test 1 * 2 * 3
"200words" : "Winter Shorts" & R/G are Dead (review on directing)
Director's Eye [textbook]
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.
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.shows.vtheatre.net/stoppard
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