17 May 2011

Teachers & Reform (Addendum)


The movement to reform school systems, now coupled with the drive to bust unions, especially of public employees, in some states, has brought a return of “blame the teacher.” The focus has mostly been on seniority, especially when it comes to laying off teachers as budgets are slashed across the board in both cities and states around the country. According to the existing laws and policies of many states and school systems, if layoffs become necessary, as Mayor Michael Bloomberg insists they are in New York City, the most recently hired teachers will be the first to be let go regardless of their accomplishments and evaluations on the job or their potential as teachers for the future. Bloomberg and his education commissioner, among others, are promoting a change in the law, known as “Last In, First Out,” or LIFO, to allow school boards to choose the teachers to be laid off based on merit rather than seniority.

First off, let’s get away from one topic that’s part of this debate right now: whether state budget cuts inevitably mean teacher layoffs as well. Bloomberg insists the state shortfall requires him to cut the city budget, including the education department, and that that necessitates laying off teachers. Governor Andrew Cuomo suggests that such cuts aren’t necessary, despite his proposed state drawdown and some opponents to the mayor’s budgetary choices also assert that firing teachers isn’t needed, either. (Cuomo’s proposed cuts in administrative expenditures such as bureaucracy, office overhead, and consultants.) To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what the truth is here. I’m far too ignorant about financial matters and the economy to see one way or the other. Furthermore, it’s irrelevant to the issue I want to get into here: whether it’s fairer and better for the schools and students to make decisions about reductions in force based on seniority or merit, irrespective of whether the current situation requires a RIF or not. Whenever the time comes, now or in the future, that teachers have to be fired to meet budgetary demands, that question remains. Additionally, while this discussion is going on in the press and on the airwaves, some activists and spokespeople have taken to maligning the teachers again as a way to weaken the position of the teachers’ unions, which Chris Christie, the new governor of New Jersey, has dubbed “political thugs” in a televised interview. “The teachers union is an institution built to protect the interests of itself,” but not the schoolchildren, stated Tony Bennett, Indiana state Superintendent of Public Instruction. In both Wisconsin and Indiana, Governors Scott Walker and Mitch Daniels have impelled legislatures to pass bills stripping public employees, including teachers, of their collective bargaining rights, a move opposed by Americans across the country by nearly two to one; other states are contemplating similar laws. (You have to wonder, by the way, why all the governors trying to hogtie these unions are Republicans while the unions almost invariably support Democratic candidates.) In February 2010, school officials in Central Falls, Rhode Island, announced plans to fire all the unionized teachers at the high school. The tumult was settled, but politicians around the country cheered the move and morale fell, with 20% of the faculty leaving and daily absenteeism among the rest increasing dramatically. As I said in “Teaching & Reform” (ROT, 29 July 2010), I find these tactics reprehensible.

I will assert, however, that reductions in school budgets aren’t necessarily best addressed by firing teachers on any basis. (Poor-mouthing has long been a good excuse to divide voters and disenfranchise some “undesirable” portion of an electorate.) In fact, we can’t fix our schools, whether for financial reasons or pedagogical failings, by getting rid of classroom teachers. Whenever someone complains about the problems and failures in public education, the first reaction is to blame the teachers. Never mind that schools are notoriously unevenly financed so that schools with problems get fewer resources. Never mind that reversing undeserved tax cuts for corporations and millionaires could restore school funds without burdening budgets. Never mind that social problems in the community like drugs, gangs, or poverty have a greater effect on learning than any teacher does. Never mind that studies show that classroom teaching is responsible for only 20% of a child’s education—that evenings, weekends, and vacations account for nearly as much of the experience. Never mind that school administrations, from the state departments of education to local school boards to principals and administrators in the school buildings are more responsible for what goes on inside a school than the hamstrung faculties. Never mind any of that—if there’s something wrong, it’s the teachers who get the blame first, and the solution is always to fire teachers and take away the few hard-won rights they’ve obtained over the years. Now, as we see in states across the country, the teachers’ meager salaries and benefits are the being spotlighted as the cause of the budgetary shortfalls. The teachers’ contracts aren’t the reason for the budget crunch in the first place (that was Wall Street enabled by oblivious regulators), and firing a bunch of them won’t fix the problem much in the second. In the third place, the teachers who are left, with larger classes and reduced classroom resources—not to mention fewer extracurricular and enhancement programs—are demoralized and marginalized even more.

On the surface, basing the decision to fire or retain teachers based on effectiveness seems like a no-brainer, especially in light of what I wrote back in “Teaching & Reform.” I said then that I was in favor of anything that benefited the students and that merit pay and other inducements to recruit and keep good teachers was sensible in spite of any opposition from teachers’ unions, who back the status quo. I still support any change that works for school kids, no matter on what side of the political spectrum it falls, but there are implications to the seniority-vs.-merit debate that may not be apparent at first look and which muddy the waters considerably. The major question is whether jettisoning the seniority rules applies only to layoffs or whether it will affect other aspects of the system as well.

If we want to make the schools better and keep good, dedicated teachers, then I think pay and layoff decisions have to be based on the effectiveness of the teachers under consideration. Based solely on who’s been around longest, these actions discourage good teachers and encourage the tactic of hanging on without sticking your neck out, keeping your profile low, and not making any waves—or worse, sucking up to the administration. Seniority provides a certain job security, which is good, but it doesn’t promote innovation or originality. Good teachers don’t come into the system and others don’t stay. Seniority may disadvantage new teachers, but how many college grads are likely to sign up for a job that they know going in will be short-lived because they will soon be considered old-timers and subject to dismissal in favor the novices coming up behind them? This doesn’t mean that longevity and loyalty shouldn’t be rewarded, either. Clearly, a teacher who’s been on a faculty a long time is a valuable asset, both for the school and the newer teachers; the students, too, benefit from the continuity and the experience the longer-serving teachers bring to the classroom. In any given school, the administration tends to be more footloose, moving from school to school or even district to district, while faculties remain in place longer, providing a stability that would be lost if senior teachers were regularly dismissed. Schools with the lowest teacher turnover are usually the most successful.

Though there are certainly exceptions, for the most part, teachers who’ve been on the job for 10, 15, 20, or more years must have something on the ball; they get evaluated yearly at least, after all. Neither age nor long service means that a teacher is not good or should be put out on an ice floe. When I was studying Russian 40 years ago, our best teacher was an older woman who’d been a Russian teacher in the Soviet Army: she was the most knowledgeable about how to teach language, the most engaged and responsive, and the most interested of our whole cadre of instructors. (She was also the sweetest person: she took her whole section, of which I was a member at the time, to the student kitchen on the day designated for our class picnic and taught us to make real Russian borscht—not the red Polish beet soup most Americans know—which we then relished along with the rest of our class that afternoon. Now, that was a learning experience!) We can’t afford to lose the experienced teachers any more than we can afford not to get the new, enthusiastic ones.

But what if the loss of seniority protection bears on other aspects of the system? Tenure, for instance, is a subject that’s been argued in this general debate, too. It’s often unpopular among the public (though I believe that’s based more on the way its portrayed in adversaries’ public statements than it is on the actuality). Opponents to tenure, whereby teachers reach a stage where they can no longer be fired arbitrarily and have considerable freedom in their classrooms, assert that it’s a process that protects mediocre and ineffectual teachers who long ago became little more than placeholders. Governor Christie, who’s also told teachers they are greedy, has bluntly declared, for instance, that tenure protects incompetent teachers and Governor Walker’s bills (which still face legal challenges) would deny teachers tenure protection. The unions, such opponents say, protect instructors who are past their prime and should be replaced by younger teachers. Defenders of tenure point out that it protects teachers who’ve earned some autonomy from being dismissed or reassigned capriciously by principals and superintendents with political, social, or personal agendas. Before teachers won the right to unionize and bargain collectively for the conditions of their employment, that’s exactly what happened. And since even without seniority as a criterion, longer-serving teachers earn higher salaries than newly hired ones, firing older teachers and replacing them with new hires cuts costs—as workers in many other fields have seen in recent years. (It also cuts down on pension obligations since the longer teachers serve, the more they’re vested in the pension plans. Reduce the length of service before retirement and you reduce the pension the state owes the retiree.) Furthermore, tenure is awarded, not automatic; there’s an evaluation process before a teacher is granted tenure, no matter how long he or she’s served.

A friend of mine who’s a retired professor from a nearby community college and was very active in her faculty union—she even served as a union officer—got quite heated when discussing the trend toward reducing the influence of seniority and other union protections in teacher employment. Though my friend’s experience wasn’t in secondary or primary school, many of the issues are the same, especially the matter of tenure. Without the protection of tenure, she warned, schools will begin paring away at the independence of the teachers in the classroom and administrations with agendas will be able to insert their programs into the schools’ curricula—and no one will have the authority to fight them. Without the power of union contracts, collective action, and due process protection, administrations can fire teachers they don’t like or who won’t toe their lines, leaving schools with homogeneous faculties who all think alike and follow the same program without variation or dissent. (This is, in fact, what it was like before teachers were free to unionize.) There would be no interplay of varied ideas or open discussion of differences. A school whose faculty is entirely young, unprotected, and inexperienced is much easier to control and bend to the will of a designing principal or superintendent. My friend was very exercised over the trend she sees and the potential consequences if the union-busters prevail.

Now, I confess, I find my friend’s alarm a little hyperbolic, but I can still see her point, especially when it comes to the matter of seniority-based tenure. As readers of ROT should know by now, the freedom of expression, whether in a classroom, a theater, or an art gallery, is almost sacrosanct to me. I was once asked to leave a school because, the director told me, I asked too many questions. I didn’t take enough on faith, he said. Really? A school’s for asking questions. There’s no such thing as asking too many questions in a school. (In my own defense, first, you should know that this wasn’t a secondary school, either, and I was just a few years shy of 30. Second, I didn’t ask all my questions—which I don’t think were excessive in any case—in class; I took them to the instructor afterwards and asked to meet with him.) A circumstance in which questioning a teacher, a principal, or an administrator is discouraged, whether the questions come from a student, a parent, or another teacher, is anathema to me. It leads to an atmosphere not of education, but of indoctrination. Tenure, along with other protections, is designed to promote and safeguard the free exchange of ideas in the classroom; there are also precautions available to prevent abuse and assure decorum, especially in elementary, middle, and high school classrooms where the students are still children. The wholesale removal of the shield against orthodoxy and enforced conformity is a practice common to authoritarian states not, presumably, to a democracy.

Seniority, for all its faults, is at least an objective criterion. It’s easy to tell who’s served longer than whom, even if the system counts years of other government service, either in other jurisdiction’s schools or even in the military. Anyone can add up the numbers and compare the totals, and there’s little debate about the results. But who makes the evaluations for merit as a deciding factor in dismissals (or pay, which runs into the same question)? On what are the evaluations based? Test scores are an inadequate means of assessing a teacher’s work in a classroom, though they’ve been used frequently despite evidence that they are inaccurate, imperfect, and often biased. (Not all subjects are tested, and reliance on tests as a standard also inevitably leads to teaching to the test.) So, individual evaluations, then. Whose opinions count more in the final selections—the principal, the superintendent, a board of some kind? Do peer evaluations play a part? Student appraisals? No matter which of these or other judgments are used, they are all imprecise and subjective, and liable to all kinds of influences that may not be relevant to teaching ability or classroom skill. No school district has come up with an equitable set of assessment standards. This is one of the chief fears of unions who foresee their members being judged on the basis of whims and nonce criteria—or, perhaps worse, someone’s political or social beliefs. New York City’s current procedure puts most of the responsibility on principals to identify ineffective teachers, but there are reports of school principals who themselves have bad records for management and yet have been left in place for years, long enough to be making decisions on teachers’ careers. At the same time, the merit evaluation formula devised for New York State schools is so complex as to be incomprehensible and has often contradicted the personal appraisals of a teacher’s colleagues, supervisors, students, and former students. Seniority and tenure protect good teachers from maltreatment at the hands of a principal or a school board for reasons having nothing to do with their classroom effectiveness.

It also matters where the evaluators work. If they’re from the same schools as the teachers being judged, they get greater access and they know the quirks and idiosyncrasies of the different schools, but private feelings can get into the mix if the evaluators know the subjects of their assessments too well. If the evaluators are from the board level, they’ll be more objective and clinical, but they’re remote from the teachers’ daily work and won’t have full-time contact with the subjects. Which is better, fairer? You could devise an evaluation system that includes some of both kinds of evaluators, but it would probably be cumbersome and complex. What’s the answer? If you’re going to judge teacher proficiency as the basis for layoffs and pay raises, someone’ll have to come up with a solution.

Let’s look at New York City’s situation as an example. Clearly, the final cuts would be decided by the schools chancellor, the head of the city’s Department of Education. But in New York City, the chancellor is a political appointee of the mayor and as such is beholden to him for his job. We can’t know what influence the mayor and his political agenda will have on the decisions to let teachers go; even if Mayor Bloomberg is an honest broker and stays out of the process, the next mayor and chancellor may have a different relationship. (Rudolph Giuliani, Bloomberg’s predecessor, had also tried—but failed—to gain the mayoral control of the school system Bloomberg has. Giuliani was a man who tried to get the Brooklyn Museum of Art evicted from its city-owned building because he didn’t like the art on exhibit. He also fired a successful police commissioner because he acted too independently for the mayor’s taste. What kind of school manager do you suppose Mayor Giuliani’d have made?) On what is current Chancellor Dennis Walcott, formerly the Deputy Mayor for Education and Community Development and president of New York City’s school board, going to base his determinations? The last chancellor, Cathleen Black, was a publishing executive, not an educator—she had a lot of difficulty getting approved for the job because she had no background in education either as a teacher or an administrator. Black resigned on 7 April after only three months on the job after Mayor Bloomberg—also a businessman, as most readers will surely know by now—had urged her to step down. Both Black and Walcott were the mayor’s hand-picked choices to run the city’s schools, as was Joel Klein, Black’s long-serving predecessor who was also selected from the ranks of business executives. What does that suggest about independence of action and thought?

(Black’s experience when Bloomberg named her his nominee for the post is a demonstration that demonization and negative characterization can be a tactic on both sides of this issue. Unions declared her incompetent and unqualified for the job as soon as her name was floated and unions and other activists lobbied bitterly to deny her the waiver needed for the appointment. As it turned out, unfortunately, Black was temperamentally ill-suited for the chancellorship, but she was never given a chance to demonstrate that before she was torn apart in the press simply for having been Bloomberg’s choice. She wasn’t a product of the system—and was therefore unbeholden to the people who run it—and that’s all her opponents cared about, as far as I could tell. Joel Klein, considered an effective reformer and manager, had had no more educational experience than Black had had. Klein, the first chancellor of the New York City education department under mayoral control, served for an unprecedented 8½ years.)

There’s also the problem, one of perception both in the education bureaucracy and among the general public, that somehow old equals bad and new or young equals good. Putting this proposition down in writing makes it clear how patently wrong the attitude is, but it’s operating in the debate, especially in the political and advertising dispute that went on over the airwaves and in the press. In addition, even if practicable evaluation standards could be devised, new, younger teachers would be subject to misjudgment as well. No teacher is born good, much less great. (The Gates Foundation has been subsidizing studies, the $45 million Measures of Effective Teaching project, to see if they can determine what makes a good or great teacher and if it’s something that can be taught. But that research has only just concluded.) It takes time and experience, guidance and mentoring (from more experienced teachers), and if a new teacher is evaluated in her first or even second year in a classroom, she might very well look like a hopeless case rather than one who needs a bit of seasoning and direction (and perhaps plain old confidence) before she blossoms into a very good teacher. I can attest from experience that there are many aspects of teaching that you can only learn from experience and I often relied on my veteran colleagues to help me through a sticky situation, from a lesson plan that wasn’t working to a tough disciplinary situation that I’d never have known how to handle on my own. The students would surely suffer if all their teachers were busy discovering fire for the first time. An experienced teacher can obviously also be caught in this bind: even a good teacher can get stale or fall into a rut and then seem to an evaluator as ineffective. But to someone who knows him, he just may need a sabbatical or a refresher course to rehabilitate the skill that had made him a good teacher—but dismissal removes his abilities from the classroom and the schoolhouse permanently. Where’s the long-term benefit in that?

The seniority-merit debate is complex in other ways, too. According to polls, the public, including parents of schoolchildren, overwhelmingly backs decisions based on effectiveness and wants to see an end to LIFO. The unions, as we’ve seen, supports seniority—but union members don’t: by large margins, they prefer to see reductions in force determined by merit, not seniority. (Voters also have said they want to see teacher pay determined in the basis of classroom performance rather than longevity, too.) But, like the way tenure has lost support, I feel that the popularity of performance as the sole criterion for RIFs is evidence not of its effectiveness but of the tenor of the public pronouncements by its supporters. (It doesn’t help that, although Mayor Bloomberg’s popularity has been diminished since his election to a third term, the regard for his main adversary on this issue, the United Federation of Teachers, has dropped precipitously as well.) I believe the almost knee-jerk support for using effectiveness as a standard and entirely rejecting seniority comes in large part from the way teachers, especially experienced, long-serving ones, are depicted in ads and speeches. At present, the debate is over budget cuts and the potential dismissal of teachers as a cost-saving move, but overall, the portrayal of teachers as the root cause of all the problems in our education system has been part of the discussions of school reform, the power and influence of teachers’ unions, and the rights of public workers to form unions and bargain collectively. Aside from the fact that this tactic doesn’t solve anything and dispirits good teachers and motivates them to leave the system, it’s monstrously unfair. First, teachers aren’t the sole influences on a student’s ability to learn. There are equally powerful forces at home and in the community; the teacher and the school only have the most salient impact. Second, the effectiveness of any given school depends more on the administration of the local and state school boards and the school itself than on any individual teacher, who often has to make the best of whatever atmosphere and conditions the school has provided. Teachers are the least in control of their own occupation, largely dominated by women not incidentally, of any similar professional in society: doctors, lawyers, accountants (who are all still mostly men) all have more to say about how they do their work and how they relate to their clients than teachers. Not only do they have school boards and departments of education looking over their shoulders and dictating their curricula and teaching methods, but they have politicians, activists, and interest groups, most of whom have no educational experience whatsoever.

This practice of using non-educators to oversee school systems is really part of the phenomenon in this country where voters see experience and qualifications as marks of elitism and arrogance. The U.S. has always had a streak of anti-intellectualism running through its society and politicians and activists with an agenda have often made use of it to divide people by portraying those with expertise and knowledge as out of touch with the mainstream, the Joe Six-Packs and Soccer Moms who are presented as the heart of the Real America. The idea spread abroad is that anyone can teach: it takes no skills, experience, or training. Early last March, Mayor Bloomberg himself proclaimed, “The length of time that you have worked is irrelevant to whether or not you can do what our children need.” (Ironically, during his campaign for a third term, Bloomberg made the reverse argument to justify his bid to be reelected a second time despite a term-limits law he had swept aside for his benefit. Disconnect, anyone?) As long as this situation prevails, our schools will continue to deteriorate and become training grounds for low- and unskilled workers rather than routes to greater achievement and accomplishment. Demean the teacher and the ones who suffer are the children. When they are old enough to run things, what will become of our society then? We see already a concentration of wealth and power in a ever-smaller segment of the population; debasing public education by continuously cutting funds, programs, and committed teachers will assure that this trend continues and becomes irreversible. Good public schools with good teachers has always been the principal process that has made the United States a nation of upwardly-mobile strivers and achievers no matter what part of society the student started from.

Teachers aren’t on the job to aggrandize themselves. The pay is pitiful and the social standing is closer to that of a manual laborer than of the highly educated professional a teacher is. The very fact that teachers take on the responsibility they do and return to work every day, every year shows the level of commitment they have to the task—a calling, really. To portray them as lazy, shiftless, selfish, overpaid, coddled, underworked, ineffective, and reactionary clock-punchers is simply untrue. It’s worse for the older teachers, who are further maligned for their long service and years of experience doing the most important job our society offers: teaching our children. The notion abroad in this country that the lack of experience is an asset (or, conversely, that previous service is a shortcoming)—it’s the basis for a lot of the political campaigns in recent elections—has little validity in reality, and it has even less in a classroom. Both sides of the merit-vs.-seniority argument are demagoguing, and they’re doing on the backs of the teachers (and, in the case of supporters of teacher effectiveness as a criterion, the teachers’ unions) not because it’s logical or reasonable, but because it inflames the public. Demonization is a wedge tactic: it polarizes the public so that we have to go to one extreme or the other. No one can stake out a position in the center (just as in national politics) because if you support even an iota of the other side of the argument, you will be subsumed in the demonization yourself. If you see benefit and value in both merit-based standards and seniority, then you’re dismissed and vilified by both sides.

Well, vilify away. Now, I’m no education expert, so I don’t know how to implement any of this, and I have no clout with the parties, so I can’t even imagine enough agreement among them to accomplish a compromise. The strong rhetoric that prevails, especially among the anti-union activists, generates nothing but tensions and makes teachers suspicious and resistant to compromise. My solution, however, includes elements of both seniority and performance evaluation. We cannot dismiss the value of a teacher’s years of experience or professional training, accumulated over a whole career. I don’t know how you’d measure that on a scale of standard criteria, so it would have to be calculated in some form similar to the way it is now—total up the years on the job and add in a supplement for additional degrees beyond a bachelors and professional courses taken outside of work. (I also think that some additional consideration should be taken for non-classroom experience a teacher has accumulated such as chaperoning school trips abroad or to distant cities; conducting after-school workshops or activities related, even tangentially, to the teacher’s field; organizing events that enhance the students’ appreciation, understanding, or knowledge of the arts, politics, civics, sports, the economy, and so on; teaching non-credit classes in subjects not offered in the curriculum. You can’t measure these contributions, but they pay off so much.)

Classroom performance, too, must be counted, and greatly. I can’t conceive of a measuring system that works across the board, so one would have to be devised and tested, but it would have to appraise a teacher’s effectiveness in the class currently, but also consider where the teacher is likely to go in the years to come—as she or he gains experience and hones the appropriate skills. It must somehow also assess a teacher’s past contributions and how those can be continued and reinforced. The National Council of Teaching Quality has devised a system of determining a teacher’s position using a combination of measurements. Finally, any new process of hiring and firing teachers must make it easier to dismiss the small number of truly bad teachers that get into the system; the unions, for all the protections and support they offer teachers, must be more responsive when it comes to culling the inadequate and unsalvageable. Tenure should be highly valued, awarded only to the teachers who truly earn it, and should not become a shield for mediocrity or, worse, inappropriate behavior. Perhaps it should be revisited incrementally, say every five or seven years to be sure that a veteran teacher hasn’t settled into a comfortable rut.

In general, we have to stop relying on procedures and methods that have become sacred traditions, defended only because things have always been done that way. The world has changed since the ‘50s and ‘60s when most of those practices were initiated and we’ve learned more about schools, students, and teaching and learning than we used to know. Joel Klein was accounted a successful reformer, even before school reform became a politically popular idea, and he upended the procedures and practices long entrenched in the New York City school system, the largest and most complex in the nation. (Michelle Rhee, the former superintendent of the Washington, D.C., schools, was also a radical reformer and, despite her unpopularity with local teachers and their unions, she, too, made significant improvements in the success of the city’s educational system. Klein’s successors, both the short-term Cathie Black and her replacement Dennis Walcott, promised to continue Klein’s reforms in New York City.) One sweeping change Klein initiated was to turn virtually all the decisions about a school, from hiring and curriculum to spending and building use, over to the principal, as if, Klein put it, they were CEO’s of their own companies and rather than cogs in a bureaucracy. This gives principals unprecedented authority—making teacher contracts an even-more-significant protection—but Klein also established a principal-training academy to prepare his new administrators for the powerful mandate he handed them.

Despite the denigration of experts and scholars, we need to listen to what’s been discovered about pedagogy, intellectual development, teacher training, educational management, and even school funding and budgets and start making changes where necessary. Remember, the definition of insanity is continuing to take the same actions while expecting a different outcome. Things that aren’t working haven’t been working for years now. At the same time, we can’t implement reforms that are based on fads, wishful thinking, or popular notions that aren’t supported by research or empirical evidence. Let’s find new ways—there are people out there with ideas and experiences that work. And stop beating each other over the head with politics. We know that doesn’t accomplish anything.

In the end, though, what this society has to do is elevate the level of respect teachers get so that prospective good teachers don’t run away from the profession and good, experienced ones stay on and keep improving because they are appreciated in the classroom, the department of education, city hall and the statehouse, the home, the media, and the street. Politicians have long declared that they want to improve our schools (insisting that they “honor teaching”), but it’s hard to understand how denigrating teachers and restricting their rights does anything but make matters worse. We’ve been complaining for a very long time that U.S. schools are performing badly in comparison with several systems in the rest of the world, among them South Korea, Singapore, and Finland. Would it surprise anyone to learn that in those countries, and many others with better-performing schools, the teacher is a figure of respect and honor? (They are also paid better than they are here—often as much as first-year physicians or other highly-regarded professionals.) You think there might be a connection? Speak of a no-brainer.

[A contingent of National Board Certified teachers plans to march in Washington, D.C. and around the country to protest the attacks on teachers and teaching. The Save Our Schools March will take place in Washington on Saturday, 30 July 2011, starting at noon with a rally on the Ellipse (preceded by performances and other events). At 2:00 p.m., the demonstrators will march to the Department of Education where they will read a list of demands and issue a call to action. Following the demonstration at DoE, the marchers will return to the Ellipse for a closing ceremony. There will be parallel activities in cities around the country for participants who can’t travel to Washington; information will be available at twitter.com/#!/SOSMarch or www.causes.com/causes/556335-save-our-schools-march-and-national-call-to-action.]


12 May 2011

“Nothing But My Genius”: Oscar Wilde Discovers America

By Brian D******
& Richard E. K*****


[Back in the spring of 1986, I took a class at NYU called Production Dramaturgy. The course project was to make an adaptation of non-dramatic material for a stage performance so my partner, Brian D******, and I decided to draw on the aphorisms and other sayings of Oscar Wilde (supplemented, I admit, with quotations from several of his plays) to compile an “illustrated lecture” of Wilde’s visit to the United States. (Wilde had left England on 24 December 1881 to tour the U.S. and lecture on Aestheticism, not only a popular subject of the day, but one with which Wilde had been associated, even in caricature. He stayed in America until 27 December 1882.) Our concept was that while Wilde was lecturing, the “slides” would be brought to life by a small cast speaking the writer’s words in brief scenes, the dialogue for which was taken from his occasional comments about America. The performance was to be fashioned in the style of a Victorian music hall (akin to our vaudeville) entertainment.

[Aphorisms such as “Women—sphinxes without secrets” and whole sections of dialogue appear in many of Wilde’s writings and in his conversations as well. He was not one to abandon a good line, whether he had used it before himself, or someone else had originated it. A case in point is an occasion when Wilde admired a remark of James McNeill Whistler, the American painter who lived in London. “I wish I had said that,” he applauded. “You will, Oscar,” rejoined Whistler, “you will.” (Like the section below of one-liners accompanying projections of caricatures of Wilde, we thought there might also be a section that would include actual photographs of the luminaries with whom Wilde associated, and about whom he often spoke. Whistler would be included, of course, as well as the actress Lillian Russell, who appeared in the American production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s 1881 operetta Patience, for which he served as an inspiration (as a figure of ridicule), and for the American opening of which (22 September at the Standard Theatre, New York) he traveled to America.

[Though Brian and I worked out the whole text in outline, the class requirement was only to produce a sample scene, so we assembled the dialogue only for two sections, reproduced below. (There are far more sources of material than those on which we drew, including Wilde’s own Impressions of America (1906) as well as newspaper accounts of his arrival and tour, and a full realization of the project would have included mining these for more quips and maxims, but our class project didn’t allow for extensive research; an actual adaptation for a theater’s season would have required it, however.) The program is made up not of scenes, but of thematic blocks, each dealing with a different aspect of American society as Wilde sees it. The blocks cover Travel, Art, Men & Women, Marriage & Divorce, Parents & Children, and Manners & Behavior. We also panned two sets of Interludes with songs and other late-19th-century diversions.

[The title of the piece, Nothing But My Genius, comes from a response Wilde uttered upon first setting foot on American soil in 1882. When the writer disembarked from the SS Arizona in New York on 2 January, he was asked by a customs inspector what he had to declare. “Nothing,” Wilde quipped, “Nothing but my genius.” The sample scenes were completed on 12 May 1986.]

* * * *

The Players:

OSCAR WILDE: A man in his late 20’s or early 30’s, made up to represent Wilde in 1883, when he was 29.

MATURE MAN: A man over the age of 40; the Sir Robert Chiltern or Lord Caversham type in Wilde’s plays.

MATURE WOMAN: A woman over the age of 40; the Lady Bracknell or Duchess of Berwick type.

YOUNG MAN: A man in his late 20’s or early 30’s; the Dorian Gray, Algernon Moncrieff, or Jack Worthing type.

YOUNG WOMAN: A woman in her 20’s; the Lady Windermere, Cecily Cardew, or Gwendolen Fairfax type.

THE PIANIST: A young woman, probably in her early 20’s; very attractive in a wholesome sort of way. She should be a soprano with a pleasing, but non-operatic voice.

(Despite their resemblance to the Britons in Wilde’s writings, all of the characters except WILDE and THE PIANIST, and others where specifically indicated, are Americans.)

It is 1883 and Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills WILDE (1854-1900), the renowned Anglo-Irish poet, critic, novelist, and lecturer on “aesthetics,” has recently returned from a well-publicized trip to the United States (2 January-27 December 1882). He is lecturing in England to an English audience about his impressions of America and about his views on American society. It is a portrait of the United States painted with Wilde’s sensibility. He’s appearing in a traditional proscenium style auditorium. That is to say, it has a raised stage with wings and an area for paying customers in front. The room resembles a late-19th-century Lyceum or lecture hall. Box seats, while not necessary to the presentation itself, would certainly add to the ambiance and authenticity of such a setting. If an actual period theater, such as Ford’s Theatre in Washington, cannot be used, then the designer should, through drawings, photographs, or any other means, strive to make the space as authentic as possible. In front of the theater should hang showbills which advertise the entertainment, and also list the subjects on the program in their order of appearance. These should be in the style and language of the period. The object is to simulate the trappings and conditions of an actual travelogue and illustrated lecture in the late 19th century.

Wilde’s talk is divided into thematic blocks, each with its own title, and directors are free to choose whether they will display the title with a magic-lantern slide, in accord with the concept for much of the visual material, or with a placard or sandwich-board so popular in the music halls and vaudeville. The blocks are Travel (including all of Wilde’s adventures journeying by rail and boat, and some discussion of American history and the building of the American nation); Art (WILDE’s pontifications on American painting, including his experiences with James McNeill Whistler, sculpture and music, and the criticism of these fields; also discussion of Patience); Men & Women; Marriage & Divorce (in both blocks: men, women, and a partial discussion of marriage and relations between the genders in America); Parents & Children (WILDE harps on the touchy issue of American child rearing, children’s education, and the eternal differences between youth and maturity); Manners & Behavior (a discourse on American society and WILDE’s views on such matters as smoking, recreation, and work). The various techniques and rhythms that are used in the two scenes below will reappear elsewhere in the production. The slide-to-live-action and live-action-to-slide sequences, as well as slides with voice-over and slides without commentary will all be several blocks. Some techniques that do not appear at all in the two scenes below, but were considered for other sequences, include repeated lines and phrases that WILDE often used on more than one occasion.

There are Interludes between the “Art” and “Men & Women” blocks, and between “Parents & Children” and “Manners & Behavior.” One of these must certainly include the handsome young lady at the pianoforte who will sing appropriate selections. Other members of the ensemble may join in. (During the interludes, one bit should include the song “Am I Alone” from Patience accompanied by the engraving “The Aesthetic Monkey.”)

Stage right, at the proscenium arch, stands a lectern or podium which will be used by the actor playing Oscar WILDE. The curtain is down as the program begins. A young woman is playing the piano as the audience enters the auditorium. The piece should be the overture of an operetta or any other lively period work. The program begins with WILDE’s entrance from stage left. He should be dressed in his famous (or notorious) “aesthetic” attire. That is to say, a red velvet suit with knee britches and floppy necktie. His hair should be shoulder length, and in one hand he should hold a sunflower, his trademark. (The sunflower motif might also be used to decorate the playbills and handbills that announce this engagement.) WILDE crosses to center stage and acknowledges the applause with an appreciative bow. He then continues to the podium and begins the lecture.

WILDE introduces himself in tongue-in-cheek manner. He “warms-up” the audience with his witticisms. He then explains the nature of the evening lecture. As WILDE gives his introduction, the curtain should rise to reveal a double scrim against which slides will be projected. The slides should be of the style and quality of the photographs of the period. The actors playing the characters in the production will have been posed and photographed in period clothing inside or in front of the featured buildings and locales. The idea is to simulate actual hand-painted glass magic-lantern slides. Posing the actors in front of a painted setting or backdrop to be photographed is also a possibility. This technique was widely practiced at the time. (At times, the slides do not behave as they are supposed to, occasionally being upside down, reversed, broken or just in the wrong order.) One scrim is at an angle stage left and the other at an angle stage right. Each should be three-quarters of the way downstage.

BLOCK 4: MEN & WOMEN

WILDE

During the introduction, and at several other times when WILDE speaks, slides coinciding with what he is saying will be projected onto the scrims onstage. The specific places where slides change are marked with an asterisk (*).

The contrast between American men and women interests me. When traveling abroad, the women make our beauties jealous by their clever wit and the men wander about in a melancholy manner treating the old world as if it were a Broadway store [*American couple in front of the Louvre buying a copy of the Mona Lisa from a street artist] and each city a counter for the sampling of shoddy goods.


[*MATURE MAN hosting WILDE] At home the American man is the best of companions, as he is the most hospitable of hosts. [*The women at leisure] Nevertheless, it is only the women who have any leisure at all; and, as a necessary result of this curious state of things, there is no doubt but that, within a century from now, the whole culture of the New World will be in petticoats [*an advertisement for foundations garments].

On the scrim stage left a magic-lantern slide is projected. After enough time has elapsed for the audience fully to comprehend the projected picture, the scrim shall rise, taking the projected image with it.

The actors are revealed onstage, posed in the same positions they held in the photographs: a tableau vivant of the photographed scene. The costumes should be identical to those in the picture. The actors “come to life” and begin the scene. The idea is to create the feeling that the slide has dissolved into living actors. Any props, such as tables or chairs will be revealed with the actors. There will be no background scenery once the slide has disappeared; the actors must evoke the place. The process should be the same for most of the slides featured in the program.

This scene features two men, one mature and the other younger, posed in front of a woman’s lingerie or corset shop, perhaps the kind found on Broadway or Fifth Avenue. They are waiting for their wives, and are dressed in high period New York style with top hat and walking stick. The slide dissolves.

YOUNG MAN

I think she is a genius.

MATURE MAN

My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women are a decorative sex. They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. Women represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men represent the triumph of mind over morals.

YOUNG MAN
But I don’t understand?

MATURE MAN

That is the point. You should never try to understand them. Woman are pictures. men are problems. If you want to know what a woman really means—which, by the way, is ways a dangerous thing to do—look at her, don’t listen to her.
YOUNG MAN

But women are awfully clever, aren’t they?

MATURE MAN

One should always tell them so.

YOUNG MAN

How can a woman have so much power as you say she has?

MATURE MAN

The history of women is the history of the worst form of tyranny the world has ever known. The Tyranny of the weak over the strong. It is the only tyranny that lasts.

YOUNG MAN

Still, there are many different kinds of women, aren’t there?

MATURE MAN

I find that, ultimately, there are only two kinds of women in America: The plain and the scarlet. The plain are very useful. If you want to gain a reputation for respectability, you have merely to take them down to supper. The other women are very charming. They commit one mistake, however. They paint in order to try and look young. As long as a woman can look ten years younger than her daughter, she is satisfied. As for conversation, there are only five woman in this city worth talking to and two of them can’t be admitted into decent society.

YOUNG MAN

Really! There are good women in America, aren’t there?


MATURE MAN

Far too many.

The MATURE MAN exits stage right, and a period slide portrait of Lily Langtry is projected on the stage-left scrim. The YOUNG MAN takes center stage as WILDE crosses to him and hands him the sunflower and returns to the podium. Alone, YOUNG MAN recites to the portrait:

YOUNG MAN

A lily girl, not made for this world’s pain,
With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears,
And longing eyes half veiled by slumb’rous tears
Like bluest water seen through mists of rain;
Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its stain,
Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,
And white throat, whiter than the silvered dove,
Through whose wan marble creeps one purple vein.
Yet, though my lips shall praise her without cease,
Even to kiss her feet I am not bold,
Being o’ershadowed by the wings of awe.
Like Dante, when he stood with Beatrice
Beneath the flaming Lion’s breast and saw
The seventh Crystal, and the Stair of Gold.

Lights out on YOUNG MAN and up on WILDE.

WILDE

Charming, utterly charming. Indeed, American girls are little oases of pretty unreasonableness in a vast dessert of practical common sense.

The YOUNG WOMAN rises from a planted seat in the audience. She addresses WILDE in the English tones of one of the actual paying customers.

YOUNG WOMAN

Excuse me, Mr. Wilde, but I feel that they are far to pretty. These American girls carry off all the good matches. Why can’t they stay in their own country? They are always telling us that it is a paradise of women.

WILDE

It is, my dear. That is why, like Eve, they are so extremely anxious to get out of it.

YOUNG WOMAN

What is more, one never knows who their parents are.

WILDE

American women are wonderfully clever in concealing their parents.

YOUNG WOMAN exits near the stage and takes her place for the next slide.

WILDE

As for American men, they are entirely given to business. They have, as they say, their brains in front of their heads. At an age when we are still boys at Eton, or lads at Oxford, [*a boy clerking or apprenticing] they are practicing some important profession, making money in some intricate business. [*Men at work] Real experience seems to come to them such sooner than it does to us. I can stand brute force, but brute reason is quite unbearable. There is something unfair about its use. It is like hitting below the intellect.

[*Affable young men] The young men are, nevertheless, especially pleasant, with their bright eyes and their unwavering energy. If the English girl ever met one, she would marry him; and if she married him, she would be happy. [*More affable young men] For, though he may be rough in manner and deficient in the picturesque insincerity of romance, he is invariably kind and thoughtful. America must be the only country in the world where Don Juan is not appreciated.

On the scrim stage right, a slide shows MATURE WOMAN and YOUNG WOMAN strolling in a well-groomed park. They are dressed with beautiful bonnets and parasols. The slide dissolves.

MATURE WOMAN

Men always want to be a woman’s first love. That is their clumsy vanity. We women have a more subtle instinct about things. What we like is to be a man’s last romance.

YOUNG WOMAN

You don’t mean to tell me that you won’t forgive a man because he never loved anyone else? I think it greatly to their credit. It is much to be regretted that a wife should be so persistently frivolous under the impression apparently that it is the proper thing to be. It is to that I attribute the unhappiness of marriages.

MATURE WOMAN

My dear, I don’t think the frivolity of the wife has ever anything to do with it. More marriages are ruined nowadays by the common sense of the husband than by anything else. How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly rational being?

YOUNG WOMAN

Then, tell me your conception of the Ideal Husband.

MATURE WOMAN

The Ideal Husband? This couldn’t be such a thing. The institution is wrong.

The stage goes black. Alternately on the two scrims, various slides of period caricatures, drawings and cartoons of WILDE are projected with voice-over one-liners by various of the company.

MATURE MAN

I sometimes think that God in creating man, somewhat overestimated His ability.

YOUNG WOMAN

How many men there are in modern life who would like to see their past burning to white ashes before them!

MATURE WOMAN

. . . I don’t like compliments, and I don’t see shy a man should think he’s pleasing a woman enormously when he says to her a whole heap of things that he doesn’t mean.

YOUNG MAN

Women are sphinxes without secrets.

Lights back up on WILDE.

BLOCK 5: MARRIAGE & DIVORCE


WILDE

[*A wedding] Marriage is not a thing one can do new and again, except, of course in America. On the whole, howeer, there is a great success in the states and it is due partly to the fact that no American man is ever idle and [*dinner party] partly due to the fact that no American wife is considered responsible for the quality of her husband’s dinners. In America, the horrors of domesticity are almost entirely unknown. Of course married life is merely a habit, a bad habit. (WILDE looks up to see that no slide has been projected onto the scrim. He pauses momentarily, then continues, hoping the slide projectionist will catch up with him.) But one regrets the loss of even one’s worst habits. (WILDE looks up again. When still no slide appears, he takes several pages of his lecture notes and tosses them over his shoulder. He clears his throat before going on.) [*A hotel of boarding house] The Yankee habit of living in hotels and boarding-houses does away with any necessity for those hideous têtes-à-têtes that are the dream of engaged couples and the despair of married ones.

On the scrim stage left, the slide shows the interior of a typically American men’s club. A possible choice is the tennis club and casino at Newport, RI, designed by Stanford White. The men are relaxing over a game or papers, and they smoke cigars. The slide dissolves.

MATURE MAN

The amount of women in this city who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous. It looks so bad. It is simply washing one’s clean linen in public.

YOUNG MAN

With all due respect to you, Sir, I believe that girls do not flirt with the men that they marry. They do not think it right.

MATURE MAN

That is nonsense.

YOUNG MAN

It isn’t. It is a great truth. It accounts for the extraordinary number of bachelors that one sees all over the place.

MATURE MAN

Well, once they are married, then, they flirt with their husbands. Even across the dinner table. That is not very pleasant. Indeed, it is not even decent . . . and this sort of thing is enormously on the increase. Furthermore, it’s most dangerous for a husband to pay much attention to his wife in public. It always makes people think that he beats her when they’re alone.

Several slides of the women in various locations and activities are shown without commentary. Among them, one is upside down and one is jammed in the projector. Finally, a slide appears of the two women sitting at a table and chairs with afternoon refreshments. The slide dissolves into the scene.

MATURE WOMAN

You see, it is a very dangerous thing to listen. If one listens, one may be convinced and a man who allows himself to be convinced by an argument is a thoroughly unreasonable person.

YOUNG WOMAN

Ah! That accounts for so much in men that I have never understood, and so much in women that our husbands never appreciate in us.

MATURE WOMAN

(With a sigh) Our husbands never appreciate anything is us. We have to go to others for that!

YOUNG WOMAN

(Emphatically) Yes, always to others, have we not?

MATURE WOMAN

My husband is quite hopelessly faultless. He is really unendurably so, at times. There is not the smallest element of excitement in knowing him.

YOUNG WOMAN

Mine is quite as bad; he is as domestic as if he was a bachelor.

MATURE WOMAN

My poor dear. We have married perfect husbands, and we are well punished for it.

YOUNG WOMAN

(Laughing) My husband would say it was they who were punished.

MATURE WOMAN

Oh, dear, no! They are as happy as possible. And as for trusting us, it is tragic how much they trust us.

YOUNG WOMAN

Perfectly tragic.

The women form a tableau which is replaced by a slide of the identical scene as the scrim closes around the actors. Several slides of domestic scenes follow without commentary, then a slide of a theater marquee is projected, followed by a slide of a famous American comic actor of the period. The lights come up on WILDE.

WILDE

I once saw a well-known American actor perform a scene in pajamas. There has since been the greatest sympathy for his wife. It throws a lurid light on the difficulties of their married life.

* * * *
[At the time Brian and I assembled Nothing But My Genius, only two Wilde bio-movies had been released (Oscar Wilde, 1960, with Robert Morley as the writer; The Trials of Oscar Wilde, also 1960, starring Peter Finch); since 1986, of course, Stephen Fry made Wilde in 1997. On stage, Wilde had been portrayed in an obscure French play, Le Procès d’Oscar Wilde (The trial of Oscar Wilde) by Maurice Rostand (1934), and somewhat less obscure English one, Leslie and Sewall Stokes’s Oscar Wilde (1938, the basis for the 1960 film of the same title), then in Moisés Kaufman’s Gross Indecency: The Trials of Oscar Wilde in 1997.

[I’ve edited the front matter of the script a little, but the scenes themeselves are presented just as Brian and I composed them 25 years ago. I didn’t get Brian’s permission to post this project, though he owns half of it. I’m afraid I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing now. I’m sure he won’t object to sharing our effort with readers on ROT.]

07 May 2011

“Two Thousand Years of Stony Sleep”

by Leonardo Shapiro

[In 1969, Leonardo Shapiro, about whom I’ve written before on ROT, went to New Mexico and started a guerrilla theater troupe. He became part of the commune culture in and around Taos and participated in or contributed to some of the hippie life thriving there. One of the communes with which Leo was close, though he was never a member, was The Family, which ran a community center, clinic, several other enterprises, and a monthly newspaper called the Fountain of Light. Leo contributed the following column shortly after his first production in Taos, The Second Coming (see “Cheerleaders of the Revolution,” 31 October 2009). I reproduce the column as it was published in FoL (Arroyo Seco, NM; no. 10 [Jan. (?) 1970]), including idiosyncrasies of both writing and printing. (I’ve made a few corrections for clarity—FoL was a somewhat casual publication; this issue wasn’t dated, for instance—and some adjustments to compensate for the blog site's rudimentary formatting capabilities; otherwise I’ve left the text alone.)]


* * * *

A theater column for the Fountain of Light?
Sundown critics? gotta keep up.

“All writing is pigshit. People
who leave the obscure and try to define whatever it is that
goes on in their heads, are pigs.”
Antonin Artaud

Def.: Theater is a bunch of people watching another bunch of people pretending they’re someone else. Theater is an act of magick when, through the action of the “spectators” the actors become super-human beings enacting impossible sacraments and when through the action of the “actors” the “spectators” become a supra-human entity, a gestalt involved in celebrating (through consciousness) fate and the interaction of the people with the Gods (forces).

“Magic is the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with will.

“Any required change may be affected by the application of the proper kind and degree of force in the proper manner through the proper medium to the proper object . . .

“Every man and every woman is a star.”
Aleister Crowley

“I wanted all my poetry to be spoken on a stage or sung.”
Wm. Butler Yeats

THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart. The center cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
The blood dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned,
The best lack all conviction while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Wm. Butler Yeats

The theatre, when It was stIll part of religion, was already theatre: It liberated the spiritual energy of the congregation or tribe by incorporating myth and profaning or rather transcending it. The spectator thus had a renewed awareness of his personal truth in the truth of the myth, and through fright and a sense of the sacred he came to catharsls. . . .

“But today’s situation is much different. As social groupings are lees and less defined by religion, traditional mythic forms are In flux, disappearing and being reincarnated. The spectators are more and more indivuated in their relation to myth as corporate truth or group model, and belief is often a matter of intellectual conviction. This means that It is much more difficult to elicit the sort of shock needed to get at those psychic layers behind the life-mask. Group identification with myth—the equation of personal, individual truth with universal truth—is virtually impossible today.

“What is possible? First, confrontation with myth rather than identification. In other words, while retaining our private experiences, we can attempt to incarnate myth. . . If the situation is brutal, if we strip ourselves and touch an extraordinarily intimate layer, exposing it, the life-mask cracks and falls away.

“. . . Only myth—incarnate in the fact of the actor, In his living organism—can function as a taboo. The violation of the living organism, the exposure carried to outrageous excess, returns us to a concrete mythical situation, an experience of common human truth.”
Jerzy Grotowski

Theater is for Kulture and for crisis. Crisis theater is like the sit-ins and peace walks and Berkeley and Columbia and Chicago and Tijerina and the Court House raid and street theaters of all kinds and the conspiracy trial and Spiro Agnew. Crisis theatre is mostly participatory or on T’V’. Kulture theatre is like movies, and plays and dances and happenings and poor theatre and Brecht etc. etc. Kulture theatre contributes to a society’s common (mutually recognizable and tending to facilitate transactions—not necessarily interchangable) set of basic values, myth-consciousness, historic viewpoint and future outlook, time perception, and evocative vocabulary. (Not merely descriptive language tools.) Kulture developes quickly in a lifeboat. Kulture influences group behavior, it helps define and serves as a resonator for taboos and daily rituals and manners and costumes and customs and traditions and behavior patterns of all sorts.

There seems to me to be two main approaches to “theatre” today. Grotowski (with echoes of Artaud) and Brecht. (We’ll ignore entertainment which is a basic waste of time since as Krishnamurti points out entertainment both feeds on and creates boredom, in a deadly cycle that excludes honest confrontation or creative thought.) Grotowski’s theatre holds the actor primary, is centered around the director, and uses text either incidently, or as a heritage to confront or profane. This tends to lead into ritual theatre, something akin to the Zuni Shallakoe and certain Taos indian ceremonials (more about that next month.) Grotowski: “The theatre is an act carried on HERE AND NOW in the actors organism, in front of other men, . . .”. That is, the theatre does not represent an event, it is an event of consciousness.

Brecht’s theatre is script-oriented, aims at making demonstrations, moral and practical object lessons which aim at showing the audience truthful pictures of evil conditions in such a way that the Preventable Causes of these conditions become clear to the community. Brecht’s theatre aims at producing action outside the theatre, Grotowski’s at liberating consciousness within the individual.

Brecht’s theatre is revolutionary in design and intent, Grotowski’s in methodology and moment-by-moment impact. At present no theatre I am aware of (with the notable exception of certain Living Theatre productions: The Brig, Frankenstein, and Brecht’s Antigone) has managed to produce a working synthesis. This is what we hope to do in Taos. A political, tribal traveling theatre/circus of myth consciousness and social integration.

Free workshop sessions begin at the Gallery House Jan. 12, 13 and 14, two 2‑hour sessions a day at 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. Improvisation, circus techniques, theatre games, basic acting and mime, everybody welcome if your a little crazy and willing to work. Looking to produce a “play” for Washington’s Birthday, Feb. 22. Formal rehearsals start Feb. 1. Contact thru Taos Community Information Center.

MEDICINE SHOW. March will start rehearsals and training for a June opening. A street theater without streets. A core of 8-10 actors, two or three horse-drawn wagons which convert to stages and performance platforms. The game is theater in the form of circus: tightrope, trapeze, juggling, clowns etc. a trade fair and gypsy barter market whereever we set up, fortune-telling and snake oil. But also skits and plays and fast information, productions of Brecht and Shakespeare and material produced by the company and the community. A MAGICK THEATRE. To help create a symbolic vocabulary and subtext in the community. From masked gods and earth cycles to revues based on local news in Spanish and English.
Get in touch [Shapiro's symbol]


* * * *

[Leo’s “signature” at the end was a symbol he invented (like two X's on top of one another—and which I can't reproduce here), based on ancient Indian petroglyphs, such as those found in Bandelier National Monument, New Mexico, that was his personal take on the mathematical representation of infinity. He continued to use this symbol, often instead of a middle initial, for the rest of his life, even on official documents like NEA grant applications. (This column was the only instance of which I know where he used the symbol to replace his entire name, though.)

[I trust that most readers will know many of the writers Leo cited in his column: Artaud, Yeats, Grotowski, and Brecht, for instance. Some of the others, though, may be less familiar. Aleister Crowley (1875-1947) was a British occultist and magician, among other things. Though his heyday was the first four decades of the 20th century, he remains influential today among those who believe in magic and spiritualism. (Crowley used the spelling magick to distinguish “real” magic—that is, necromancy, or what he called thaumaturgy—from stage tricks or prestidigitation.) Leo wrote that during his time in New Mexico, he read much of Crowley’s work, which is still in print. Krishnamurti (Jiddu Krishnamurti, 1895-1986), whom Leo mentions above, was a philosopher whose writings and speeches were very popular among the generation of the 1960s around the world. Krishnamurti wasn’t a mystic or a preacher of any religion or spiritual faith (unlike, say, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi , another prominent Indian figure of the day), but a rather practical philosopher who maintained that since society was created by people, social change could only come when individuals changed themselves. I don’t know where Leo read or heard Krishnamurti’s statement about entertainment, but the philosopher made a similar statement in a speech to students at the New School for Social Research (now the New School University), just blocks from the NYU campus where Leo was himself a student at the time.

[Leo’s main sources for the quotations (which he occasionally mistranscribes) above are Anontin Artaud’s “All Writing is Pigshit . . .” ( “Toute l'écriture est de la cochonnerie”) from Artaud Anthology (City Lights Books, 1965), Aleister Crowley’s Magick (Routledge & Kean Paul, 1973), “An Introduction for my Plays” [1937] by W. B. Yeats from Essays and Introductions (Collier Books, 1961), Yeats’s “Second Coming,” and Towards a Poor Theatre by Jerzy Grotowski (Simon and Schuster, 1968).]

02 May 2011

Konstantin Stanislavsky and Michael Chekhov: Realism and Un-Realism


Michael Chekhov, the nephew of the great Russian playwright Anton Chekhov, met Konstantin Stanislavsky, the famous acting theorist, teacher, and director, in St. Petersburg in 1911. Chekhov, an aspiring actor, was just twenty, but he had already been studying acting for four years. Introduced to Stanislavsky by Olga Knipper-Chekhova, the playwright’s widow, the young Chekhov auditioned for the man who had founded the Moscow Art Theater, and was accepted as a member. In 1912, he joined the First MAT Studio where Stanislavsky personally taught the young actor the basics of his System. By 1924, the First Studio had become the Second Moscow Art Theater with Chekhov as the direc­tor. In only a dozen years, Michael Chekhov had risen from obscurity to a position almost in competition with the man who started the whole business.

Though Chekhov started as a disciple of the Stanislavsky System, he soon found himself rejecting some of his teacher’s principles. By the time he became head of the the Second MAT, he had developed the base of the Technique which he subsequently taught at the Chekhov Theatre Studio in England and the United States and which he outlined in his 1953 book, To The Actor.

(To distinguish between the two men’s theories and principles, I’ll refer to Stanislavsky’s as the System and Chekhov’s as the Technique. This appears to be the way they, themselves, referred to their work. The famous Method, it must be pointed out, is not Stanislavsky’s at all, but the American version of his ideas as translated in the 1930s by former members of the Group Theatre: Stella Adler, Robert Lewis, Harold Clurman, and, most particularly, Lee Strasberg. It was the last who popularized the Method at the Actors’ Studio in the ‘40s and ‘50s.)

The areas in which the two men differ are interesting not only in themselves, but as a comment on the theatrical worlds they inhabited, for although Stanislavsky was less than thirty years older than Chekhov, much had changed on the European stage during a very short time.

Stanislavsky began his search for a System of actor training in the late nineteenth century. An actor and director, he became dissatisfied with the undisciplined, narcissistic performances he saw on the stages of Moscow and St. Petersburg. In 1897, Stanislavsky met with Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko, one of Russia’s most famous directors and playwrights, and laid the foundations for the Moscow Art Theater. In his autobiography, My Life in Art, Stanislavsky gives an idea what he disliked about his contemporary theater:

“Take actor A,” we examined each other. “Do you consider him talented?”
“To a high degree.”
“Will you take him into the troupe?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he has adapted himself to his career, his talents to the demands of the public, his character to the caprices of the manager, and all of himself to theatrical cheapness. A man who is so poisoned cannot be cured.”
“And what will you say about actress B?”
“She is a good actress, but not for us.”
“Why?”
“She does not love art, but herself in art.”
“And actress C?”
“She won’t do. She is incurably given to hokum.”
“What about actor D?”
“We must pay a great deal of attention to him.”
“Why?”
“He has ideals for which he is fighting. He is not at peace with present conditions. He is a man of his ideals.”

The MAT opened its first production, Tolstoy’s Tsar Fyodor, in October 1898, and Stanislavsky began his search to bring “inner truth to the art of the stage” which led to the development of his famous System. He started experimenting with the newly discovered science of psychology as a basis for stage truth. Though he never taught a specific style of performance, developing his System to train actors to work truthfully in whatever style the role, play, and production demands, he was personally most comfortable with Naturalism. In the conclusion of his autobiography, Stanislavsky writes,

Nature cannot be outwitted. Its true organic creativeness cannot be supplanted either by poverty-stricken or luxurious theatricality. A time will come when the evolution of art shall have completed its predestined circle and nature itself will teach us methods and technique for the interpretation of the sharpness of the new life.

In this evolutionary process of art we can help the new generation, for much that we have experienced is being repeated at present, and only differs in name from what we knew. The grotesque, synthesis, generalization, are not new phenomena in art; in one or another form they have lived always, at all times, among all innovators and revolutionists. . . . Did not the radical movement of the past which was called impressionism move art along the very same path which has brought it to futurism and the absolute? The forms and names are new, but the nature of evolution and its chief laws are the same.

Obviously, Stanislavsky had a strong prejudice against anything non-realistic, as his pejoration of Impressionism, one of the most active and creative movements in Western art, clearly indicates.

In 1906, after becoming disappointed with his own recent performances, Stanislavsky took a vacation in Finland. Relaxing on a cliff overlooking the sea, he tried to discover why he had become so lifeless on stage. He determined that he had lost the “creative mood,” but he didn’t know how to generate it at will. How, he wondered, could he “make this condition no longer a matter of mere accident . . .”? This was the germ of the System he devised to train an actor not only in stage craft, but in creativity. By 1911, when he founded the First Studio, the System had become accepted.

Stanislavsky’s System is founded on one major principle: “organic nature.” By this, Stanislavsky means “a psychic [i.e., psychological] technique which enables [the actor] to evoke a creative state of mind during which inspiration descends on him more easily.” The actor’s work on himself, however, isn’t the only place in the System for psychology. The other half of it, the actor’s work on his role, also requires this “psycho-technique.” In order to portray life on stage truthfully, an actor has to study the play and, in effect, psychoanalyze the character he’ll play. It’s Stanislavsky’s theory that all the character’s physical actions are manifestations of his psyche, and since an actor can only play physical actions, he must under­stand the character’s psyche. In order to give his theories a scientific basis, Stanislavsky actually studied psychology, par­ticularly the teachings of Ivan Pavlov concerning conditioned reflexes, and neurophysiology.

Chekhov, who was judged a brilliant actor by critics and peers alike, began to feel hemmed in by Stanislavsky’s System. His performances, beginning in 1921 with the part of Khlestakov in Nikolai Gogol’s The Inspector General, became less realistic and more complex. His portrayal of the title role in August Strindberg’s Erik XIV, directed in 1921 by Evgenii Vakhtangov, was a major triumph in which Chekhov portrayed a highly complex character in a non-representational way. Vakhtangov said of this production,

This is an experiment of the Studio in its search for theatrical forms. Up until now the Studio, true to Stanislavski’s teaching, has doggedly aimed at obtaining mastery of inner experience; now the Studio is entering a period of search for new forms. This is the first experiment.

The stylized nature of the production is easily seen from Nikolai Gorchakov’s description of the set:

The twisted columns of the palace, the spots of gold, the rust-spotted bronzes, gave an impression of Erik’s decline and impending death. There were huge columns of straight lines, broken off here and there; these were fragments not of a palace, but of a prison for Erik. There was a labyrinth of passages, stairways, and small platforms that created a distinct deception in relation to perspectives.

The Vakhtangov-Chekhov production of Erik XIV gave an indi­cation where the First Studio and its new director were heading. In 1924, the Second MAT presented Shakespeare’s Hamlet, directed by Chekhov who also played the leading role. The production was Expressionistic, and more like the work of the experimental director Vsevelod Meyerhold than that of Stanislavsky. Chekhov reinterpreted the play for an audience that had experienced revolution and war. He made large cuts in the script and trimmed the cast, focusing on what he saw as Hamlet’s examination of good and evil in human nature.

The time was shifted to the Middle Ages, with a set that was “very stylized, almost nightmarishly phantasmagorical. Both lighting and music . . . were used to create its mystical atmos­phere.” The stylized costumes were Constructivistic and “[e]xag­gerated, mask-like make-up emphasized the spiritual hollowness of the court’s world, which was further underscored by the court­iers’ mincing gaits and artificial voices . . . .” This pro­duction marked a nearly complete artistic break between Chekhov and Stanislavsky, whose System Chekhov felt led inevitably to Naturalism. That genre, Chekhov writes, “is not art, for the artist can add nothing of his own to the naturalistic ‘work of art’ since his task is limited to knowing how to copy ‘nature’ more or less accurately.” Three years later, he left the Soviet Union for good.

Many people saw the Hamlet production as an allegory for Chekhov’s own life. Having gone through a terrible period of emotional and psychological troubles requiring psychiatry and hypnosis, he turned to Eastern philosophy for comfort. In 1922, he began studying the teachings of Rudolf Steiner, a German “spiritual scientist.” Steiner’s theories of Anthroposophy, which posits that man has an innate spiritual nature operating independently of the will and the senses, and Eurythmy, “the science of visible speech,” found their way into Chekhov’s workshops. As a result of this influence, much of Chekhov’s Technique has a distinct mystical cachet.

In general, then, the two men differed in both form and philosophy, though, in a very real sense, their goals remained the same. Both aimed for truth on stage and a dedicated, disci­plined company of well-trained actors. Stanislavsky, however, relied on psychology and science as the prime resources for gaining control over the work. He also applied his practices most avidly to Realistic and Naturalistic plays, not being happy with the MAT’s attempts at Symbolism or Expressionism. Chekhov, on the other hand, taught his students to rely first on imagina­tion and inspiration long before any analysis of their roles, and he encouraged non-realistic, imagistic performances. Taking Steiner’s words as a credo, Chekhov notes in To the Actor, “Not that which is inspires the creation, but that which may be; not the actual, but the possible.”

(It’s important to emphasize that the matter of style wasn’t actually part of the two men’s theories. Stanislavsky may not have liked non-Realistic material, but his System can prepare actors for roles in non-Realistic plays and guide their work in rehearsal. I’ve written an extensive essay, "The Natyasastra and Stanislavsky: Points of Contact" (Theatre Studies [1991]), which I believe proves that the System itself isn’t innately Realistic-Naturalistic. The converse is certainly true of Chekhov’s Technique, which is used by a number of actors in realistic roles. Chekhov, himself, had a successful Hollywood film career during which he performed quite realistically.)

We’ve already seen briefly that while Stanislavsky empha­sizes that an actor must analyze his role in order to justify his behavior on stage, Chekhov stresses imagination. In order to permit his imagination to function fully, the actor must find the credulity and naïveté of a child or a primitive man. In pre­paring a role, Stanislavsky’s System dictates that the actor first study the script to understand “its fundamentals, its essence, its literary merit.” The second step for this actor is to analyze the part before he goes on to the external circum­stances and then the inner circumstances of the character. Only after all that study’s accomplished does the Stanislavsky actor move on to the the “Emotional Experience,” which includes the creative and imaginative work on the role.

Chekhov’s Technique mandates a different path. The actor’s first obligation is to allow her imagination to draw a picture of the character. Instead of seeing herself as the character, as the Stanislavsky actor should do, she must conjure up an image of the character. The second step in Chekhov’s Technique is inspi­ration, which occurs when the image has disappeared, but remains “somewhere” working within the actor. Stanislavsky would never trust such vague tactics, which leave the psychological analysis until well after the imaginary work’s begun.

Curiously, despite his stress on the ephemeral imagination, it’s Chekhov who puts the greater stress on physical characteri­zation. In Stanislavsky’s view, the character’s physical life develops slowly as the actor works on his part, becoming more specific as the actor learns the character’s motivations and objectives. For the Chekhov actor, physical characterization is developed almost right away, based on a choice made from inspiration rather than analysis.

Chekhov developed a theory concerning a character’s center, the locus of all her movements and energy. By selecting a center for the character that’s different from her own, the actor immediately begins to create a physical character who has her own way of moving, sitting, waving, drinking, and so on. According to the Technique, this choice is made early in rehearsal—even before the first day. It may change as the work progresses, but the actor starts with some choice.

Another item of difference between the Stanislavsky and Chekhov approaches is “Affective Memory,” which is sometimes called “Emotional Memory.” This is the technique of the System by which an actor summons up a response to an imaginary situation by remembering a similar one from his real past. By extension, this is the same as Uta Hagen’s “Substitution,” which can also be used for people, objects, and places. Chekhov felt that this was dangerous for the actor. “If we take the real image of our real [dying] grandfather,” he says to a student asking about the impulse to cry, “it becomes too personal in the wrong sense. You will get certain feelings, perhaps strong ones, but they will be of a different kind than we are aiming at in our work . . . .”

Chekhov’s alternative is what he calls the “Archetype.” By creating the image of the archetypal grandfather—her image of all grandfathers—the actor can draw on that image instead of a personal one. The availability of an Archetype for an actor depends entirely on the flexibility of her daily emotional life. She must have been open to experiencing all the grandfathers she ever met, read about, or heard about, storing up the images in her imagination to be called upon later. Never, in the Technique, does the actor use a real person or event to create an emotional reaction. Stanislavsky would most likely deem this device far too unreliable, despite the dangers inherent in Substitution.

There are several more specific differences in the way a Stanislavsky actor prepares a role and the way a Chekhov actor does, but, in a sense, the real difference is that Chekhov adapted the System to a more intuitive and inspirational approach. He actually kept most of the fundamentals of his old teacher’s program, reinterpreting some of the points and opening it up to less rigid application. He did, however, add a few devices that make his Technique more than just a restatement of the System. The most interesting by far, and the most telling in terms of Chekhov’s own life, is the Psychological Gesture. It’s very closely related to the idea of the Archetype and to Steiner’s Eurythmy. Chekhov’s own description of the PG, as it’s usually called, states,

Imagine that you are going to play a character which . . . has a strong and unbending will, is possessed by dominating, despotic desires, and is filled with hatred and disgust.

You look for a suitable over-all gesture which can express all this in the character, and perhaps after a few attempts you find it . . . .

It is strong and well shaped. When repeated several times it will tend to strengthen your will. The direction of each limb, the final position of the whole body as well as the inclination of the head are such that they are bound to call up a definite desire for dominating and despotic conduct. The qualities which fill and permeate each muscle of the entire body, will provoke within you feelings of hatred and disgust. Thus, through the gesture, you penetrate and stimulate the depths of your own psychology.

The gesture is seldom actually performed on stage, though it may be. It’s merely an archetypal physicalization that serves as a metaphor for the character as the actor sees her. It is, of course, a secret for the actor; neither her fellow actors, the director, nor the audience are aware of it, but they can sense that something’s working within the character that isn’t on the surface. According to Chekhov, however, a gesture isn’t just a movement of the body. Objects, feelings, and other elements are also gestures in his terms, opening up the possibilities of this device infinitely.

Taken together, Stanislavsky’s System and Chekhov’s Technique can offer an actor a rich variety of artistic strategies which can suit most needs in any production style. The System’s preference for psychological Realism is possibly a function of the nineteenth-century interest in depicting real life in literature and on the stage. By the time Chekhov reached maturity, in the early decades of this century, movements such as Symbolism, Constructivism, and Expressionism had made a mark in the artistic community of Europe. Realism and Naturalism had become the conservative style of the mainstream, while more experimental styles were the preference of the younger, more daring artists. Both programs can work for either camp; you simply take your choice: Realism or un-Realism.

[A version of this article was published in The Players’ Journal (2008). I’ve also drawn on this same material in articles I’ve published on ROT before; see “Psychological Gesture & Leading Center,” 27 October 2009, and “An Actor’s Homework, Part 2,” 22 April 2010.]