"Always, while studying a part, go back at intervals to the metre, not to limit what you are doing with it, but to see what more shades of meaning are possible. Test your intention against the metre: small words which seem unimportant, in context with the stress take on different shades of significance, and enrich the meaning---or, rather shift the meaning. "
This is the basic "homework" of the actor. Studying the text exactly how it is written, and in Shakespeare's acting class, assigning special attention to metre, rhythm, and rhyme. But here is the controversy for me, the situation addressed at the end of the article: Should we completely obey the metre, embracing how verse should sound, or should we attempt to speak the language as naturalistically as possible, so as to keep in tune with a modern audiences' ear? Personally, I lean towards the latter, but the article points out that just because the language is spoken in a conversational method does not affirm the meaning of the language is understood, "for the meaning is so often made clear by the rhythm." So,which approach is to convey the many meanings of the text as precisely as possible? The article simply states we must find a decent combination of the two approaches. However, I don't see this being as simple as it sounds. Is it even possible?
2 comments:
Acknowledging the whole ‘great minds think alike’, I confess that I’ve been pondering many of the very same questions that Beth posted about As You Like It and its language. I have always hated scansion with a passion unrivaled by even the burning intensity of a thousand suns. The reason? I never saw the point. After all, why should I spend valuable time examining meter when it won’t change the outcome of the material? This was my opinion on the activity of scansion, an opinion heartily felt but not heartily tested.
For you see, my dear (imaginary) readers, I was involved only in the scansion, the time-consuming and tedious fashioning of meter and , to poetry . . . never to scripts. No one had ever explained, even in a class on Shakespeare, what Cicely Berry had explained in her article “Metre and Rhythm”, what Beth seemed to hit the nail on in her post when she quoted Berry: the very structure of the language of scripts, of theater, can speak volumes about a character’s thoughts and motivations, ideas for interpretation woven into the very foundation of the plays themselves. In other words, whereas the scansion of poetry may result only in a few hours wasted, the scansion of scripts could lead to valuable and previously unknown insights into character foundation and plot development. The scansion of theater can and does rock very foundations.
Perhaps this would be a good time to wax eloquent about Shakespeare, a playwright who not only gave us great scripts but simplified the jobs for us directors and actors. I could even express my internal cry of shame and horror and I didn’t know all of this before I directed my first Shakespearean production. Instead, however, I must return to Beth’s final thought (one that will admittedly keep many of us up long into the night): is it possible to find a happy medium between meter and natural speak, between order and artistic freedom?
I have to believe the answer is ‘yes’ although I believe the price may be more structured than most artists are willing to be and it may be more creative than most analysts wish to be. In other words, it’s time to embrace the fact that Shakespeare can not simply be seen as a playwright no more than he can be considered simply a great writer; one must acknowledge that what makes Shakespeare so amazing is that he transcends the realms of literature and rises above the domain of drama to reside in the dominion shared by scant others, a place where the artistic value is as important as the intellectual worth.
In other words, with Shakespeare, directors/actors/etc. must admit that good work isn’t founded by a magical epiphany or just plain talent; those things may make good work into great moments but only if they first find their foundations in complex thinking and hard work. On the other end of the spectrum then, scholars and the literati must acknowledge that not everything can be understood in terms of meter and rhythm, but must be equally analyzed in less quantifiable ideas such as heart and intent. I’m sure Beth was hoping for a much simpler answer, perhaps in the handy form of a much appreciated how-to. Unfortunately, I must simply conclude that Beth is right: finding that happy medium between the two worlds is never going to be simple. I do, however, believe it might just be possible. It’s just going to require a lot of work for everyone involved. Let the late nights of muse-infused study begin . . .
Good thoughts on this stuff, both of you. I think you've hit on the very thing that Berry is suggesting: that it's actually not about whether you get the meter exactly right, but what you learn from the tension between it and the "natural" way to deliver the lines. Just an awareness of the rhythm creates a kind of internal conflict in the actor that gives the lines a certain energy when spoken. It's less about "right" or "wrong" than it is what the differences within these speeches can tell us about the characters or the events being performed.
If you're interested, I wrote this post while we were discussing rhythm/meter/language in Romeo and Juliet last year. I think looking at the Luhrmann R&J compared with Zeffirelli's version gives a good sense of how the way you choose to deal with meter is an interpretive choice itself. But also, you might think of meter as the musicality of language, and I've included videos of two famous versions of "My Favorite Things" to show how the treatment of time (which metre actually is) carries meaning that, as Katie suggests, more intangible and can't be put into words.
Post a Comment