I had a terrifying thought, this morning, on the way to work: I’m afraid I might be a duplicitous man.
Duplicitous. I used to think that described a man who had lots of love affairs. Would that it were true.
But, driving out to campus, I really questioned what I, up until this morning, had believed was my emotional and physical elasticity when in the face of any crisis. Now, I wonder: what if all I’ve done is misunderstood what I thought was others’ general defection of accountability because I’d mislabeled it in my own life?
I hate this thought. I’ve hated it all morning. But, it won’t go away. It just sits there, staring at me. Even now.
I think, at my age, I shouldn’t be learning this kind of lesson. Isn’t this something you pretty much have figured out by recess? You know, when you Tom Sawyer everyone into playing Red Rover, so you can get the slide to yourself?
Or at least, get to it, First?
I’m having this thought for the very real reason that last night was a disaster, to me, personally. A definite blow to my faith in people and theatre, and not just people, but friends. (That’s another thought I’ve had today, and it’s only slightly secondary: that I really have no actual people skills. And am thus, a poor judge of character). That thought would kill me dead except I’m not entirely sure it’s a real thought; it might just be stuck under the duplicitous half of me.
So, last night.
Before we even got into rehearsal, others got into it, with themselves. And it wasn’t just over costumes, I overheard several issues-in-the-making. As the director of this production, it ultimately becomes my responsibility to fix these things, you know.
I’m not complaining about that. It’s always a threat: that something will fall apart in the ever-spinning gyre, and need long arms, strong ones and yet still soft, to pick up the pieces and place them back in the centrifuge that is theatre.
But, that responsibility comes with a terrible arthritis.
This is where I wonder whether or not the fault is really with me. Am I really as resilient as I want others to think I am, or have I just found an acceptable way to display duplicity?
I like to think I’m resilient. I like to think I’m well and aware. I like to think I’ve paid my dues, already. But, I have a sneaking suspicion that I haven’t…after last night, anyway.
Theatre is in my blood. So, it makes sense that every now and then, you have to bleed for it. It hurts, but if you don’t want to hurt, don’t put it in your blood, I guess. I hurt even worse when I think that somehow a project that I’ve put together, lived with, dreamed about, worried over (and more than anyone else in the cast and crew) has had the opposite effect: it turns one away from the beauty of collaboration that is theatre instead of inviting them in.
Far be it from me to suggest that ego has no place in theatre; or that there are no egos in it. I know there are; I’m one of them. But, I draw a very fine line between ego and vanity. I draw an even finer one between levels of ego (i.e., be egotistic in your search for the character’s fullness, life). However, vanity, in my opinion, has no place in the art of theatre.
No one’s that important.
And, I recognize how difficult it is to actualize the parameters of “your place,” in any given show; it takes time…but not attitude. I hate, as much as anyone (having been on the bitter, receiving end myself) that a hierarchy has to exist, considering the collaborative concept of theatre, but it does exist, and it exists for a reason. That isn’t to say that, last night, others didn’t have their reasons, I’m sure they did. And I’m sure they all truly believed that they were doing the right thing…for the right reason…
…and this harkens back to my theory that compromise isn’t real, and doesn’t exist, because it all ended in argument, and what hurt me about that was the sheer and luxurious waste of energy and time that was lost in such an exchange. And that, there was no “return trust” given to me. A director handles problems, all problems. And I was right there, apparently, when all of this was occuring…and no one asked me, no one came to me. No one brought it to my attention. After all the trust I’ve put in them to do their jobs; they didn’t allow me to do mine…until after the fact, after the damage. When it was too late, really. And my arms were tired…
I’m not there just to pat backs and say “Good job.” I’m there to put back in order the show I directed…and to keep it in order.
Instead, I gave a feeble pep talk, I tried to skirt around the issues without pointing fingers because this show has to go on, with or without me, or him, or her, or them.
And there’s a part of me that wanted to, last night, tell everyone to just shut up. To shut off themselves, the outside world, and concentrate on the show. There’s part of me that felt like I was dealing with children, instead of adults. Like each member of the cast and crew, I have put too much time in this endeavor for it to be rendered childish. There’s also a part of me that wants to say, Get over yourself, and into the character – that’s the only reason you are here: when you leave the theatre, Fine, hate me, but wait until then to do it…in here, you’re the actor, nothing else, they’re the crew, the SM, whatever, nothing else – let’s all focus on that and – nothing else! I can, so why can’t you (that’s my default question: that’s also the part that I’m scared is duplicitous: I don’t ask from you what I wouldn’t give you, myself).
And, there’s a part of me that’s still angry about last night; angry that we’ve come so far to be offset, even if it’s just for one night, by petty, inconsequential items that are holding a powerful amount of control of the show’s psyche. It amazes me the depths to which we sink to protect our own interests…
That’s criminal in my theatre book.
And, no matter what the argument, it’s always rooted in vanity. No matter what anyone else has said; I am the one who gets to say things about this show. That’s the right you get when you become a director.
Any one of them could have been the director, too. It wasn’t something I chose to do, but it wasn’t something they chose to do either, obviously. Since it fell to me, I’m not going to lessen my standards now that it’s done. I can’t. I don’t know how.
I’m tired of having to be on the forgiving end when it isn’t how I feel at all. I’m tired of “allowing” behaviour (so as not to offend the creative process) because, now, it isn’t creating new growth. It’s forming habits, and cliques, and it’s making my mouth sour.
So, in quick retrospect, I’m done with theatre, after next weekend. At least here. At least for now…thank god, I have other things to do. But, it still makes me sad.
I don’t like working hard to instill faith just to have it ripped away. I mean, it’s one thing to lose faith, it’s another to watch it being taken away from you.
Maybe, if nothing else, I could argue that if I am duplicitous, at least being duplicitous has a built-in safety feature: there’s always two sides to it.
If one doesn’t work out…you just turn the other way…
And pray real hard that when all is said and done, no one “unfriends” you on Facebook.