Density
Peter Brook, in The Open Door, writes about boredom in the theatre, the insidious nature of it. Frankly, we all have silent contracts with ourselves that we will let small boredoms go by if there are moments of flashing interest. Christians are especially willing to suffer theatrical boredom in the name of explicit religious content--"just give me the saving message of Jesus and the theatre can be as bad as it can be and I'll still call it good." On the level of most church dramas (as practiced in evangelical churches that use drama as a tool to communicate messages, support the sermons, etc), this sort of nonchalance toward the disciplines governing the creation of a theatrical moment is evident. As is the boredom with the moments themselves, whatever interest there is being generated through something other than the "theatre" of the moments.
Back to Peter Brook and boredom. It's easy to complain. And it's easy to talk in polarities, as if there were only two levels of interest in the theatre--boredom and thrill. Obviously, the range is a continuum. But I've always found Brook's assessment to be helpful. He says that moments must be dense.
Now, it's been awhile since I last read The Open Door, and frankly, I'm not sure what all he said about this density, but the concept has stayed with me. What does it take for a moment of theatre to be dense? Almost in response to this notion, actors and directors end up using the word "fill" a lot, as in, "Fill that moment." Fill it with what? What do we mean? We all nod at each other as if we know and agree, but I wonder if pressed to actually name the material (and I don't necessarily mean physical material) with which we need to "fill" these moments whether or not we could do it?
So, the question for the day, if you're going to "fill" a moment, what are you going to fill it with? What do you mean?
...what is the nature of this density?
7:16:52 AM
