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BUILDING A CHARACTER
Constantin Stanislavski
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Toward an Ethics for the Theatre
I
“THE TIME has now come to speak of one more element,” Tortsov began today, “contributing to a creative dramatic state. It is produced by the atmosphere surrounding an actor on the stage and by the atmosphere in the auditorium. We call it ethics, discipline, and also the sense of joint enterprise in our theatre work.
“All these things taken together create an artistic animation, an attitude of readiness to work together. It is a state which is favorable to creativeness. I do not know how else to describe it.
“It is not the creative state itself but it is one of the main factors contributing to it. It prepares and facilitates that state.
“I shall call it ethics in the theatre because it plays an important part in preparing us in advance for our work. Both the factor itself and what it produces in us and for us are significant because of the peculiarities of our profession.
“A writer, a composer, a painter, a sculptor are not pressed for time. They can work when and where they find it convenient to do so. They have the free disposal of their time.
“This is not the case with an actor. He has to be ready to produce at a fixed hour as advertised. How can he order himself to be inspired at a given time? It is far from simple.
“He needs order, discipline, a code of ethics not only for the general circumstances of his work, but also and especially for his artistic and creative purposes.
“The first condition towards the bringing about of this preliminary state is to follow the principle I have aimed at: Love art in yourself and not yourself in art.
“The career of an actor,” Tortsov went on, “is a splendid one for those who are devoted to it and understand and see it in the true light.”
“What if an actor does not do this ?“ one of the students asked.
“That is unfortunate because it will cripple him as a human being. Unless the theatre can ennoble you, make you a better person, you should flee from it,” Tortsov replied.
“Why?” we asked in chorus.
“Because there are a lot of bacilli in the theatre, some are good and some are extremely harmful. The good bacilli will further the growth in you of a passion for what is fine, elevating, for great thoughts and feelings. They will help you to commune with the great geniuses such as Shakespeare, Pushkin, Gogol, Moliere. Their creations and traditions live in us. In the theatre you will also meet modern writers and representatives of all branches of art, science, of social science, of poetic thought.
“This select company will teach you to understand art and the essential meaning at its core. That is the principal thing about art, therein lies its greatest fascination.”
“Exactly in what?” I asked.
“In coming to know, in working on, studying your art, its bases, methods and technique of creativeness,” explained Tortsov.
“Also in the torments and joys of creation, which we all feel as a group.
“And in the joys of accomplishment, which renew the spirit and lend it wings!
“Even in the doubts and failures, for in them also lies a stimulus to new struggles, strength for new work and fresh discoveries.
“There is too an esthetic satisfaction which is never altogether complete and it provokes and arouses new energy.
“How much of life there is in all this!”
“What about success ?“ I enquired rather shyly.
“Success is transient, evanescent,” answered Tortsov. “The real passion lies in the poignant acquisition of knowledge about all the shadings and subtleties of the creative secrets.
“Meantime do not forget the bad, the dangerous, corrupting bacilli of the theatre. It is not surprising that they thrive there; there are too many temptations in our theatre world.
“An actor is on view every day before an audience of a thousand spectators from such and such an hour to such and such an hour. He is surrounded by the magnificent trappings of a production, set against the effective background of painted scenery, dressed often in rich and beautiful clothes. He speaks the soaring lines of geniuses, he makes picturesque gestures, graceful motions, produces impressions of startling beauty—which in large measure are brought about by artful means. Always being in the public eye, displaying his or her best aspects, receiving ovations, accepting extravagant praise, reading glowing criticisms—all these things and many more of the same order constitute immeasurable temptations.
“These breed in an actor the sense of craving for constant, uninterrupted titillation of his personal vanity. But if he lives only on that and similar stimuli he is bound to sink low and become trivial. A serious minded person could not be entertained for long by such a life, yet a shallow one is enthralled, debauched, destroyed by it. That is why in our world of the theatre we must learn to hold ourselves well in check. We have to live by rigid discipline.
“If we keep our theatre free from all types of evil we, by the same token, bring about conditions favorable to our own work in it. Remember this practical piece of advice: Never come into the theatre with mud on your feet. Leave your dust and dirt outside. Check your little worries, squabbles, petty difficulties with your outside clothing—all the things that ruin your life and draw your attention away from your art.”
“Excuse me for pointing this out,” interrupted Grisha, “but no such theatre exists in the world.”
“Unfortunately you are right,” admitted Tortsov. “People are so stupid and spineless that they still prefer to introduce petty, humdrum bickerings, spites and intrigues into the place supposedly reserved for creative art.
“They do not seem to be able to clear their throats before they cross the threshold of the theatre, they come inside and spit on the clean floor. It is incomprehensible why they do this!
“It is all the more reason why you should be the ones to discover the right, the high minded significance of the theatre and its art. From the very first steps you take in its service train yourselves to come into the theatre with clean feet.
“Our illustrious forbears in acting have summed this attitude up in the following way:
“A true priest is aware of the presence of the altar during every moment that he is conducting a service. It is exactly the same way that a true artist should react to the stage all the time he is in the theatre. An actor who is incapable of this feeling will never be a
true artist!”
2
A great deal of discussion was caused in the theatre by a scandal in connection with one of the actors. He was severely reprimanded and warned that he would be dismissed if he repeated the intolerable offense.
Grisha had as usual a lot to say on the subject:
“I for one don’t think the management has any right to mix into an actor’s private life!”
Whereupon some of the others asked Tortsov to explain his point of view to us.
“Does it not seem irrational to you to tear down with one hand what you are trying to build up with the other? Yet many actors do that very thing. On the stage they make every effort to convey beautiful and artistic impressions and then, as soon as they step down from the boards, almost as though they had been intent on spoofing their spectators who a moment ago were admiring them, they do their best to disillusion them. I can never forget the bitter pain caused me in my youth by a famous visiting star. I shall not tell you his name because I do not want to dim his glory for you.
“I was present at an unforgettable performance. The impression he made on me was so tremendous I did not feel I could go home alone. I felt the necessity to discuss my experience with someone. So a friend and I went together to a restaurant. When we were in the midst of an excited conversation who should come in but our genius. We could not restrain ourselves, we rushed up to him and unloosed the floodgates of our enthusiasm. The great man invited us to join him at supper in a private room and there before our very eyes he proceeded to drink himself into a bestial state. Under the gloss was hidden such human corruption, such revolting boastfulness, deceit, gossip—all the attributes of a vulgar showoff. On top of that he refused to pay his bill for the wine he had consumed. It took us a long, long time to pay off this unexpected debt. And all the pleasure we got out of it was the privilege of conducting our belching and roaring host to his hotel where they were most unwilling to receive him in that disreputable drunken state.
“Mix together all the good and all the bad impressions which we received from that extraordinarily gifted man and try to determine what result you get.”
“Something like the hiccoughs you get from drinking champagne,” suggested Paul brightly.
“Well, mind you don’t have the same thing happen to you when you get to be famous actors,” said Tortsov.
“It is only when an actor is behind closed doors at home, in his most intimate circle, that he can let go. For his part is not played out when the curtain goes down. He is still bound in his everyday life to be the standard bearer of what is fine. Otherwise he will only destroy what he is trying to build. Remember this from the very beginning of your term of service to art and prepare yourselves for this mission. Develop in yourselves the necessary self- control, the ethics and discipline of a public servant destined to carry out into the world a message that is fine, elevating and noble.
“An actor, by the very nature of the art he serves, becomes a member of a large and complex organization—the theatre. Under its emblem and hallmark he represents it daily to thousands
nf spectators. Millions read daily in the papers about his work and activity in the institution of which he is a part. His name is so closely bound up with that of his theatre that it is scarcely possible to distinguish between them. Next to his family name that of this theatre belongs to him. In the mind of the public his artistic and his personal life are inextricably linked together. Therefore if an actor from the Art Theatre, the Maly, or another, commits a reprehensible act, any crime, is involved in any scandal, no matter what alibi he may offer, no matter what denial or explanation may be printed in the papers, he will be unable to wipe away the stain, the shadow, he has laid on his whole company, his theatre. This, therefore, obligates an actor to conduct himself worthily outside the walls of his theatre and to protect his good name both
on the boards and in his private life.”
3
“One of the measures calculated to insure order and a healthy atmosphere in the theatre is to reinforce the authority of the people, who for one reason or another, have been put in charge of the work.
“Before they are chosen and appointed you may argue, wrangle, and protest against one candidacy or another but once that person has been elected to a post of leadership or management it is up to you to support him in every possible way. That is only fair from the point of view of the common good. And the weaker he is the more you should support him. For if he does not enjoy any authority the main motive force of the group will become paralyzed. What becomes of a collective if it is deprived of the leader who initiates, pushes, and directs the common work? We love to decry, discredit, humiliate those whom we have raised to high places, or if a gifted person climbs above us we are ready to use all our strength to beat him down and yell at him: How dare you presume to stand over us, you climber! How many talented and useful people have been destroyed that way. A few, in spite of all obstacles, have achieved general recognition and admiration.
But on the whole the brazen ones, who usually succeed in bossing us, have all the luck. And we growl to ourselves and stand it because we find it hard to arrive at any Unanimity and we are afraid to overthrow those who terrorize us.
“In theatres, with few exceptions, this is vividly exemplified. The struggle for priority among actors, regisseurs, jealousy of each other’s success, divisions caused by differences in salaries
types of parts—all this is strongly developed in our line of work and constitutes its greatest evil. We cloak our ambition, jealousy, intrigues with all kinds of fine sounding phrases such as ‘enlightened competition,’ but all the time the atmosphere is filled with the poison gases of backstage back-biting.
“Out of fear of all competition and because of its narrow-minded envy actors meet any newcomer in their midst with fixed bayonets. If he can stand the test he is lucky. Yet how many are terrified, lose all faith in themselves, and go under?
“How close to animal psychology all this is!
“Once when I was sitting on the balcony of a house in a small provincial town I had an opportunity to watch some dogs. They also have their own limits, lines of demarcation which they are keen to maintain. If an outsider dares to overstep a certain bound and he is met by the combined curs of that particular district.
he succeeds in giving a good account of himself he wins recognition in the end and is accepted in the district into which he had intruded. Or he turns tail and flees, wounded and maimed, from his own fellow creatures,
“And it is this very form of brute psychology which is rampant, alas, in all theatres with few exceptions, and which must be destroyed. It is in force not only among newcomers but also among the groups of old timers. I have heard two great actresses going for each other not only backstage but during performances and in terms that a fishwife would envy. I have been witness to the conduct of two famous and talented actors who refused to enter the stage through one and the same wing or door. I have been told about two celebrated stars, a man and a woman, who for years played opposite each other without being on speaking terms. During rehearsal they communicated with one another through a third person. He would say to the man directing the play: ‘Tell her that she is talking nonsense,’ and she would reply through the same channel: ‘Tell him that he is acting like a boor.’
“Why is it that such talented people are willing to destroy the and fine work which they themselves originally built up? For the sake of personal, trivial, petty insult and misunderstandings? “Such are the suicidal depths to which actors sink if they are not able to overcome in time their bad professional instincts. I hope this will be an example and vivid warning to you.”
4
“Let us suppose that one actor in a well and carefully prepared production, either through laziness, neglect or inattentiveness, departs so far from the true performance of his part as to act in a purely routine, mechanical way. Has he the right to do this? After all, he was not alone in producing the play, he is not solely responsible for the work put in it. In such an enterprise one works for all and all for one. There ‘must be mutual responsibility and whoever betrays that trust must be condemned as a traitor.
“In spite of my great admiration for individual splendid talents, I do not accept the star system. Collective creative effort is the root of our kind of art. That requires ensemble acting and whoever mars that ensemble is committing a crime not only against his comrades but also against the very art of which he is the servant.
5
Our class was to meet for a rehearsal in one of the greenrooms backstage where the regular actors of the theatre company met their friends. Afraid of disgracing ourselves before them we asked Rakhmanov to give us some advice about how to act there.
To our surprise the Director himself appeared. He said that he had been much touched to hear of our serious attitude toward the rehearsal.
“You will realize what you need to do and how you should conduct yourselves if you bear in mind that this is a collective enterprise,” he said to us. “You are all going to be producing together, you will all be helping one another, all be dependent on one another. You will all be directed by one person, your regisseur.
“If there is orderliness and proper distribution of work, your collective effort will be pleasant and productive because it is based on mutual help. But if there is chaos and a wrong atmosphere for work then your collective enterprise can become a torture chamber, you will be getting in each other’s way, pushing each other around. It is clear therefore that you must all agree to establish and support discipline.”
p “How do we support it?”
“First of all, you arrive at the theatre on time, a half hour or a quarter of an hour before the rehearsal is called, in order to go over the elements which are necessary to establish your inner state.
“If even one person is late it upsets all the others. And if all are late your working hours will be frittered away in waiting instead
-f being applied to your job. That makes an actor wild and puts him in a condition where he is incapable of work. But if on the contrary you all have the right attitude towards your collective responsibilities and come to your rehearsal with proper preparation you will create a splendid atmosphere which will challenge and encourage you. Your work will go along hummingly because you are all helping each other.
“It is also important that you take the right attitude towards the object of each individual rehearsal.
“The great mass of actors have quite a wrong idea about their attitude toward rehearsals. They believe that they need work only at rehearsals and that they can be idle at home.
“Whereas this is not the case at all. The rehearsal merely clarifies the problems that an actor needs to work on at home. That is one reason why I place no confidence in actors who chatter a lot at rehearsals and do not make notes on planning their home-work.
“They pretend that they can remember everything without notes. Nonsense! Do they think that I do not know that they cannot possibly remember everything because, in the first place, the regisseur mentions so many details both major and minor that no memory could retain them, and, in the second place, they are dealing for the most part not with definite facts but with feelings stored up in emotion memory. To understand, to comprehend and recall them, the actor must find the appropriate word, expression, example, some means of description with the aid of which he will be able to evoke, to fix the sensation under discussion.
“He will have to think about it at home before he will be able to find it again and call it forth from his inner being. That is a tremendous piece of work. It requires great concentration in his work both at home and also at rehearsal when the actor first receives the comments of the regisseur.
“We, the regisseurs, know better than anyone else what credence to give to the assertions of inattentive actors. We are the ones who are obliged to repeat the same things to them over and over again.
“That kind of an attitude on the part of certain individuals toward a joint piece of work acts as a great brake. Seven will not wait for one. Remember that. Therefore work out for yourselves the right kind of artistic ethics and discipline. This will force you to prepare yourselves properly at home in advance of each rehearsal. Let it be a source of shame and badge of disloyalty to you before your whole group if you are the cause of making the regisseur repeat something he has already explained. You have no right to forget the regisseur’s remarks. You may not comprehend them all at once, you may have to return to them in order to study them more thoroughly, but you may not merely take them in one ear and send them out of the other. That is a crime against all the other workers in the theatre.
“Therefore, in order to avoid that misdemeanor, you must teach yourself how to work independently at home on your part. This is no easy task but it is something you must learn how to do thoroughly and well while you are in training here. Here I can take all the time which may be necessary to go into the details of that work but at rehearsals I cannot come back to these things without running the risk of their being turned into lessons. Out on the stage the demands made on you will be far stricter than in the class room. Bear this in mind and prepare yourselves for it.”
6
“How does a singer, a pianist, a dancer, start his day ?“ Tortsov asked at the beginning of today’s class.
“He gets up, bathes, dresses, has breakfast and at a time appointed for this purpose he begins his exercises. The singer vocalizes, the pianist plays his scales, the dancer hurries to the theatre, to his practice bar in order to keep his muscles in trim. This is done day after day, winter and summer. A day omitted is a day lost and a detriment to the art of the performer.
“Tolstoy, Chekhov and other great artists considered it a necessity to sit down every day at a given hour to write, if not on a novel or short story or play, at least in a diary, to record thoughts and observations. The main point was day by day to cultivate the most delicate and precise ways of rendering all the subtle intricacies of human thoughts and feelings, visual observations and emotional impressions.
“Ask any artist and he will tell you the same thing.
“Nor is that all: I know a surgeon (and surgery is also an art), who devotes all his free time to playing with the most delicate kind of oriental jackstraws. After tea, while conversing with others, he cleverly fishes out some item underneath a complicated pile of little sticks just to keep his hand in.
“And it is only the actor who, when he has gotten up in the morning, dressed and breakfasted, hurries out into the street or calls on friends or does other personal errands, because that is his free time.
“That may well be. But the singer, the concert pianist, the dancer do not have any more time. They have rehearsals, lessons, performances too.
“Nevertheless it is always the excuse of the actor, who neglects his home-work on the technique of his art, that he has ‘no time.’
“What a pity! As I have said before, an actor, more than any other special artist, is in need of that work at home. Whereas a singer has to be concerned only with his voice and breathing, a dancer with his physical apparatus, and a pianist with his hands r an instrumentalist with his breathing and lip technique—an actor is responsible for his arms, his legs, his eyes, his face, the plasticity of his whole body, his rhythm, his motion and all the program of our activities here in the school. These exercises do not stop with graduation, they go on through your whole lives as artists. And the older you get the more necessary it will be for you to point up your technique and consequently to maintain a system of regular work-outs.
“But since the actor has ‘no time’ for such practice his art at best will mark time or at worst run down hill because it consists of only an accidental technique drawn by necessity from unthinking, false, untrue, mechanical rehearsing or badly prepared public appearances.
“And yet an actor, especially the ones who complain most about lack of time, those who play roles of second or third in importance, actually have more freedom than anyone else active in various artistic professions.
“Just look at the schedule. Take an actor who plays in the mob scenes in, let us say, Tsar Fyodor. He must be ready by 7:30 p.m. He appears in the second scene (the reconciliation of Boris with Shuiski). Then there is an intermission. Do not think that the actor needs to use all of it to change his make-up and costume.
No, indeed! Most of the actors keep the same make-up and change only their outer garments. Let us assume that ten out of the fifteen minutes normally assigned to an intermission is used up.
“Following that is the short scene in the garden, a two minute wait and then the long scene in the Tsar’s chamber. It plays not less than half an hour, therefore if you add that to the intermission you have approximately thirty-five plus ten—forty-five minutes.
“Then come the other scenes which you can calculate for yourselves and arrive at a general sum total.
“That is how the matter stands for our colleagues who play in the mob scenes. There are also a number of actors who play bits or even larger parts which are episodic in character. After his episode is finished the actor is either free for the rest of the evening or he waits for another five minute appearance in the last act and the whole time is loafing around the dressing room and being bored.
“That is the way actors divide their time when engaged in one of the more complicated and large productions, like Tsar Fyodor.
“And now what about the large number of others who are not playing on this particular evening? They are free and they spend their time appearing in pot boiler performances. Let us make a note of that.
“So much for the evening occupations. What happens during the daytime at rehearsals? In some theatres, take ours for instance, rehearsals are called for eleven or twelve o’clock. Until then our actors are free. And that is only right for various reasons that are connected with the peculiarities of our lives. An actor’s performance finishes late, he is wrought up and it takes some time for him to calm down sufficiently to go to sleep. At an hour when most people are sound asleep our actor is playing the last and most difficult act of a tragedy. When he comes home he takes advantage of the quiet to concentrate, without being interrupted, on the new part he is preparing.
“So what is surprising about the fact that on the following morning when everyone else is already up and at work our tired actor is sound asleep after his long hours of wear and tear on his nerves?
“He has probably been on a spree—is what many say about us.
“And there are theatres, which pride themselves on keeping their actors on their toes with their iron discipline and model order—so-called. They have rehearsals at 9 a.m. (incidentally after finishing a Shakespearean tragedy at ii p.m. the previous evening).
“Such theatres, which boast of their organization, do not take their actors into consideration and in a way they are quite right. Actors in those theatres can die three times a day with utmost comfort and they can rehearse three different plays every morning.
“‘Tra-la-la. . . . boom, boom. . . .‘ the leading actress trills in a low voice to her partner in a scene, and adds: ‘I cross to the sofa and sit down!’
“To which the leading man replies in half tones: ‘Tra-la-la. .
boom, boom. . . .‘ etc., and then: ‘I cross to sofa, drop on one knee and kiss your hand!’
“It often happens when we are on our way to a rehearsal at noon that we meet an actor from one of those other theatres who is strolling around after a whole morning of rehearsals.
“‘Where are you off to?’ he asks. ‘To rehearsal.’ ‘What? At noon! At such a late hour!’ he exclaims not without irony and venom and obviously thinking to himself: ‘What a sleepyhead and shiftless creature!’, and then he says aloud: ‘What a way to run a theatre! Why, I have already finished my rehearsal. We ran through a whole play! We begin work at nine a.m.!’ This last is said with a touch of boastfulness by the mechanic-artist who measures with condescending eye our belated actor.
“But I have said enough. I already know in that instance what so-called ‘art’ is in question in those theatres.
“And now here is my problem: there are many managers in good theatres who are seriously trying to achieve a degree of genuine artistry who really believe that the so-called iron discipline and order of the mechanical actors is right and even ideal. How can such people, who judge the product and conditions of work of a real artist according to standards established by book-keepers, cashiers, and accountants, be put in charge of the direction of artistic accomplishment or even understand how it is to be carried on, how much nervous energy, life, and the highest spiritual outbursts are laid on the altar of their beloved art by true actors who ‘sleep until noon and are the cause of endless disorder in the schedules set up by the repertory office!’
“How can we get away from such managers with petty tradesman or bank clerk mentalities? Where are we to find people who understand and, above all, who sense what the main object of true artists is and how to deal with them?
“Meanwhile I am putting more and more pressure on these already over-burdened real artists, regardless of whether they are playing long or short parts: I am asking that they take their last remaining free time—the intermissions and the waits between their entrances and the hours between rehearsals—to work on their technique.
“For such work, as I proved to you by figures, there is plenty of time.”
“But you want to exhaust the poor actor, and take away his last breathing spell !“
“No, indeed, I assert. The most exhausting thing for an actor is to loaf around his dressing room waiting for his next entrance.”
7
“There are many actors and actresses who do not take creative initiative. They do not prepare their roles outside the theatre by letting their imaginations and subconscious play on the character they are to portray. They come to the rehearsal and wait around until they are led along a path of action. After a great effort the regisseur can sometimes succeed in striking sparks in such passive natures. Or these lazy persons may catch fire from watching others take hold, they may follow their lead and become infected with their feelings about the play. After a series of such vicarious sensations, if they have any gift at all, they may be able to arouse their own feelings and acquire a real grasp on their parts in their own right. Only we regisseurs know how much work, inventiveness, patience, nervous strength and time it takes to push such actors of weak creative impulse ahead, away from their dead center. Women, in such cases, are apt to excuse themselves charmingly and coquettishly by saying: How can I help it? I cannot act until I feel my part. As soon as the impulse comes everything will turn out all right. They say this with a touch of pride and boasting as though that procedure were a sure sign of inspiration and genius.
“Need I explain that all such drones, who profit by the work and creativeness of others, are an infinite drag on the accomplishment of the whole group? It is because of them that productions are often delayed for weeks before they can be released. They not only are slow in their own work but the cause of delay in that of others. Indeed the actors playing opposite them have to exert themselves to the utmost in order to overcome their inertia. This in turn produces overacting, ruins their parts especially if they are not any too secure in them anyway. When they do not get the right cues the conscientious actors make violent efforts to stir the initiative of the sluggish actors, thereby impairing the true quality of their own playing. They get themselves into an impossible state and instead of facilitating the performance they clog it up by making it necessary for the regisseur to deflect his attention away from the general to their particular needs. Consequently we see not only the one passive actress contributing exaggerated, false acting to the rehearsal instead of lifelike, true emotions, but also the men who are playing opposite her as well. It takes no more than two actors straying down the wrong path to deflect a third or even a fourth. In the end one actor can derail a whole performance that was running smoothly and send it tumbling down hill. Poor régisseur! Poor actors!
“You may say that it would have been better to dismiss those actors with undeveloped creative initiative and corresponding technique, but it is unfortunately true that among them there are a great many with talent. Less gifted actors would not dare to be so passive, whereas the more gifted ones, feeling unimpeded, allow themselves more leeway; they sincerely believe that they are in duty bound and indeed have the right to wait for the favorable wind, the rising tide of inspiration.
“From all of which it should be clear to you that no actor has a right to take advantage of the work of others during a rehearsal. He must provide his own living emotions with which to bring his own part to life. If every actor in a production would do that he would be helping not only himself but the work of the whole cast. If on the contrary each actor is going to depend on the others there will be a complete lack of initiative. The regisseur cannot do the work of everyone. An actor is not a puppet.
“So you see every actor is obliged to develop his own creative will and technique. He, along with all the others, is bound to do his own productive share of work at home and at rehearsal, always playing his part in the fullest tones of which he is capable.”
8
“The problem for our art and consequently for our theatre is— to create an inner life for a play and its characters, to express in physical and dramatic terms the fundamental core, the idea which impelled the writer, the poet, to produce his composition.
“Every worker in the theatre from the doorman, the ticket taker, the hat-check girl, the usher, all the people the public comes into contact with as they enter the theatre on up to the managers, the staff, and finally the actors themselves—they all are co-creators with the playwright, the composer, for the sake of whose play the audience assembles. They all serve, they all are subject to the fundamental aim of our art. They all, without exception, are participants in the production. Anyone who in any degree obstructs our common effort to carry out our basic aim should be declared an undesirable member of our community. If any of the staff out front greets any member of the audience inhospitably thereby ruining his good humor, he has struck a blow against our general objective and the goal of our art. If it is cold, dirty, untidy in the theatre, if the curtain is late in rising, if the performance drags— then the mood of the public is depressed, they arc not receptive to the main thoughts and feelings offered to them through the joint efforts of the playwright, the regisseur, the company and the actors. They feel they had no cause to come to the play, the performance is spoiled, and the theatre loses its social, artistic and educational significance.
“The playwright, the composer, the cast, all do their share to create the necessary atmosphere on their side of the footlights, and the administrative staff does its part in creating an appropriate mood in the audience and backstage where the actors are getting ready for a performance. The spectator as well as the actor is an active participant in a performance and therefore he too needs to be prepared for his part, he must be put in the proper mood in order to be receptive to the impressions and thoughts the playwright wishes to impart to him.
“This absolute dependence of all the workers in the theatre on the ultimate aim of our art remains in force not only during performances but also during rehearsals and even at other hours of the day and night. If for any reason a rehearsal is unproductive those who obstructed the work were undermining our general purpose. Artists can operate successfully only under certain necessary conditions. Anyone who upsets those conditions is being disloyal to his art and to the society of which he is a part. A bad rehearsal does harm to a part and a distorted part prevents an actor from conveying the thoughts of the playwright, in other words from accomplishing his main job.”