar with
the facts about different kinds of mental illness.
Notes on my first three performances:
Martha and I both presented our first scene – not the
“depression” scene - to the public, along with four other actors in two other
scenes, at a center for developmental disabilities, where an audience of 35 to
40 patients ranged from high-functioning to the extremely disabled. Throw out
that idea that this is not psychodrama – the plan was, this time only, for us
to present the scenes, then for members of the audience to participate in
“replays” of them. This worked about as well as one would expect – not very
well – but John used every strategy in his arsenal to get the varied audience
members to join the scenes, and to get value out of them.
A week later, Martha and I repeated the “depression” scene
for a crowd of 200 at a conference on church and mental health in a large
Baptist church. One of the speakers had written a book suggesting that church
isn’t enough for dealing with mental illness – you wouldn’t expect a preacher
to heal your broken leg! John wrote that thought into the scene, and Martha,
who in real life is a preacher, walloped it with such force that it left me, at
least, stunned. I imagine she gave the conference something to think
about.
And a week later found us at an assisted living community
for an audience of fourteen. Since we presented three scenes this time, John
plus the six actors meant that we were half the number of the audience. No
matter – we got intelligent questions and suggestions, and that’s what we’re
after.
What, now, do the Mental Health Players have to do with
Bertolt Brecht? In the invaluable book Brecht
on Theatre (1964), its editor John Willett includes a well-known chart that
shows clearly how Brecht’s ideas of theater differed from conventional theatrical
approaches. A few of the antonyms are that conventional theater “implicates the
spectator in a stage situation” – it feels it has succeeded when the audience
is “involved.” Conversely, Brecht’s theater, Brecht hoped, “turns the spectator
into an observer,” which is the posture the MHP audience is invited to assume.
Conventional theater “wears down [the audience member’s] capacity for action” –
a really good play “puts us through the wringer.” Brecht, on the other hand,
hoped his theater “arouses [its] capacity for action,” and the MHP troupe aims
to bring its audience to take action, by changing attitudes toward mental
health issues, by supporting treatment programs, or even by seeing a
specialist.
Not all the comparisons on the chart apply to the Mental
Health Players; one reason is that Brecht wasn’t thinking of short scenes but
of full length plays. But is it possible for a full-length play to sustain
Brecht’s approach? The jury is still out on that question, but the results are
not promising. Mother Courage and Her
Children, perhaps one of Brecht’s best-known play, is gripping, no matter
how much it tries to keep us off balance in our responses. We participate in it
emotionally. We follow Mother Courage, we get to know her family, we
empathically share in her predicament. Brecht knew this; he himself noted that
he had seldom seen his theories succeed in practice.
But the MHP has achieved what he had difficulty achieving.
“The spectator stands outside, studies . . . [is] made to face something, brought
to the point of recognition… [the human being] is [seen by the audience as
being] alterable and capable of being altered . . . .” This is not to say that
audiences aren’t involved in the scenes the MHP present; they should be, and
Brecht might not argue. He was perhaps really looking for an additional dimension in theater, and the
MHP demonstrate that such a dimension is possible.
Would the technique that the Mental Health Players use work
for other kinds of purposes – political, say, or religious? Probably so, in
theory, but the difficulty is that there are numerous political and religious
points of view, and therefore numerous potential kinds of audience, and,
ordinarily, purpose-driven theater ends up being presented to an audience
that’s already primed to agree with it. This is notoriously the limitation that
political theater in particular faces.
But the MHP has a subject that we all have in common and
that we’re all interested in – ourselves. Most of us are concerned with our own
mental health; most of us want to improve our own lives; some of us even want
to help people who are close to us, who are struggling with mental health
issues of their own. “The proper study of mankind is man,” Alexander Pope
wrote, or, to put it another way, you can’t go wrong by talking to people about
themselves.
One final note: many of us now working in theater grew up in
a generation that read Jerzy Grotowski’s book Towards a Poor Theatre (1968). The title, not to mention the book,
serves as a reminder that no matter how complex other media become, theater is
at its heart very simple: a couple of actors with a story worth telling, a
space, and an audience do the job admirably – as I’ve seen in the MHP for
myself.
[After I read “Bertolt Brecht and the Mental Health Players,” I remarked to Kirk that
it was too bad
MHP hadn’t been around when I appeared in One Flew
Over the Cuckoo's Nest in grad school and
directed a stage adaptation of Anton Chekhov’s Ward 6 Off-Off-Broadway in New York. I
could have used someone, I told Kirk, with knowledge of both theater and mental
illnesses. (It would also have been
helpful back in college when Kirk’s and my university theater put on Peter
Weiss’s Marat/Sade and I played one
of the asylum inmates.) For Cuckoo’s
Nest, in which I played the doctor, the
cast made a visit to a state psychiatric facility and later had a
question-and-answer session with a mental-health professional; for Ward 6, I brought in a psychiatrist to talk to the
actors and he tried to diagnose the illnesses of each patient and describe some
typical behaviors. But these pros, as
generous and interested as they were, weren’t theater people and couldn’t
really help us with stage behavior. (For
Marat/Sade, we essentially improvised
our own disorders and developed behaviors with the help of the director.) MHP, of course, wasn’t established to be a
resource for actors and directors who are working on plays about mental
illness, but they are nonetheless people with one foot in both camps: mental
health and performance.]
No comments:
Post a Comment