About 2,400 years ago, a chap dismissed writing as being, at best, an unworthy successor to speech, and at worst a tool for reminding that gives people the feeling of being wise without distilling wisdom. While Socrates has a point--discussing writing, what is written, and why it was written are worthwhile aspects of my pedagogy and the way in which people live and learn--I think, in this case, Socrates underestimated the purpose, point, and power* of writing.
There are a lot of lessons to learn from Socrates' points--which is why he's still popular, still quoted, still discussed, still taught--but the takeaway from me is actually one of a cautionary tale. For Socrates--an illiterate--the concept of reading and writing was insufficient. In many ways, the latest technology had no immediate purpose to Socrates, and as a result, he insisted its flaws outweighed its benefits.
Today I saw a TED talk about audience being held captive by the darkness. Part of Mr. Cohen's comments included a point that, for thousands of years--almost as long as since Socrates was last kicking up trouble--people have dealt with "ambient attention" of an audience, the idea that actors have had to compete with distractions in order to tell their dramatic story. I don't disagree that this was the case, though there seems to be some dismissing of history here. Ancient Greek plays happened during the day, for the most part, but the sun and its lighting were often necessary for how they were telling the story--in other words, deliberate lighting as a technique is an old aspect of the craft.
Anyway, Cohen's point is that it's preferable for actors to be in house lighting, using cues from the audience on how to adapt their playing. Modern theaters that manipulate attention by dimming, changing, and modifying the lights, he argues, are doing a disservice to the actors, who will give superior performances if they can judge reactions.
As a non-actor, I can't speak to that point. As a teacher--whose job involves theatricality, timing, pacing, and wordplay--I can see what he means. I do a better job as a teacher when I can see my audience, and I can provide a better lesson when I can see my students' faces.
However, the counterpart to Cohen's observations is that, to reclaim the possibilities of these ostensibly superior performances, we must turn the lights back on. Indeed, much like Socrates (though without the same cachet), Cohen's argument relies upon the effect of technology that is but dimly seen**. The advent of electric lights--and, as he observes in his talk, cinema--changed the possibilities of the stage. To this technological overlord we now owe obeisance and these are the shackles he wishes us to remove.
But I don't think that's the case. Experimentation is the lifeblood of theater (or so I'm told), and advances have always been around. Going from open fields to acoustically-beneficial amphitheaters was a departure from dramatic tradition. Putting actors on an elevated platform and allowing the million to mill about them was a departure from dramatic tradition. Even the Black Friars was the technological equivalent to 3-D theaters for Shakespeare's time: His play, The Tempest, contains special effects unseen in the rest of Shakespeare, done to take advantage of the Black Friars Theater in London. (James Shapiro explores this in his book The Year of Lear.) Some of the effects included specific lighting that only an indoor space could take advantage of. Advances in makeup, costuming, safety, and other aspects of stagecraft have been the theme of theater for millennia.
Additionally, there's much to be said about accommodating modern sensibilities. Shakespeare wrote for the nonce; so did Tennessee Williams and Euripides. The fact that a lit theater will allow for private conversations, distracted texting, sleeping, catching up with friends, and other distractions are major detriments that Cohen chooses to view as strengths. But as I was watching his video, the students in the class were seated, lights on, and were involved in their own experiences. Indeed, we made an important announcement before the showing of the film--during which time the class was, indeed, distracted. At the end, when the announcement was repeated, a section of the class burst out in disbelief and excitement at it--they obviously hadn't paid attention. This "ambient attention" that Cohen discusses as being a part of theater throughout the ages is focusing on the bugs, not the features, of the past.
In the end, we lose something and we gain something by flowing with technological changes. Some things are lost; some are changed. Despite Socrates' arguments, I'm glad that what he wrote was preserved. Without writing, Shakespeare would be lost to us. Actors may have to adapt to lights, but the audience will be justified in requesting the obnoxious teenager on row 3 stop chatting with her friend during the performance. That's the age we live in.
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* The irony, of course, is that we only know what Socrates felt about writing because Plato, his student, wrote it down.
** Pun intended. Yup, I put a footnote to tell you I was writing a pun.
There are a lot of lessons to learn from Socrates' points--which is why he's still popular, still quoted, still discussed, still taught--but the takeaway from me is actually one of a cautionary tale. For Socrates--an illiterate--the concept of reading and writing was insufficient. In many ways, the latest technology had no immediate purpose to Socrates, and as a result, he insisted its flaws outweighed its benefits.
Today I saw a TED talk about audience being held captive by the darkness. Part of Mr. Cohen's comments included a point that, for thousands of years--almost as long as since Socrates was last kicking up trouble--people have dealt with "ambient attention" of an audience, the idea that actors have had to compete with distractions in order to tell their dramatic story. I don't disagree that this was the case, though there seems to be some dismissing of history here. Ancient Greek plays happened during the day, for the most part, but the sun and its lighting were often necessary for how they were telling the story--in other words, deliberate lighting as a technique is an old aspect of the craft.
Anyway, Cohen's point is that it's preferable for actors to be in house lighting, using cues from the audience on how to adapt their playing. Modern theaters that manipulate attention by dimming, changing, and modifying the lights, he argues, are doing a disservice to the actors, who will give superior performances if they can judge reactions.
As a non-actor, I can't speak to that point. As a teacher--whose job involves theatricality, timing, pacing, and wordplay--I can see what he means. I do a better job as a teacher when I can see my audience, and I can provide a better lesson when I can see my students' faces.
However, the counterpart to Cohen's observations is that, to reclaim the possibilities of these ostensibly superior performances, we must turn the lights back on. Indeed, much like Socrates (though without the same cachet), Cohen's argument relies upon the effect of technology that is but dimly seen**. The advent of electric lights--and, as he observes in his talk, cinema--changed the possibilities of the stage. To this technological overlord we now owe obeisance and these are the shackles he wishes us to remove.
But I don't think that's the case. Experimentation is the lifeblood of theater (or so I'm told), and advances have always been around. Going from open fields to acoustically-beneficial amphitheaters was a departure from dramatic tradition. Putting actors on an elevated platform and allowing the million to mill about them was a departure from dramatic tradition. Even the Black Friars was the technological equivalent to 3-D theaters for Shakespeare's time: His play, The Tempest, contains special effects unseen in the rest of Shakespeare, done to take advantage of the Black Friars Theater in London. (James Shapiro explores this in his book The Year of Lear.) Some of the effects included specific lighting that only an indoor space could take advantage of. Advances in makeup, costuming, safety, and other aspects of stagecraft have been the theme of theater for millennia.
Additionally, there's much to be said about accommodating modern sensibilities. Shakespeare wrote for the nonce; so did Tennessee Williams and Euripides. The fact that a lit theater will allow for private conversations, distracted texting, sleeping, catching up with friends, and other distractions are major detriments that Cohen chooses to view as strengths. But as I was watching his video, the students in the class were seated, lights on, and were involved in their own experiences. Indeed, we made an important announcement before the showing of the film--during which time the class was, indeed, distracted. At the end, when the announcement was repeated, a section of the class burst out in disbelief and excitement at it--they obviously hadn't paid attention. This "ambient attention" that Cohen discusses as being a part of theater throughout the ages is focusing on the bugs, not the features, of the past.
In the end, we lose something and we gain something by flowing with technological changes. Some things are lost; some are changed. Despite Socrates' arguments, I'm glad that what he wrote was preserved. Without writing, Shakespeare would be lost to us. Actors may have to adapt to lights, but the audience will be justified in requesting the obnoxious teenager on row 3 stop chatting with her friend during the performance. That's the age we live in.
---
* The irony, of course, is that we only know what Socrates felt about writing because Plato, his student, wrote it down.
** Pun intended. Yup, I put a footnote to tell you I was writing a pun.
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