Article 3
[I’m doing something a little different with Rick On Theater the rest of this month. When the
September issue of American
Theatre magazine came out, I
saw that there was an article on documentary theater, which, as ROTters know, is a subject of interest to
me. (See my article “Performing Fact:
The Documentary Drama,” posted on 9 October 2009.) I figured I’d republish the AT piece
in an upcoming slot on the blog. When I went to the AT website to download the article for my
files, I found that there wasn’t just one article but a series; the others
weren’t all published in the magazine’s print edition. There are seven
articles, three of them too short to run alone so I combined them. So I
have a series of five potential posts about documentary theater. I’ve
decided to shorten the gap to three days between posts (as I often do for
related pieces), and post all five selections in a row starting today, 15
September. The only other time I republished a bunch of pieces
together like this was a series of six open letters on theater by
Washington Irving I ran in August 2010.
[The overall on-line reference for all seven
documentary theater articles is on the American
Theatre [Theatre Communications Group;
New York] website dated 22 August 2017, http://www.americantheatre.org/category/special-section/on-the-real-documentary-theatre
(which has links to the separate articles).
The individual articles and the dates on which I’ll post them (under the
blog heading “On The Real: Documentary Theatre,” the series’ umbrella title)
are as follows: “A History of U.S. Documentary Theatre in Three Stages” by
Jules Odendahl-James, 15 September; “Ringside? Let’s Take Down the Ropes” by
Anna Deavere Smith, 18 September; “Real Talk About Real Talk” by Amelia
Parenteau, 21 September; “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Documentary Theatre?”
by Parenteau, 24 September; “A Room Full
of Mirrors” by Rob Weinert-Kendt, 27 September; “‘Foreign to Myself’ Delves
Beyond the Trauma of War” by Brad Rhines, 27 September; and “Our Reflection Talks Back” by Carol
Martin, 27 September.]
ON THE REAL: DOCUMENTARY THEATRE | THEATRE HISTORY
REAL TALK ABOUT REAL
TALK
By Amelia Parenteau
Some of documentary theatre’s leaders discuss the art of
the interview—and the deeply personal play-making that comes after.
To find out more about the practice and implications of
documentary theatre, I gathered some of the field’s veterans for a
frank conversation about their craft, how it’s changed—and how it’s changed
them. I found, of course, that they were aware of each other’s work. How could
they not be? With the Civilians, Steve Cosson directed and helped create This
Beautiful City and The Great Immensity; Leigh Fondakowski
served as head writer on Tectonic Theater Project’s The Laramie
Project, and most recently unveiled Spill at New York
City’s Ensemble Studio Theatre; KJ Sanchez, who with American Records created such
shows as ReEntry and X’s and O’s (A Football Love
Story), is working on a commission from the Guthrie Theater about recent
immigrants to the Twin Cities; and Ping Chong continues his ongoing Undesirable
Elements, which began in 1992, with a project with teens facilitated by
NYC’s New Victory Theater.
Amelia Parenteau: What drew each of you to this
form?
Steve Cosson: My introduction came in graduate
school in San Diego, where I was a student of Les Waters. Les had been a member
of Joint Stock in London in the ’70s and ’80s. We picked a subject and
everybody found somebody to interview. It’s been described as a Truman Capote/In
Cold Blood style, where you talk to someone and listen to everything
they say and write it down as best as you can. We certainly didn’t talk about
it as documentary theatre; it was a way of working and generating material. I
got hooked on the challenge of it. It spoke to my intrinsic nosiness. I loved
that there was an excuse to walk into a stranger’s home and be a listener for
them. I discovered that people will tell a lot to a stranger. And my first
group of interviews were extraordinary. My subject was very rich people, and
they completely blew any preconceived ideas out of the water. I realized the
world is a more complicated place where the possibility for discovery is
endless.
KJ Sanchez: I was making this work before I
realized there was a name for it. In 1992, when I was graduating from UC San
Diego, my thesis solo show was about my hometown, Tome, New Mexico. It was founded
by my ancestors in 1680 and nobody had ever left. As I was growing up, there
was a feud over the rights to this land that everyone had communally shared
since 1680. Everyone started suing everybody, children sued parents, brothers
sued brothers, my grandfather died not speaking to his brother for 13 years,
even though they lived right next door to each other. Knives were pulled in
bars, a gun was pulled in church. So my very first foray, before I knew what
this was, was a solo piece scratching the surface of where I came from.
Then as a member of Anne Bogart’s SITI Company for the first
few years of the company’s life, I learned the process of editing, because we
made shows based on found copy. I later learned from Steve and from my fellow
early Civilians about being a non-judgmental listener. If you don’t let them
know how you feel, then they will say anything. I went back and finished that
play I started for my thesis, Highway 47 [2012; premièred at the Yo Solo Festival, Chicago], on an NEA/TCG
career development program for directors. After seeing the show, one of my
mom’s first cousins from the other side of the town called her up and said that
by seeing these stories onstage, she saw they were all pretty much in the same
boat. That’s when I loved this form and haven’t looked back.
Ping Chong: I’ve been making work for more than
45 years, and it changed around 1990. I was invited to make a show about van
Gogh in Holland for the centennial of his death. This was around the time of
the American/Japanese trade wars. I asked my producer if I could frame the van
Gogh project within the history of Japan and the West. As opposed to my
previously allegorical work, this was the first work in a decade-long quartet
about Asia and the West. I call them “poetic documentary,” since they use
documentary sources as the primary text.
In 1992, I made my first piece in the Undesirable
Elements series, and I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t go to
school to learn how to interview; I learned on the job. For that first one, I
didn’t know where I was going with the material. Now, it’s been 25 years of
the Undesirable Elements series, and I’ve seen how it’s a
tremendous privilege to create a space in which other people can feel empowered
to speak. At the beginning, there was more of my imposition of myself on it,
since I didn’t know what I was doing yet. I became more hands-off. It’s all
about being able to give voice to these people and to create bridges, since the
people onstage and in the audience are one community, but the conversation
isn’t always there.
Leigh Fondakowski: My story starts with Anna Deavere Smith [see previous post
on this series, “Ringside? Let’s Take Down the Ropes,” 18 September],
seeing her perform, then coming to understand that she was trying to find
characters and patterns of how people present themselves. I was so taken by
that and with her as a performer that I set off on my little journey to make my
first piece, I Think I Like Girls [2002; premiered at Encore Theater, San Francisco], with a
bunch of queer women from different generations. Then in 1998 Matthew Shepard
was killed, and when Moisés Kaufman gathered the Tectonic Theater company
together to propose a play, he said, “Do we as a theatre have a play which is
in the national dialogue around this event?” Because it was the first time that
a homophobic hate crime had received national attention. That question
reoriented whether we as theatre artists had a responsibility. That was when I
began to formulate this process as a playwriting technique. You’re exposed to
things you don’t see in your daily life as an artist in New York, which shifts your
perspective in an interesting way. I want to make a play that people care
about. I’m interested in what else the form can do.
Sanchez: Can I take a moment to ask you guys how
you cope with different kinds of sadness that we traffic in? I make a deal with
myself, like, I say: Okay, after this show, I’ll go have a nervous breakdown. I
find a way to keep myself in check, because it’s not about me, it’s about
whatever the show is trying to reflect.
Cosson: When I teach on the subject of making
theatre this way, I always go back to the idea that no matter how you make
plays, they’re going to work the way all plays work; there are basic
dramaturgical principles. We categorize things into various niches, and if you
write a play that is drawn from interviews, then sometimes that’s not even
considered playwriting.
Sanchez: We are playwrights, even if we are
using transcripts from interviews.
Cosson: It’s still got to work as a play. When
it comes to sadness or suffering, I ask myself if that suffering is connected
to some kind of forward momentum as part of a larger story.
Fondakowski: There isn’t just the artistic
burden to make plays, but a theatrical event that is also compelling and
interesting.
Sanchez: We’re writers in how we ask questions,
and in how we contextualize and frame it. You have to be able to provide an
avenue for a new conversation about the issue. What do you have to offer that
can’t be done in any other medium, or hasn’t been done already by a great
journalist?
Cosson: One thing I think we do differently is
we put the audience in the reality in an important and meaningful way. A
documentary film can be deeply impactful, but I think a play can be impactful
in a different way. We know what we’re seeing in front of us is a fiction, but
because it’s happening we experience it as real, and that does make
us empathize differently, since we have had those experiences. That’s why it
can be something that pivots your life in a different direction.
Do any of you have an interview that stands out in your
memory as, “Oh, this is it. This is where I hit my stride and figured it out”?
Or conversely where you felt, “There is no common ground here.”
Chong: I got better through doing it. In my
first interview, people were all in a room together, that original cast, and I
began by jotting down notes with people there. It took me a while to realize
that sometimes people had very traumatic experiences, and I had to be
sensitive. There’s a need for respect when asking people to access very
personal material, to help them move forward gently. Sometimes I have to be
ruthless, to push as far as I could before pulling back, though, because it
isn’t useful if you don’t get the story.
Sanchez: I can’t be a good listener if I’m
judging whether it’s going to go into the play or not. You know if you’re
having an interview and the person is assuming what’s going to go on the stage,
and they’re basically pitching you their story, then that’s probably not going
to have any traction in the long run. But you need to be there to listen,
because they’ve given you their time.
Fondakowski: When somebody agrees to do an
interview, I believe that there is a reason they agreed to do it. Whether or
not they are going to share depends, because I think they’re going to wait and
see in the situation if they trust me enough to say it. Usually what I ask now
at the end of the two hours is, “Is there anything I didn’t ask you which was
important to ask?” Sometimes the heart of the matter comes up when you think
the thing is over, someone tells you the story that kind of blows your mind.
Sanchez: My students ask me, “How do you know
what goes in the play and what doesn’t?” It’s always personal. Whatever I found
surprising or I haven’t heard before, if it changes the way I think about the subject.
But you constantly live in this place of, I have a lot of good material, I have
a lot of interesting research and I don’t know if I have a play yet. That’s
when the harmonies and dissonances between the people you are listening to
become incredible. It reminds you to truly live in the moment.
Fondakowski: When we were working on Jonestown
[The People’s Temple, 2005; premièred
at Berkeley Repertory Theatre], it took us three years to get interviews
because people were very hesitant. We were about a year into our process when
somebody in our team made a document that said with big capital letters, “WHAT
NEEDS TO BE TOLD?” That’s not the right question. The question is what is the
story you want to tell. With a story like Jonestown, I felt
incredible responsibility.
Cosson: Would it be interesting to talk about
the appetite for difficult subject matter that is often connected to a
documentary-like play? I can say there’s a marked difference in the U.S. versus
the U.K. The U.K. seems to be much more on board with “get us something
difficult.” And America generally wants to have a good time or a good weep, but
often doesn’t want to go in for a good struggle.
Sanchez: Emily Ackerman wrote ReEntry [2009;
commissioned and premièred by Two River Theater Company, Red Bank, New Jersey] with
me, and we were getting a lot of productions, but every theatre was struggling
to get an audience—marketing with all the right intentions, but it was a
struggle. One presenter in particular, we had about 11 people in the house, and
it broke my heart. I guess the real question is, how can we cultivate more
interest in it? I feel like audiences are going to come and feel bad about it,
feel bad that they have to care, feel bad that all these terrible things
happen.
Fondakowski: I wish there wasn’t this category.
I think when you say the phrase “documentary theatre,” it has a limiting idea.
Each of our works is more extensive in terms of theatrical language. I try to
say that my plays are plays, based on interviews and based on real events.
Sanchez: For me, it depends on the show.
With ReEntry, and this one that I’m currently making for the
Guthrie [Refugia, 2017], I’m calling
it a documentary play for my own purposes, because it helps me define the rules
of engagement. There needs to be some sort of transparency with the audience
about where you are taking them.
Cosson: I try to avoid the “documentary” word
altogether, and I try to make sure that nobody uses it in marketing or press
releases. Several years ago I made up the idea of “investigative” theatre,
which has no fixed definition. It’s an idea of theatre that has some kind of
outward-looking process that feeds into the creation of the show. But it’s a
little broader and people don’t know what it is.
Sanchez: I love the term “investigative
theatre,” but there are times when I don’t think I could use it. For example,
with these refugees and undocumented immigrants that I’m working with, there’s
a lot of nervousness right now about who’s asking them questions. I think if I
used the word “investigative,” then they’d be afraid of who I was, whereas the
word “documentary” feels safer. The phrase I generally use is “making plays
about real things and real people.”
Cosson: For those of us who do it, we have to be
out there speaking about the value of what we do and connecting to the public.
Content is not necessarily sexy in the American theatre. It’s not the first
thing that shows up when I think of producers choosing a play or how they frame
the plays. Especially outside of New York, there’s only one or two places which
are training everyone how to experience theatre.
Fondakowski: I do think that there are artistic
directors out there who are able to recognize new narratives.
Cosson: It’s also the value of independent
companies with regards to this work. Because many of these theatres might have
interest in supporting a project but don’t necessarily have a special projects
team that goes into the work of documentary theatre. Like José Rivera’s Another
Word for Beauty [2010, Goodman
Theatre], where in order to make that show we had to spend a month in a
Colombian women’s prison, which was not something the Goodman was going to
staff. But I have that expertise, so I could manage it.
Fondakowski: We’re creating these kind of
models. Theatre institutions, non-theatre institutions, universities, high
schools—we’re taking all of these aspects to fund a process that is incredibly
expensive, even if you do it on a shoestring. And so that’s part of what’s
happening here as well, inventing new ways of doing theatre.
Chong: Undesirable Elements is not
always performed in a traditional theatre setting. We’ve done shows in YMCAs,
community centers, Union Seminary and Trinity Church in New York, a beauty
parlor. Since the Undesirable Elements subject matter varies
greatly, each one seems to have an audience that is interested in that subject.
How do you define success for your work?
Sanchez: First, exactly what Leigh said: A
project is successful if it stands on its own as a play. But I also define
success if I was able to hang onto my own value system and if I was honest in
representing what I saw, emotionally, spiritually, and intentionally. And if
someone can say that was a good piece of theatre, as cheesy as it sounds.
Hopefully we leave behind a chronicle of our communities right now.
Chong: The nature of an Undesirable
Elements project is creating understanding, since participants are
learning about each other. Success is when someone hears a story or perspective
from within their community that they haven’t heard before, and the audience
gets to join in on that conversation. For example, doing a show in Charleston,
South Carolina, one woman came out as a lesbian during the show, to her mother,
in public, and a conservative guy spoke up in a talkback to say, “I don’t like
gay people, but after hearing her story, I have to think about it again.” Many
people haven’t had the opportunity to address things publicly that they share in
the show. The reward for me is tremendous, and it’s such a privilege.
Fondakowski: We also have this shared experience
that we’re not talking about, which is getting the interview material. I assume
you guys have a lot of intimate relationships with people across the country.
So that’s also, not to be too cheesy, a profound experience as an artist. And
you learn all about these things that you would never normally think about. You
become this expert.
Cosson: I can tell how much I’ve changed since
doing a piece. Even when you’re telling other people’s stories, you’re entering
into those stories yourself. And if you’ve gone beyond yourself to consider
other people’s experience with empathy and identification as much as possible,
then that is a very important accomplishment. That is why I do the work. In the
interviewing phase, I always feel like a bigger and better person. I live in
the world in a different way.
Amelia Parenteau is writer
and practitioner based in New Orleans.
[In her introductory remarks above,
Parenteau names several
plays composed by her panelists. Some of
them came up again in the ensuing discussion where I identified them briefly; other
titles weren’t mentioned again, so I’ll give them a quick ID here for the
reader curious enough to pursue them further:
- The Civilians and Steve Cosson’s This Beautiful City – 2008; première at the Humana Festival of New American Plays, Actors Theatre of Louisville
- and The Great Immensity – 2014; Public Lab, Public Theater, New York City
- Leigh Fondakowski and the Tectonic Theater Project’s The Laramie Project – 2000; premiered at the Ricketson Theatre of the Denver Center for the Performing Arts by the Denver Center Theatre Company
- and Spill – 2015; premiered at the Swine Palace, Baton Rouge
- KJ Sanchez’s X’s and O’s (A Football Love Story) – 2015; Berkeley Repertory Theatre
[There’s plenty of additional
details about these shows on line for readers who want more information.]
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