by Addison DeWitt~

Stop Dicking Around
or
An End to Theatrical Pussy-footing.

Like an ever-darkening, irregularly shaped mole on my skin, the genericism of the American Theatre has been concerning me for some time now. This watering down of its writing so as to appeal to the American bourgeoisie, this downsizing of productions due to economics, this flagrant marketing of yesterday’s blockbuster animated movie ground out onto the once hallowed stages of Broadway all add up to a weakening of the magic that first pulled me into the careless, haphazard, caressing arms of the theatre. Which now seem to be enfolding me in a vice-like grip of political correctness, threatening to snuff what little life I have left worth living. I believe the recent trend of political correctness in all things theatrical is the slow poison that will eventually weaken and destroy the foundation of our beloved art form and make my headache even worse.

That being said, let me state that I am a Feminist. I wholeheartedly believe that men and women are equal. I believe that whatever a woman sets her “little” heart to do should not be thwarted by antiquated beliefs advancing the incorrect notion that her dream is not befitting the ever-changing societal views of what defines femininity. I believe that both men and women have labored under the yoke of an invalidating paradigm dictating particular behaviors to particular genders for eons and it’s time for this fuzzy thinking to end.

I am also a Theatrician. This word of my own devising indicates a lifelong dedication to studying, participating, effecting and, one hopes, enhancing the history, action, outcome and validity of the theatrical arts. It is more than an affect. It is my life. Which is why, when I believe my life is being threatened, I feel compelled to speak.

A wee bit of condensed history for the ignorant few practicioners (“model/actors” most probably) who are unfamiliar with the past inequities of the stately boards. Before women were legally allowed to set foot on a stage, young men whose voices hadn’t yet broken were trained to affect the timely, generally accepted physical and emotional nuances associated with the female of the species. Once their voices shattered the young men would be relegated to playing only male roles. Till that pubescent ascension manifested, however, they brought to their characters a certain softness thought required at the time. They were male, certainly, but their affect and physical approach were decidedly female in all recognizable outward manifestations. This, joined with the standard theatrical modus operandi of suspension of disbelief (as well as the absence of any biological women sharing the stage with the boys, therein forgoing any side-by-side comparisons), allowed audiences exposure to representational, emotionally diverse theatre. Once women were allowed the privilege (?) of joining their male theatrical counterparts on the boards, the theatre’s emotional legitimacy was vastly improved and soon all female roles were played by female actors.

Only right, it seems to me since it’s virtually impossible for a man to convincingly play a woman. He can wear the costume, sure, apply the makeup, don the wig, lighten the voice (depending on the role), change his center of gravity so it’s lower in the body, etc., but he can never literally embody the role. A man can only empathize with what it might be like to give birth. He can imagine it. But no matter how much imagining, the fact remains that he is womb-less. Neither can he menstruate. And, while it may be possible for a man to comprehend having breasts, that comprehension will forever be relegated to his imagination only. And, speaking only for myself these days, apparently, I do not want to see an actor onstage merely comprehending intellectually what a character might be like. That isn’t acting. It’s television acting.

A few dozen years ago, a close theatrical acquaintance of mine staged an all female version of Julius Caesar. He did this so as to offer his many talented female actor peers an opportunity to play roles they’d not been afforded previously. An admirable goal, I remember thinking at the time, while simultaneously wondering if it would further any textual illumination. It didn’t. His production was met with much social praise and some critical examination. While I found the show serviceable, it provided no great revelations or perceptive insights. Generally, I found the production to be, ultimately, so-so. Neither shocking, nor dull. Neither innovative theatrically, nor politically serving. For me, it has since been relegated to the position of novelty.

At this same time, in this same city, a production of Clare Boothe Luce’s The Women opened at a small fringe theatre. It featured male actors playing women. Débutez les brickbats! You would have thought that the company had staged a remount of Franz Liebkind’s Springtime For Hitler. Only this time played straight and with live dead Jews. Most locals felt, as I recall, that in an age when there were so few well-written female roles in the theatre, why would someone, a man, undoubtedly, have the temerity to stage an all-female character play with men in dresses? As with the production of Julius Caesar, while I found the show serviceable, it provided no great revelations or perceptive insight. Generally, I found the production to be, ultimately, so-so. Neither shocking, nor dull. Neither innovative theatrically, nor politically serving. For me, it, too, has since been relegated to the position of novelty.

But, what has remained with me, and what rises again from within my irritatingly equitable soul when I remember these events, is the adamant disapproval one production received versus the almost automatic acceptance of the other. This didn’t strike me as fair, appropriate or, more pointedly, equal. And, since neither production ended up being worth a second look theatrically speaking, I’d managed to forget about both productions completely, freeing my maze-filled mind for other theatrical exploits far more worthy of discussion. Until lately.

The main reason cited for what is now tellingly called “gender-blind” casting (contemporary read: women playing roles written for men), is the dearth of well-written female roles in the theatre when compared to the plethora of powerful male roles. Whether or not this argument holds up to fact is completely beside the point. If we are, as Theatricians, expected to conform our artistic goals and visions to societal equatability and a sense of fair play over textual adherence and artistic servitude, we are in grievous error. The art of the theatre begins with the word, and, while it may not end solely with that word, neither should it be held hostage to a notion that the playing field should be made even for all. The point being, it is not our responsibility as theatre artists to right the wrongs of society. It is our job to (re)present those wrongs in a clear, distinct light so as to reflect back to the viewing public what it is they are doing that’s questionable, noble, unconscionable and/or redemptive. And, with this humongous responsibility on our collective shoulders, we should make sure that nothing we do is “blind”.

I recently had the awkward experience of attending a piece of theatre wherein the young, male lead character had to overcome social ostracism to attain an admirable goal that would benefit all the characters in the play. The slight, young actor playing the role tried oh-so-very-hard to fill the physically demanding role and, at one point, attempted to seduce the female lead while teaching her how to drive a car with a stick shift. While cleverly written, it was apparent that this young actor had never either A) seduced a woman or B) driven anything other than an automatic. It was painful to witness and I wrote the actor off as simply incompetent and pitiable. Then it was revealed, well into the laborious second act, that the character was actually a young woman posing as a young man. Quelle surprise. And, while my appreciation of the actor playing the role shifted somewhat, it could not be argued that what had been perceived originally as simply bad acting, was, in fact, an inherent inability on the part of the female actor to recreate what it’s like to embody the male form. That’s physics.

But wait, I hear you snort, if it was possible for an audience to suspend their disbelief during Shakespeare’s time, why is it not possible now? One of the reasons it worked in the past is the same reason that black face was acceptable as entertainment for years. Both approaches played to stereotypes that no longer apply in our society. (Besides, I’m not saying it isn’t possible. I’m saying it isn’t theatre. It’s artifice. Anti-theatre.) Also, because the boys playing women in Shakespeare’s original productions had no actual women onstage with them to which they could be compared, the reality created was more believable within its own construct. That’s not the case today. A woman playing Richard III, for example, playing opposite actual men must affect mannerisms and physicalities that come naturally to her male counterparts. She must research and apply to her male role what happens automatically with her male peers. As a result, the audience will experience her experience of execution rather than Richard’s experience of the play. No matter how well or ineffectively she plays the role, it becomes about her gender. And there’s nothing blind about that.

Why many modern practitioners feel compelled to cast roles with the opposite gender vary. Directors with whom I’ve spoken about the topic have offered reasons from lofty to absurd. One told me that there were no male actors available to him. Another offered that she was attempting an examination of gender roles in society. Still a third offered up a deconstructed approach to classical characters and/or text through a Feminist perspective. I told the first director that I found his reasoning incomprehensible. There isn’t a town in all of the United States where this excuse would hold water. He actually claimed that he couldn’t find a more suitable actor to play the role of Lear. In New York City. The second approach, an examination of gender roles in modern society, is acceptable to me only within the confines of Academia or an in-house workshop production. Have at it. But, as an audience member, I do not wish to pay an ever-increasing ticket price to see how Willy Loman’s feminine side can be examined as an insight into his emotional reaction to emasculated dispensibility. Death of a Salesman is a tale of one man‘s powerlessness. That varies greatly from one woman’s powerlessness. I would be very interested in seeing a play examining a woman’s powerlessness in society, Just not Death of a Salesman. I don’t give a whit how well she might play the role. The play is not about the actor. Thirdly, a deconstruction of text/character through a Feminist point of view would be vastly interesting as a doctoral thesis. However, I don’t want to see that paper onstage. I want theatre. I want flesh and blood characters that embody the Human experience. Not deconstruct or examine it. And I want the differences between us represented and celebrated so as to guarantee an emotional response. Not an intellectual or political one.

All the reasons I’ve ever heard stated as to why one chooses to “gender-blind” cast a show whither when compared to what I suspect is the true reason: political correctness and overt gender discrimination guilt. But, since the theatre always has been and always should be above any political or societal motivations, for it to be effected by trends, fads, or whims of majority is counter to its essential purpose. It is an art. And, as an art, must find unique and specific ways to represent and overcome society’s ills. Not be obligated to them.