Tis Not So Sweet Now As It Was Before

posted in: The Film | 2

A million years ago I was in a community theater production of 12th Night.

Malvolio and the Countess by Daniel Maclise
Malvolio and the Countess by Daniel Maclise

Enter DUKE ORSINO, CURIO, and other Lords; Musicians attending.

I was one of the attending musicians — the only one, really. Duke Orsino delivered the famous passage that starts with  —

If music be the food of love, play on…

— and I’d play this.

[sc_embed_player fileurl=”http://alifesworkmovie.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/logy_j_a.mp3″]

Somewhere in the middle of the piece, and it varied night to night, Orsino barked:

Enough; no more:
‘Tis not so sweet now as it was before…

And I’d stop.

I remembered this as I was playing the piece the other night, and remembering my stint in 12th Night always brings to mind the big lesson learned in the play.

Let’s put aside “Shakespeare’s language” for a minute, because it is undeniable that much of the humor in 12th Night will work for an individual if he or she has read the play closely, seen it before, or is familiar with Shakespeare’s style, vocabulary, themes, etc. Okay, with that aside, there are still many moments, when performed, that speak to a 20th Century audience (and it was the 20th Century when I was in the play). There are many opportunities for slapstick and a few parts (Malvolio, Toby Belch, Andrew Aguecheek, and Feste) can be played broadly and bawdily. And so it was with this production.

But what struck me, from my vantage point on stage and backstage, was how a certain joke or gag would bring down the house one night, and the next night it would fall flat. This was eye-opening and mysterious.

The lesson learned? Audiences are unpredictable. Consider this: Jack Lemmon reported that people walked out of the first preview screening of Some Like It Hot. Everyone panicked but director Billy Wilder. He didn’t change a thing in the film, screened it the following night to a different audience in a different part of Los Angeles, and they couldn’t stop laughing.

So what’s this filmmaker to do when he wants every frame, every word, every sound to communicate something specific to the audience? All I can come up with is, “trust your gut.”

I know there are a few playwrights out there who read this blog. Have you experienced this? What do you make of it?

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[Cross-posted on Extra Criticum]

 

2 Responses

  1. Duane Kelly

    Thanks for sharing your 12TH NIGHT memory. Too bad you didn’t have a picture of a young Licata in tights to share. As a playwright I have found that if a play is fundamentally flawed (and lots of plays are fundamentally flawed) then a different audience will not turn water into wine. What I have found more variable is humor and those poignant moments when the house goes all quiet out of attention and empathy. A joke or bit of physical comedy can land one night and be a dud the next (though the better the joke/business, the less likely that is to happen).

    • David Licata

      Hi Duane,

      I think there were photographs taken, but unfortunately I don’t have them. I wish I did, they would be fun to see.

      When I was writing this post, I thought of mentioning the torture scene in Reservoir Dogs as a control, as a scene that would affect 95% of people in the audience in the same way. Is it the visceral that is universal? The nightmare, the horror, and on the humor side of the coin, the slipping-on-a-banana-peel, men-in-drag type stuff? The bits that don’t rely on language, the bits that aren’t subtle, and therefore won’t go over anyone’s head or be misinterpreted?

      As always, thanks for the thoughtful comment.

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