test 1 * 2 * 3

midterm

... 2008 : google.com/group/directing

"200words" : "Winter Shorts" & R/G are Dead (review on directing)

Director's Notebook/Journal


Directing 4 Test : Date ___________________________
THR331 Fundamentals of Direction 4
Name ___________________

Director's Eye [textbook]

I. Teminology:

1. What is The Concept Statement?

2. The Rehearsal Unit -- what is it?

3. How do you understand the statement -- "We use blocking to free actor."

4. What are Goals for blocking?

5. Playwright's (stage) directions are for actors or directors? Designers? Who is responsible for what? Which ones could/should be ignored?

6. What is audience/public role in blocking?

7. What is the difference between blocking and mise-en-scene?

8. Why does Aristotle list "Spectacle" as last in his "6 Elements" (Poetics)?

9. What is your favorite scene worked in class?

10. What do you consider most import in Dramatic Structure -- Plot, Character or Idea?

11. Ghost in Hamlet -- any ideas for a costume design?

12. Scene Hamlet - Ghost : suggestions for blocking -- Exposition -- Climax - Resolution.


II. Analysis

Your final scene (short description of your reasons for selection)


... plus, fragment from "R/G are Dead" (analysis).

1. What is this scene about?

2. What is the function of Player in the script?

3. Where is the climax?

4. Identify the subtext?


     (The  TRAGEDIANS are  six in number, including a small BOY(ALFRED). Two
pull a  cart piled up with props and belongings. There is also a  DRUMMER, a
HORN-PLAYER and a  FLAUTIST. The SPOKESMAN ("the PLAYER") has no instrument.
He brings up the rear and is the first to notice them.)
     PLAYER: Halt!
     (The GROUP turns and halts.)
     (Joyously.) An audience!
     (ROS and GUIL half rise.)
     Don't move!
     (They sink back. He regards them fondly.)
     Perfect! A lucky thing we came along.
     ROS: For us?
     PLAYER:  Let us  hope so. But to meet  two  gentlemen on the  road - we
would not hope to meet them off it.
     ROS: No?
     PLAYER: Well met, in fact, and just in time.
     ROS: Why's that?
     PLAYER:  Why,  we  grow rusty  and you  catch  us at the  very point of
decadence - by this time tomorrow we might have forgotten everything we ever
knew. That's a thought, isn't it? (He laughs generously.) We'd be back where
we started - improvising.
     ROS: Tumblers, are you?
     PLAYER: We can give  you a tumble if that's  your taste and times being
what they are...  Otherwise, for a jingle  of coin we can do you a selection
of  gory romances, full of  fine cadence  and corpses, pirated from Italian;
and it doesn't take much to  make a jingle - even a single coin has music in
it.
     (They ALL flourish and bow, raggedly.)
     Tragedians, at your command.
     (ROS and GUIL have got to their feet.)
     ROS: My name is Guildenstern, and this is Rosencrantz.
     (GUIL confers briefly with him.)
     (Without  embarrassment.) I'm sorry - his  name's Guildenstern, and I'm
Rosencrantz.
     PLAYER:  A pleasure.  We've played to bigger,  of course,  but  quality
counts for something. I recognised you at once -
     ROS: And who are we?
     PLAYER: - as fellow artists.
     ROS: I thought we were gentlemen.
     PLAYER: For some of us it  is performance,  for others, patronage. They
are two sides of  the same coin,  or, let us say, being as there are so many
of us,  the  same side of  two coins. (Bows again.) Don't clap  too loudly -
it's a very old world.
     ROS: What is your line?
     PLAYER: Tragedy, sir. Deaths and disclosures, universal and particular,
denouements both unexpected and inexorable, transvestite  melodrama  on  all
levels including the suggestive. We transport you into the world of intrigue
and illusion... clowns,  if you like, murderers  - we can do you  ghosts and
battles, on  the skirmish levels,  heroes, villains, tormented lovers  - set
pieces in the poetic vein; we  can do  you rapiers or rape  or both, by  all
means, faithless wives and ravished virgins - flagrante  delicto at a price,
but that comes under  realism for which there  are  special  terms.  Getting
warm, am I?
     ROS (doubtfully): Well, I don't know...
     PLAYER: It costs little to watch, and little more  if you happen to get
caught up in the action, if that's you taste and times being what they are.
     ROS: What are they?
     PLAYER: Indifferent.
     ROS: Bad?
     PLAYER: Wicked. Now  what precisely is your pleasure? (He turns to  the
TRAGEDIANS.) Gentlemen, disport yourselves.
     (The TRAGEDIANS shuffle into some kind of a line.)
     There! See anything you like?
     ROS (doubtful, innocent): What do they do?
     PLAYER: Let your imagination run riot. They are beyond surprise.
     ROS: And how much?
     PLAYER: To take part?
     ROS: To watch.
     PLAYER: Watch what?
     ROS: A private performance.
     PLAYER: How private?
     ROS: Well, there are only two of us. Is that enough?
     PLAYER: For an audience, disappointing. For voyeurs, about average.
     ROS: What's the difference?
     PLAYER: Ten guilders.
     ROS (horrified): Ten guilders!
     PLAYER: I mean eight.
     ROS: Together?
     PLAYER: Each. I don't think you understand -
     ROS: What are you saying?
     PLAYER: What am I saying - seven.
     ROS: Where have you been?
     PLAYER:  Roundabout. A nest of children carries the custom of the town.
Juvenile  companies,  they  are  the  fashion. But  they  cannot  match  our
repertoire... we'll stoop to anything if that's your bent... (He regards ROS
meaningfully but ROS returns the stare blankly.)
     ROS: They'll row up.
     PLAYER  (giving  up):  There's   one  being   born  every  minute.  (To
TRAGEDIANS.) On-ward!
     (The  TRAGEDIANS start to resume their  burdens and their journey. GUIL
stirs himself at last.)
     GUIL: Where are you going?
     PLAYER: Ha-alt!
     (They halt and turn.)
     Home, sir.
     GUIL: Where from?
     PLAYER: Home.  We're travelling people.  We take  our  chances where we
find them.
     GUIL: It was the chance, then?
     PLAYER: Chance?
     GUIL: You found us.
     PLAYER: Oh yes.
     GUIL: You were looking?
     PLAYER: Oh no.
     GUIL: Chance, then.
     PLAYER: Or fate.
     GUIL: Yours or ours?
     PLAYER: It could hardly be one without the other.
     GUIL: Fate, then.
     PLAYER:  Oh, yes. We have no control. Tonight we play  to the court. Or
the night after. Or to the tavern. Or not.
     GUIL: Perhaps I can use my influence.
     PLAYER: At the tavern?
     GUIL: At the court. I would say I have some influence.
     PLAYER: Would you say so?
     GUIL: I have influence yet.
     PLAYER: Yet what?
     (GUIL seizes the PLAYER violently.)
     GUIL: I have influence!
     (The PLAYER does not resist. GUIL loosens his hold.)
     (More  calmly.)  You said something  -  about getting caught up in  the
action -
     PLAYER (gaily freeing himself): I did! -  I did! -  You're quicker than
your friend... (Confidingly.) Now for a handful of guilders I happen to have
a private and uncut performance  of the Rape of the Sabine Women - or rather
woman, or rather Alfred - (Over his shoulder.) Get your skirt on, Alfred -
     (The BOY starts struggling into a female robe.)
     ... and for eight you can participate.
     (GUIL backs, PLAYER follows.)
     ... taking either part.
     (GUIL backs.)
     ... or both for ten.
     (GUIL tries to turn away, PLAYER holds his sleeve.)
     ... with encores -
     (GUIL  smashes the  PLAYER across  the face. The  PLAYER  recoils. GUIL
stands trembling.)
     (Resigned and quiet.) Get your skirt off, Alfred...
     (ALFRED struggles out of his half-on robe.)
     GUIL (shaking with rage  and fright): It could have  been -  it  didn't
have to be obscene... It  could have been  - a bird out of season,  dropping
bright-feathered  on  my  shoulder... It could  have been a tongueless dwarf
standing  by  the road to point the way...  I was prepared. But  it's  this,
isn't it? No enigma, no dignity, nothing classical, portentous, only this  -
a comic pornographer and a rabble of prostitutes...
     PLAYER  (acknowledging the description with a sweep of his hat, bowing:
sadly):  You  should have caught us  in better times. We were purists  then.
(Straightens up.) On-ward.
     (The PLAYERS make to leave.)
     ROS (his voice has changed: he has caught on): Excuse me!
     PLAYER: Ha-alt!
     (They halt.)
     A-al-l-fred!
     (ALFRED resumes the struggle. The PLAYER comes forward.)
     ROS: You're not - ah - exclusively players, then?
     PLAYER: We're inclusively players, sir.
     ROS: So you give - exhibitions?
     PLAYER: Performances, sir.
     ROS: Yes, of course. There's more money in that, is there?
     PLAYER: There's more trade, sir.
     ROS: Times being what they are.
     PLAYER: Yes.
     ROS: Indifferent.
     PLAYER: Completely.
     ROS: You know I'd no idea -
     PLAYER: No -
     ROS: I mean, I've heard of - but I've never actually -
     PLAYER: No.
     ROS: I mean, what exactly do you do?
     PLAYER: We  keep to our usual stuff,  more or less, only inside out. We
do  on stage the  things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of
integrity, if you look on every exit being an entrance somewhere else.
     ROS (nervy, loud): Well, I'm not really  the  type of man who - no, but
don't hurry off - sit down and  tell us  about some of the things people ask
you to do -
     (The PLAYER turns away.)
     PLAYER: On-ward!
     ROS: Just a minute!
     (They turn and look at him without expression.)
     Well, all  right - I wouldn't mind seeing - just an idea of the kind of
- (bravely).  What  will you  do for that? (And tosses a single  coin on the
ground between them.)
     (The PLAYER spits at the coin from where he stands.)
     PLAYER  (to  ROS, coldly): Leave it lying there. Perhaps  when  we come
back this way we'll be that muck cheaper.
     (The TRAGEDIANS demur, trying to  get the coin. He kicks and cuffs them
back.)
     On!
     (ALFRED is still half  in and  half out of his  robe. The PLAYER  cuffs
him.)
     (To ALFRED) What are you playing at?
     (ROS is shamed into fury.)
     ROS: Filth! Disgusting - oh, I know the kind  of  filth you trade in  -
I'll report you to  the authorities -  perverts! I know your game all right,
it's all filth!
     (The PLAYERS are about to leave. GUIL remained detached.)
     GUIL (casually): Do you like a bet?
     PLAYER: Ha-alt!
     (The TRAGEDIANS look interested. The PLAYER comes forward.)
     PLAYER: What kind of bet do you have in mind?
     (GUIL walks  half the distance towards the PLAYER, stops  with his foot
over the coin.)
     GUIL: Double or quits.
     PLAYER: Well... heads.
     (GUIL  raises  his  foot. The PLAYER bends. The TRAGEDIANS crowd round.
Relief and congratulations. The PLAYER  picks up the coin. GUIL throws him a
second coin.)
     GUIL: Again?
     (Some of the TRAGEDIANS are for it, others against. The PLAYER nods and
tosses the coin.)
     GUIL: Heads.
     (It is. H picks it up.)
     Again.
     (GUIL spins the coin.)
     PLAYER: Heads.
     (It is. PLAYER picks up coin. He has two coins again. He spins one.)
     GUIL: Heads.
     (It is. GUIL picks it up. Then tosses immediately.)
     PLAYER (fractional hesitation): Tails.
     (But it's heads. GUIL picks it up. PLAYER  tosses down his last coin by
the  way of paying it up, and turns away. GUIL doesn't  pick it up; he  puts
his foot on it.)
     GUIL: Heads.
     PLAYER: No!
     (Pause. The TRAGEDIANS are against this.)
     (Apologetically.) They don't like the odds.
     GUIL: After six in a row? I'd say they were in your favor.
     PLAYER: No.
     GUIL (lifts his foot; squats;  picks up the coin still squatting; looks
up): You were right - heads. (Spins it, slaps his hand on it, on the floor.)
     Heads I win.
     PLAYER: No.
     GUIL (uncovers coin): Right again. (Repeat.) Heads I win.
     PLAYER: No.
     GUIL (uncovers coin): And right again. (Repeat.) Heads I win.
     PLAYER: No!
     (He turns away, the TRAGEDIANS with him. GUIL stands up, comes close.)
     GUIL: Would you believe it? (Stands back, relaxes, smiles.) Bet me  the
year of my birth doubled is an odd number.
     PLAYER: Your birth - !
     GUIL: If you don't trust me don't bet with me.
     PLAYER: Would you trust me?
     GUIL: Bet me then.
     PLAYER: My birth?
     GUIL: Odd numbers you win.
     PLAYER: You're on -
     (The TRAGEDIANS have come forward, wide awake.)
     GUIL:  Good.  Year of your birth. Double it. Even  numbers  I  win, odd
numbers I lose.
     (Silence.  An awful  sigh  as the  TRAGEDIANS  realise  that any number
doubled is  even.  Then  a  terrible row as  they  object. Then  a  terrible
silence.)
     PLAYER: We have no money.
     (GUIL turns to him.)
     GUIL: Ah. Then what have you got?
     (The PLAYER silently brings ALFRED forward. GUIL regards ALFRED sadly.)
     Was it for this?
     PLAYER: It's the best we've got.
     GUIL (looking up and around): Then the times are bad indeed.
     (The  PLAYER  starts  to  speak, protestation, but  GUIL turns  on  him
viciously.)
     The very air stinks.
     (The PLAYER moves back. GUIL moves down to the footlight and turns.)
     Come here, Alfred.
     (ALFRED moves down and stands, frightened and small.)
     (Gently): Do you lose often?
     Alfred: Yes, sir.
     GUIL: Then what could you have to lose?
     Alfred: Nothing, sir.
     (Pause. GUIL regards him.)
     GUIL: Do you like being... an actor?
     Alfred: No, sir.
     (GUIL looks around him, at the audience.)
     GUIL: You and I, Alfred - we could create a dramatic precedent here.
     (And ALFRED, who has been near tears, starts to sniffle.)
     Come, come, Alfred, this is no way to fill the theatres of Europe.
     (The PLAYER has moved down, to remonstrate with ALFRED.  GUIL  cuts him
off again.)
     (Viciously) Do you know any good plays?
     PLAYER: Plays?
     ROS (coming forward, flattering shyly): Exhibitions...
     GUIL: I thought you were actors.
     PLAYER (dawning):  Oh.  Oh,  well, we are. We are. But  there been much
call -
     GUIL:  You  lost. Well,  then  -  one  of the Greeks,  perhaps?  You're
familiar with the  tragedies of  antiquity,  are you?  The  great  homicidal
classics? Matri, patri, fratri, sorrori, uxori and it goes without saying -
     ROS: Saucy -
     GUIL: - Suicidal - hm? Maidens aspiring to godheads -
     ROS: And vice versa -
     GUIL: Your kind of thing, is it?
     PLAYER:  Well, no, I can't say it is, really. We're more of  the blood,
love and rhetoric school.
     GUIL: Well,  I'll leave  the choice  to  you,  if there  is anything to
choose between them.
     PLAYER:  They're hardly divisible, sir - well, I can  do  you blood and
love without rhetoric, and I can do you blood and rhetoric without love, and
I  can do you all three concurrent or  consecutive, but I can't do you  love
and  rhetoric without blood.  Blood  is compulsory -  they're all blood, you
see.
     GUIL: Is this what people want?
     PLAYER: It's what we do. (Small pause. He turns away.)
     (GUIL touches Alfred on the shoulder.)
     GUIL (wry, gentle): Thank you, we'll let you know.
     (The PLAYER has moved upstage. Alfred follows.)
     PLAYER (to TRAGEDIANS): Thirty-eight!
     ROS (moving across, fascinated and hopeful): Position?
     PLAYER: Sir?
     ROS: One of your - tableaux?
     PLAYER: No, sir.
     ROS: Oh.
     PLAYER (to TRAGEDIANS, now  departing with their cart,  already  taking
various props off it.) Entrances there and there (indicating upstage).
     (The PLAYER has not moved his position for his last four lines. He does
not move now. GUIL waits.)
     GUIL: Well... aren't you going to change into costume?
     PLAYER: I never change out, sir.
     GUIL: Always in character.
     PLAYER: That's it.
     (Pause.)
     GUIL: Aren't you going to - come on?
     PLAYER: I am on.
     GUIL: But if you are on, you can't come on. Can you?
     PLAYER: I start on.
     GUIL: But it hasn't started. Go on. We'll look out for you.
     PLAYER: I'll give you a wave.
     (He doesn't move.  His  immobility is now pointed  and getting awkward.
Pause. ROS walks up to him till they are face to face.)
     ROS: Excuse me.
     (Pause. The  PLAYER lifts his downstage  foot. It was  covering  GUIL's
coin. ROS puts his foot on the coin. Smiles.)
     Thank you.
     (The PLAYER turns and goes. ROS has bent for the coin.)
 GUIL (moving out): Come on.
     ROS: I say - that was lucky.
     GUIL (turning): What?
     ROS: It was tails.
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