"Actresses as Working Women" by Tracy C. Davis

(Routledge, Oxon, 1991)

One of the great unknown nineteenth-century novels is a book called The Golovliov Family by Mikhail Saltykov-Schedrin. Among its many virtues is a sympathetic portrayal of the lives of two actresses: they are the twin grand-daughters of the absolutely despicable main character of the novel, Vladimir Mikhailovich Golovliov, and despite being shunned by the family for their profession and living in misery because of this, they wind up being the only ones capable of loving their grandfather after his life finally falls apart. (1) There are, in fact, many actresses in Russian literature and theatre – Arkadina being a latecomer in a long tradition – and in my opinion, they are among the most interesting characters in the Russian canon. Because most of these writers were dedicated realists, their take on the women was often, precisely, “actresses as working women”. (2) Alexander Ostrovsky, Russia’s greatest playwright, has at least four plays where actresses are the main characters, and which develop the impossible conflicts they are thrown into by a context that judges them harshly but relies on them emotionally: where they are vehicles for satirizing a world full of vices, with these actresses being, well, quite normal.

Tracy Davis’ book reminded me of Ostrovsky and Saltykov-Schedrin precisely because her meticulous description of a complex situation succeeds, without a word of admiration, to provoke admiration and compassion from the reader for these young women who, before a scarcity of options, choose the dangerous business of the theatre. Good historical writing is, in my opinion, like good play- or novel-writing: the reader should clearly see the complexity and even the inevitability of conflicts that at first glance seem bizarre, foreign and even maddeningly avoidable. Many of these situations would make wonderful settings for plays, because we would immediately connect to the actresses of the time, and retelling the stories might tell us much about how little has changed in our times. Her five key observations – the acting profession as an alternative to drudgery for poor women, female solidarity leading to social reforms to aid poor women and the poor in general (3), sexual harassment on the workplace masked by false philanthropy, the fetishization of the actress through staging that evoked common pornographic tropes, and the sexualization of actresses through a kind of geographical entrapment, still plague the theatre today. And situations like philanthropic blackmail or social hypocrisy are common scenarios in numerous other contexts. (4)

The story of the critic Clement Scott is a typical example of Davis’ keen analysis of the fundamental conflicts of the period. Here is an experienced professional who wants to protect young women from ruining their lives in the theatre by publicly telling the truth about what will probably happen to them, and who winds up vilified for his honesty and his sincere attempt to do a public good. There is nothing more dangerous for an embattled minority than to have its faults publicized, especially when these faults involve the debasement and violence conducted on an even smaller and more helpless minority. It is a fascinating conflict because those who protest the most loudly truly think that they are protecting the women whose good name they want to defend: one of those situations where it is hard to imagine what course of action could possibly be taken to break the endless cycle. Philanthropic attitudes, such as those expressed by the defenders of the actresses’ good name, believe in the system, and therefore perpetuate a system that is inherently prejudiced and violent. (5)

From a certain perspective, Davis’ treatment of the Clement Scott incident illustrates how she proceeds in this wonderful book, where each chapter criticizes, deconstructs, then builds upon the preceding ones. In order to understand the Scott scandal fully and see how impossibly difficult reform was in the theatre, it is necessary to have carefully studied the first two chapters of the book. We see, in chapter one, that some women choose the theatre as a viable option away from situations of indentured slavery, such as teaching or being a prostitute; and we know that from a certain point of view, women in the theatre are treated more democratically than in any other profession – Davis paints a traditional picture of the improving situation of the Victorian actress. But then in chapter two, she submits the statistics to a critical analysis, and shows that the situation was often so difficult for the actresses that some theatres had to organize welfare for them and their children, and this of course was done by the women themselves. Then in chapter three, Davis shows the constant sexual harassment the actresses must submit to in order to survive: it becomes clear that most of the young women who try to “escape” into the theatre wind up in a situation as miserable as the working-class life they wanted to avoid. So when she finally describes Scott’s well-meaning denunciation of the situation of women in the theatre, the vitriolic reaction of the theatre directors and managers (mostly male) is perfectly clear: speaking relatively, they have the moral high ground, because they know they do “more” for women than any other profession – but the reality is their treatment of their female colleagues is in some sense more terrible than in other professions. And there is nothing more ideological than violence disguised as generosity, especially when the surrounding violence is more openly aggressive.

(1) Saltykov-Schedrin, Mikhail. Gospodá Golovliovy. Khudozhestvennaya Literatura, Moskva, 1980.
(2) Chekhov is a curious exception to this rule.
(3) Ostrovsky was also famous for his reforms to the theatre, and for his attempts to professionalize acting companies and to secure decent salaries for their members. See V. Y. Lakshin, Alexander Nikolayevich Ostrovsky. Iskusstvo, Moscú, 1982.
(4) For a fascinating analysis of the humiliating philanthropy and social hypocrisy of the white elites to African American artists during the Harlem Renaissance, see Chapter 3 of Nathan Irvin Huggins’ book, Harlem Renaissance (Oxford University Press, New York, 1971).
(5) This collusive and violent “image-consciousness” is an important point of Huggins’ Harlem Renaissance, where the spokespeople for the image are community leaders trying to “live up to” white standards, even while the white community, as in Davis’ London, was looking for something else altogether in the Harlem arts scene.

Amiri Baraka (Everett LeRoy Jones) and the Great Irish Writers

For years I have maintained that often, in the history of theatre and literature, the best and most representative writers of a country are often outsiders or minorities. Pushkin had African roots, Gogol and Bulgakov were Ukrainian, Pasternak was Litvak, etc.

This is one reason why it seems natural to me, though not always to others, my association of three lines of research, apparently distinct, but in fact with a great deal in common: Black American writers, post-colonial writers and Irish writers. What a surprise, then, to find my intuition confirmed by a radical Black-American communist and namesake (at least until he changed his name), Amiri Baraka. The article (from Home, a collection of essays published in the sixties), is called "Black Writing" and often refers to Joyce's The Dubliners. In the last paragraphs, Baraka writes:

"The vantage point is classically perfect - outside and inside - at the same time. Think of the great Irish writers - Wilde, Yeats, Shaw, Synge, Joyce, O'Casey and Beckett - and their clear and powerful understanding (social as well as aesthetic) of where they were and how best they could function inside and outside the imaginary English society, even going so far as teaching the mainstreamers their own language, and revitalizing in the doing." (p. 140)

Some commentators (Watts, 2001) say that Baraka's position oversimplifies the question, that there can be no comparison between a colonized people like Ireland, and an enslaved people who were forced to abandon all connection to their past. But this argument implies that culture is eminently geographical, and that the African cultural practices did not persist for centuries in the Americas; in Colombia and Cuba, however, Yoruba and Ibo are still spoken in some places, and if the search for a romantic Celtic past has driven the Irish writers, there is no question that a search for a romantic African past, for all its caleidoscopic enormity, has also driven Black American writers. What is also certain is that colonialism and the slave trade were of a piece, in terms of mentality, and that colonialism and post-colonialism are hardly limited to our era. I would like to ask Aesop, Greek poet and Roman slave, his opinion on this matter.

In any case, the point here isn't so much the formal social setting, as Baraka's comment on the "imaginary English society" - implying, if I understand him well, that the colonizing "cultures" are not cultures at all, but political clubs, or at the very least, cultures of power practices. Rome was one of the first trans-national organizations, and if Latin was later vitalized it was by indigenous cultural re-conquest. Baraka's whole point, as radical as it may seem to some, is that where there is a powerful institution, there can be no art - and that siding with the powers that be often is the fastest way to kill art. Baraka's argument, in fact, is more Hegelian than Marxist: it is the sublimation of the conflict between master and slave, where, as Hegel famously writes, the master suddenly becomes (shall we say culturally?) dependent on the slave, and the slave, master of his own work, art, and eventually, freedom.

Play and Action

A frustrating difficulty of certain talented actors is that they capture the play tactics of a scene quickly, and begin to play them. But they do it with such mastery - and so automatically - that they forget their stage partner. And since there is no action without a stage partner, the play tactics kill the action.

We have all witnessed it: we see a well-played performance, and we enjoy it very much at first, but bit by bit we begin to get bored. This is because the actors are playing, but they aren't pursuing a concrete action.

There is no doubt that doña Helia, in Today's a Holiday, wants to greet her cousin, wants to talk to him, to accompany him on this holiday, etc. All of that is great fun, and the scene is written that way: those are the play tactics of the character. But if the actress who performs doña Helia doesn't discover what the character wants, and doesn' try to pursue that action, then the play tactis will suddenly become false and the scene will stop working.

Helia wants to cheer Silverio up, wants to accompany him, for sure, but what she really wants id to find out what is going on between him and Pilar; she wants to find out what's gotten into Silverio. If she pursues this action actively, then the rest will suddenly, come alive, and will acquire a certain agreeable ambiguity, much more interesting for the audience. And this is impossible without connecting with the stage partner.

Play tactics aren't actions. Action gives life to play.

A Definition of Virtue

Here is a very moving excerpt from Phenomenology of Spirit by Hegel, and a sentiment which I share with regards to the difficulties involved in truly loving your enemy:

"Virtue is not merely like the combatant who, in the conflict, is only concerned with keeping his sword bright, but it has even started the fight in order to preserve the weapons. And not only can it not use its own weapons, it must also preserve intact those of the enemy and protect them against its own attack, for all are noble parts of the good, on behalf of which it went into battle." (Hegel, 232)

Career Highlights

The following are the more successful productions that Dixon has staged as a director in recent years.

The Fugitives by Alejo Carpentier. Theatre dance production. Residency Prize, Ministry of Culture, 2008-09. Premiere: February 19, 2009

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett. Anhelo del Salmon Theatre, Bogota. Premiere: August 19, 2008, Guarne, Antioquia.

Poverty is no Crime by Alexander Ostrovsky. Four Worlds Research Group, Theatre Department, Universidad del Valle. Premiere: Cali-Teatro, June 15, 2008. In conjunction with the Visual Arts and Music Departments.

Dancing at Lughnasa by Brian Friel. Theatre Department, Universidad del Valle. Premiere: Teatro la Máscara, Cali, February 14, 2008

Beef, no Chicken by Derek Walcott. Co-directed by Manuel Viveros. Theatre Department of the Universidad del Valle, Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists, Ministry of Culture, Buenaventura Branch of the Universidad del Valle. Premiere: Univalle Theatre Hall, Cali, February 26, 2006

As Artistic Director

The Piano Lesson by August Wilson. Research Group Teatro Cuatro Mundos/Pacific Coast Workshop for Young Artists. Premiere: Comfandi Theatre, Buenaventura, July 11, 2009.