One of the fundamental influences in my early career came from a book that I read at the age of 20. Peter Brook’s The Empty Space. I’m not in the habit of reading books a second or third time but I’ve made a point of reading The Empty Space in my 30s, 40s, and 50s. This reminds me that I really must journey through it again now in my 70s. Brook’s wisdom and purity of thought seems to become richer and deeper each passing decade as I accumulate more life experience. The older I get, the more I understand just a bit more of Sir Peter’s trilogy of theatre: the Holy, the Immediate and the Rough .

Here’s a quote I highlighted in yellow in 1971. I was 20 years old.

Theatre exists in the here and now. It is what happens at that precise moment when you perform, that moment at which the world of the actors and the world of the audience meet. A society in miniature, a microcosm brought together every evening within a space. Theatre’s role is to give this microcosm a burning and fleeting taste of another world, and thereby interest it, transform it, integrate it.

Ah yes…The moment when the world of the actors and the world of the audience meet.

My guess is that if you are reading this you have experienced a moment or two like this, either on stage, or in the audience. Maybe you were part of a designer/director/actor collaboration that created a moment when everyone seemed to be breathing as one, a moment of collective, profound silence, a moment of community stillness.

I hope I can adequately describe three moments that I’ve had the pleasure to witness.

the HOLY

Early in my university career I directed a production of Raisin in the Sun. I could successfully cast the company with undergraduate actors. We had a number of exceptionally talented performers at that time. But there really wasn’t any actress to create the complex role of Lena Younger, Mama. Fortunately I had several colleagues with professional connections who introduced me to Minnie Gentry. Ms. Gentry was available and interested in playing Mama once again. Minnie was a gentle, elegant, commanding presence. We all learned so much from her about the play, about life for a black family in Chicago in the 40s and 50s. I asked her why she decided to join yet another Raisin company. She had created Mama in a number of productions. She told me, “Well, honey, I find my family again.”

The moment of stillness occurred at the play’s climax in Act II. Mama’s son, Walter, confesses that he has squandered the family’s life savings. Lorraine Hansberry gave Mama a speech in reaction to this revelation that is full of anger and grief as she thinks about the hard labor that her husband endured to earn the life savings. The speech ends with a beautiful prayer. Every actor has a deep desire to move the audience emotionally, to make them feel what the characters are experiencing. Minnie did this and more. She literally moved the audience. I would stand in the back of the house and watch most of the people visibly twisting in their seats, some moaning, some crying as Minnie embodied Mama’s agony. It was the closest I had ever come to experiencing what Brook described as the Holy Theatre, where the invisible is made visible.

photos by George Black

the IMMEDIATE

I’ve had the distinctive honor to work with a number of talented, dedicated designers in my directing career. The team assembled for a 1995 University of Virginia contemporary production of Hamlet was particularly collaborative. The set was a convoluted series of platforms painted to resemble slabs of rusted metal. The central platform was designed with a steep rake that was 8-9 feet high upstage center. I suggested in a design meeting that it would be wonderful if we could somehow make the Ghost of Hamlet’s father magically disappear at the end of the first act scene. What the talented design team dreamed up was indeed magical and simply achieved, no machines, no hidden wires, no sudden sound or light changes. Our Ghost was a strapping 6’3” raw boned actor named James Weber. James was athletic by nature, fearless when it came to bold physical stage work. Costumed in a pure white knee-length nightgown, the ghost would bid “Adieu, adieu, adieu, Remember me” then turn directly upstage and run at full speed to the upstage edge of the raked platform and leap off. As he literally flew through the air, James would turn his whole body to the audience. There was a split second where it appeared that he was suspended midair in the light and then in an instant he would disappear. Drop into the ground. The entire audience would gasp then sit in a moment of stillness and then the quiet whispering would invariably follow. “How did that happen?”  Our design team had placed a pole vaulter’s landing pit pad behind the platform. Its thickness of welcoming foam safely cushioned James’ fall.  Brook might call this a moment of Immediate Theatre, a theatre that “asserts itself in the present.” He challenges us to bring the audience vicariously into the present moment so that what is happening on stage is simultaneously happening to each audience member emotionally, as he put it “in their hearts”.

photos by Michael Bailey

the ROUGH

Luigi Pirandello’s Six Characters in Search of an Author is a play examining the relationship between illusion and reality. A melancholy family of six lost souls interrupts a rehearsal to demand that the director and actors finish the play that their author never completed. They are condemned to wander in limbo, telling their tragic story over and over, begging for resolution. I knew that our production needed a memorable, even shocking, final image. I had explored several options with the cast, none of which was satisfying. My leading actor offered the solution. Chris Harcum created the character of the Father. One afternoon,chatting over cups of coffee, he asked me to consider staging the final moment where he would be chained to the theater’s ghost light. I really can’t put into words the impact of this moment. Hopefully the image I’ve provided will give you some indication of the raw, anguished and trapped feeling that Chris vulnerably created, howling as the lights faded. A rough theater of “salt, sweat, noise, smell” – Chris released in the space something that was raw, unleashed and scary.

photos by Michael Bailey