Heather Raffo wrote that at the core of her play lie the voices of Layal, Huda, and the American. In terms of stage time, she is correct: these three women command the majority of the audience’s attention because they have the bigger parts in 9 Parts of Desire. For me personally, however, these three women were overshadowed by the characters who we only met once or twice, and always briefly: the doctor; Nanna, the peddler; Umm Ghada, the childless mother; the Iraqi girl; and Amal, the romantically unlucky Bedouin. It was these women that haunted me; it was these characters that I longed for and hoped would receive more stage time so that I could hear more of their stories. Layal, Huda, and the American were interesting women but they didn’t move me as Raffo’s more minor characters did.
As a writer, I’ve been repeatedly told that my minor characters are so interesting, so funny, so much more vibrant than my main characters. I must admit: it can be terribly annoying to have peer review sessions focus more on characters who only grace at most twenty pages of my tale, leaving those main characters who are the story to sit quietly in the corner. To have my main actors complain that the roles I wrote for them aren’t as powerful or amusing as the minor roles that I wrote is frustrating. Yet I understand why this happens. I get so invested in my main characters who are, in so many ways, pieces of me, that I forget that I must work just as hard to make them real to the outside world. When I write minor characters, I think. When I write major characters, I feel. I think that’s why I don’t react as strongly to Layal, Huda, and the American. They have such emotional force for Raffo that I think a small, subconscious part of her (one that lies in all writers) forgot that these women might not have that same emotional force for others. In other words, writers often invest so much of themselves into their major characters that they can’t see these characters through the objective gaze a writer needs.
As a diatribe on writing, this blog is a great reminder that we must analyze even those characters closest to us with the same scrutiny we so easily apply to our more minor characters so that all of our characters, especially the heroes and heroines, pack a great punch. How one might ask, however, does this apply to playscript interpretation? I think for starters that it raises some interesting ideas for study and staging. When I directed Twelfth Night, the characters that were the strongest and shined the brightest were not the lead love roles but Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Malvolio. These were the characters that audiences came back night after night to see. These were the characters that reminded me why we can’t set aside Shakespeare. And yet, by default of stage time (and in this case talent), these were the characters that often had the fewest rehearsals.
But what if instead we, as directors and actors, constructed the entire show around the minor characters? What if the majority of staging, blocking, and costuming was focused intentionally on these smaller roles? Thus, instead of simply stealing the show, these smaller roles would be purposefully given the show. I don’t know what this would do or if it would even work without manipulating the script beyond the appropriate level. Yet as a I think about the characters who move me the most, as a director, as an actor, as an audience member, and as a writer, I can’t help but wonder if it might not be exactly what is needed. Perhaps then the old adage “There are no small parts, only small actors” would cease to be a placating expression and become instead a new vision for theater.
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3 comments:
I think this is a really interesting point about Heather Raffo's note on the writing of the play. (One could write an entire book on playwrights' production notes from this semester, eh?) I also find the "smaller" characters in this play moving, and agree that this is often the case. I wonder if you think casting more actors would achieve this, as people have suggested. Do you think the characters would get more of their due if they were clearly distinct from the others when performed?
In contrast to Katie, I feel that Layal is the most compelling character in this play and is in no way overshadowed by the other characters in the script. For my part, it is almost impossible to get her out of my thoughts during this show… How can a woman be at peace while admitting she has been raped many times? Also, Layal is edgy and seductive in describing her passion for life and lust.
Layal: …all I want is to feel it, love – / I am crazy for it, / I am hungry every morning like I have never eaten before, / and there is never enough to feed me / so when I find more / I risk everything for it / oblivion even, I don’t care / I submit completely. / And still I am empty / I never feel worth / because I shouldn’t be so hungry / because others are not so hungry / or they can control it – but I cannot control myself / I cannot keep my mind from flesh.
There is an incredible internal struggle going on within Layal that is fascinating to watch. On one side, she is a victim living in an environment in which she is horribly vulnerable. On the other, she is empowering herself and expressing her satisfaction for her lifestyle and the way it makes her feel. My belief is that she does wish things would change for the better in Iraq, but she is too full of love and pride for her country and way of life to admit this to anyone. This struggle is what makes her the most captivating character.
With regard to casting more actresses in the smaller roles of this show, as Amy brought up in her response to your post, I think it hurts the experience of the performance. In some ways, I do not know if I’d really want to see this show without Heather Raffo performing it… This may seem sad and unkind to the script, but so much of my fascination and desire to see this play is founded in seeing Heather Raffo’s creative interpretation and expression of her personal experiences with these Iraqi women. For me, the power of this play is best expressed through the power of one. One perspective can change many.
I agree with you, Katie, when you say that smaller roles can be very powerful. The times that I've had very small roles have been the most exciting, and it bothers me when people assume that I'm upset about getting a small part.
I'm sure that each small character is different. I think that one common reason why a small character is interesting is that they can do things often without having to justify and/or apologize for their own actions later on in the story. This can lead to mystery. Yet there should still be some truth in the actions for the character. This portrayal of truth can be difficult if the small character does something that might seem odd to the audience.
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