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Drama As A Wellmade Play
Drama As A Wellmade Play
Drama As A Wellmade Play
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Peter Millward
(Ian) who previously attempted the climb and who has suffered grievously
for it. It is with this presentation that we are concerned, so let us see how
it is accomplished.
01 Julia : I'll go and see if father can come along.
02 You stay and talk to your friends.
03 Teacher : Where are they going to?
04 Shirley : They're going to see . . . to get his
05 father.
06 Teacher: Are they? Don't they seem n
07 Mark: She's going to have to guide him
08 (because he's blind.
09 Teacher: (They seem really nice people.
10 Shirley: He's blind.
1 1 Teacher: He must be very old, I expect. If he's
12 blind now /
13 Mark: He's not that old.
14 Teacher: Isn't he? (Oh
15 Mark: (No. He didn't/
16 Bev: Well why is he blind?
17 Mark: didn't do the trip that long ago. Ah,
18 here he is now. Come on . . . careful . . .
19 over here . . . come on.
20 Teacher: I don't like the look of this (at /
21 Julia: (Mind the
22 steps.
23 Teacher: Oh dear. Poor fellow ... he doesn't look
24 (very nice.
25 Mark: (Careful . . . careful down.
26 Julia : One more. There you are. We'll
27 (get you a seat.
28 Mark: (******* a few ¿ays ago jje>s made it
29 now, as you can see.
30 Julia: There you are. Sit down on there.
31 Teacher: He doesn't look very nice.
32 Mark: Sit down. Right ... he made it here.
fore we are not told (in so many words) that he suffers a disability. The
point is that the words are appropriate in this context where we know al-
most nothing of the old man, and will be appropriate later as we look back
and are aware of his blindness; appropriate words, but words that will be
taken differently. Now their significance may be missed, but later, and as
we review the text, this should become apparent, and we may see the
words as indicators of the father's disability. That is because we can treat
this drama as though it were a play with the ending present in its beginning,
and it should encourage us to look for ways in which meanings are man-
aged rather than treat them as if they were passed on like tasty recipes or
unwelcome presents. The business of making contributions sensible, of
linking them with the context in which they are uttered (and of which they
are a part), is the business of making life visible. Can we accept the sen-
sitivity of Julia and Mark who spoke in a way that rewards this kind of ex-
amination? Their lines were well and truly penned.
But still the stranger does not see what is happening, "They seem really
nice people" (09), and so he gets Shirley (the guide) to work on behalf of
the guardians in the greater interest of stability and sense in the drama. She
works as a playwright and draws our attention to the old man's infirmity,
"He's blind." (10). Even now, though, the stranger 'refuses' to také the
point of this blindness. He manages to distance the father and his condi-
tion, so that it does not touch him too closely. He achieves this as he ac-
counts for the father's blindness, "He must be very old, I expect. If he's
blind now/" (1 1-12). As Beverley says, a little later in the drama, "You are
young." and thereby ensures that the old man's disability is kept at arm's
length. This stubborn refusal by the stranger to face up to the situation is
more than Mark can bear for he is determined to make him appreciate the
significance of the father's blindness. He interrupts the teacher-in-role to
tell him he is missing the point, "He's not that old." (13), and succeeds in
forcing him out of his comfortable corner, "Isn't he? Oh." (14).
Drama of this kind, and the making of meaning in any circumstances,
will reach beyond individual concerns to the establishment of sensible sit-
uations in which different points of view may come together. We have to
work as playwrights work, and the presentation of the guardians' threat be-
hind their 'pleasant seeming' is the work of all involved in the drama.
Every contribution is a part of that presentation, and beyond their parts in
the drama these people are dramatists.
Now all is ready for the presentation of the blind man; this the guardians
do as they lead Ian into the room.
Mark : Ah, here he is now. Come on . . . careful . . . over here . . . come on.
Julia: Mind the steps.
Mark : Careful . . . careful down.
Julia : One more. There you are. We'll get you a seat.
Mark: He's made it now, as you can see.
Julia: There you are. Sit down on there.
Mark: Sit down. Right ... he made it here.
From the moment when Mark says, "Ah, here he is now" (17), and
speaks as if he were not there, to when he says, ". . .he made it here"
(32), as though he were not altogether there and could not speak for him-
self, they concentrate upon the task of presenting Ian as inadequate. The
blind man appears to be blind as they treat him as blind. It is not enough to
say, as Shirley said a little earlier, "He's blind" (10), and leave it at that,
for his blindness has to be continuously presented if it is to keep its signifi-
cance and be a part of the context. Of course, a blind man is blind, but he
is, as well, other people's perceptions of his blindness. They respond to his
blindness, and in so doing, show him what it means to be blind. It is not
simply that he cannot see, like some eyeless fish lurking at the bottom of
the ocean, for there is more to his blindness than a lack of sight. It has im-
plications for the way in which he lives and is treated. People demand of
the blind man a particular kind of response, and so does he of them. Their
demands are to be found in the way in which they treat each other. We can
see it happening here as the guardians go about the business of putting the
blind man in his place, but it happens just as surely in everyday life. We
create disability through our presentations of the disabled, and so do we
create those about us whom we care to treat as normal. That is why this
example is so important, and whenever we consider the business of putting
Julia's task is to show the stranger how the father became blind so that he
might see it was not just old age, He got/ When he first tried it/ Coming up
the mountain/ He went up a second time, blind/ Yes/ Oh yes/. Meanwhile,
Mark is drawing attention to the blind man's deafness. It is not simply that
he cannot hear very well but that he must carry with him a mark of his
deafness (an old-fashioned hearing horn, created through Mark's words
and actions) so that everyone may experience the full force of the dis-
ability, He slipped down/ I'll get him/ 1 have to put this in his ear/ Because
he's . . . he's very deaf/ He's very deaf/ You'll have to talk through/ Yeah/
Yes. When these two strands are experienced as one, with the stranger
caught between them and involved in both, they have a startling effect. The
teacher in role is confronted by the blind and deaf father, who does not see
what is happening and cannot hear too clearly, and who came to this un-
happy pass because he climbed the mountain. The two parts come together
in the stranger's awful realization of what it means:
mind of the climb, "When he first tried it" (38), even as Mark holds up the
hearing trumpet, "I have to put this in his ear" (39). But this stranger, like
the blind man before him, does not hear too well, and besides, he is over-
whelmed by the state of the figure in front of him and the feeling that there
is something he does not know, "Tried what?" (40). So Julia, gently and
without any fuss, makes the link and binds the old man to the stranger,
"Coming up the mountain" (41). Still the stranger says nothing; it is as if
he does not hear. "I have to put this in his ear. Because he's . . . he's very
deaf' (39 & 42), continues Mark, and yet the stranger does not speak. "He
went up a second time, blind" (43-44), says Julia, but he does not hear.
"He's very deaf. You'll have to talk through. . . ." (46-47); and here, by
the deaf and blind father is the stranger, who could not see what was hap-
pening ("Don't they seem nice", "He must be very old, I expect."), and
would not hear nor understand the things they said to him.
But now he understands. Mark and Julia seem to know intuitively that
this old man, this symbol of the stranger and his intentions, this blind and
deaf father, will be more powerful than anything they can say or do, if only
they can present him properly and help the stranger make the right connec-
tions. It is only with hindsight that we can see how they manage to draw
out the symbolic purpose of the blind, deaf father.
Only they are not finished with him yet;
55 He went up a second time blind. My
56 husband went up and helped him.
57 Teacher: And you never got to the top?
58 Julia: Oh yes (he got to the top.
59 Mark: (We got to the top. He's a
60 Mark: member of the tribe now.
61 Julia: He went back down to the bottom and then
62 had to come all the way back up. . . . the
63 way you've come again.
64 Teacher: Yeah.
65 Julia: To get here to live with us.
66 Mark: Yes.
67 Teacher: But. . . . but when he started was he
68 perfectly all right?
69 Julia: Oh (yes.
70 Mark: (Of course he was.
71 Julia: He just had a slight limp in his leg
72 though.
done all that you want to do. He has achieved all that you want to achieve,
and look at him, blind and deaf and broken." "Oh yes he got to the top.
He's a member of the tribe now." (58-60) But before he set out on his jour-
ney he was, "... perfectly all right" (68), except, that is, for a, . .
slight limp in his leg. . . ." (71). The guardians are self-assured and full of
confidence. They are working and writing fluently. They are enjoying
themselves within the drama, and they certainly give the teacher in role
plenty to think about as they show him the consequences for one who
came, . . all the way. ... the way you've come again" (62-63).
These are only young children doing a bit of drama with their teacher,
yet they manage to bring together a blind man who needs a guide, and a
stranger, one who looks like him, intends to travel the same path, and only
sees things as they seem to be. It is quite impressive and, though not King
Lear, we may remember Gloucester, and be reminded of one who ever
stumbled when he saw.
Do I read too much into all of this? Well, in a way, yes; but no more
than can be read into it, and I can account for my interpretation as I refer
to the words and actions of those involved. I can justify my point of view,
and I am using their presentation to make sense of what they have
achieved. This is just as those in the drama must do if they are to see what
is happening, make sense of what is going on and contribute in a proper
way. Others might see it all quite differently, or see more or less, but they
will have to account for what they see. And they will have to agree, surely,
that these children are reaching towards 'literary workmanship' and ac-
knowledge that any playwright "could give instruction for this kind of sym-
bolism as part of a script" (Bolton 1984, p. 186).
They are engaged in literary discourse, but they are not making a play.
They are presenting experience dramatically and their work becomes 'liter-
ary," as we consider how they managed the situation, how they brought it
alive and made it meaningful. In examining this piece of drama as we
would examine a well-made play, we find it to be a well-made play and we
find their contributions to be well- wrought.
Fleming argues convincingly against this point of view and surely dramatic
encounters of the kind we have uncovered here give force to his argument.
While this piece of drama is certainly not a Shakespeare play, it is a play.
It may not be a very good play, but it lacks neither imagery nor subtle
nuances, and we can say that the language "resonates with meaning" even
though it may not be very profound. Clearly, too, it will bear the kind of
criticism usually reserved for literary texts. It does not fall apart when
looked at in this way, and it appears to be ordered and controlled. It looks
as if those involved know what they are doing. There might not be a "focal
attention to form" (Fleming 1982, p. 285) but that does not mean that it is
formless or that those involved are not concerned about the form. Indeed,
they cannot help but be, for it is the underlying form (of which they may
not be aware) that gives to the situation a sense of stability and enables
them to take part.
It may seem surprising that a piece of children's drama such as this
should be so tightly structured; the more so as I was involved, and know
that no such thought went into it. Nevertheless, the actors and their audi-
ence work to make life meaningful, and I think we may be impressed by
the children's sensitivity and by the close attention they pay to those about
them and to the dramatic context they are concerned to create. They are
attentive to all things, and they work like good playwrights. For the mo-
ment, just look at what they have done; do not consider too deeply what it
is that they have put into the drama (for there may be no answer to that),
but see what you can take from it. It looks like a worthwhile achievement
to me.
Further, should we not give the children the chance to respond to their
creation, to take on the role of the literary critic or the social observer (as I
have done in trying to explain and account for what happens) so that they
may see from time to time how they made their drama work? A transcript
is demanding to produce, but even a short extract may be enough to help
young children see something of what has been done. Surely this would
help them to appreciate the work of other playwrights and enable them to
understand more readily how literary texts are produced? These people de-
serve the chance to look at what they have done objectively, as they
should be encouraged to connect their experience with other places and
other times. They should be able to reflect upon the managed quality of
their work.
Seeing this piece of drama as a well-made play has another level of sig-
nificance. The drama appears like this because we have a transcript before
us and not simply because of some quality which is embedded in the drama
itself. We can look at it now with hindsight and draw out a story, and as we
do that we impose our structure upon the work. The same sense of story
would not be apparent as it was created, only as we make sense of each
contribution in the light of what has gone before. It is this kind of activity
which an audience engages in as it watches a play. We find the 'mean-
ingfulness' of the experience as we are able to consider it from a detached
position, and it is within 'accounts' such as these that we find our lives to
have a sense of stability. So, rather than reflecting the world of everyday
life, such 'fictions' describe it in ways which we find meaningful, ways that
enable us to 'see' it, and see it as real. The structure is in our accounting,
in our narratives, and while we may think our stories describe social life,
that life may be made real and visible through our stories and the way in
which we tell them. We are not describing what happens, but making sense
of what happens. This account of the dramatic activity is very different
from the 'layman's view'; indeed, one might feel that it turns that view
upon its head. Instead of drama and literary discourse reflecting the real
world, that world is made visible and 'real' through the work done by peo-
ple concerned to present experience dramatically.
So drama (the make-believe) is the necessary part of the business of giv-
ing the social life a sense of stability and meaningfulness, and it works on
two levels. First, in that the 'make-believe' aspect of the 'managed accom-
plishment' is treated as make-believe, it reinforces the sense of facticity
which upholds our experience of everyday life, and provides a means of
coping with threats to that facticity ("He's only joking!" or "It's just a
play"). We need such a make-believe world or we would be overwhelmed
by experience. In the second place, the make-believe experience provides
the sense of story, and the stucture by which we are able to treat the
everyday experience as being 'real.' We feel that our drama is a reflection
of this world of everyday living (albeit a special kind of reflection with
'heightened consciousness' or 'aesthetic meaning') and, therefore, that it
depicts an underlying structure in everyday life which can be made mean-
ingful through activities of this kind. We treat life as meaningful (and, hey
presto, we find it so) because we can tell stories about that life. In this
sense our 'fictions' are reassuring for they provide our life with stability. If
"it is in retrospect that a play tells a story" (Bolton 1984, p. 38), then it is
also "in retrospect" that our everyday life is made meaningful, and the
play is one of the ways in which that is done.
As I suggested before, many drama teachers feel that the doing of plays
runs counter to their purposes in drama. They have, and rightly I think,
tended to mistrust an activity which asks the children to produce a copy of
the world for the benefit of an audience. However, there is more to play
writing than acting before others, and this analysis seems to show that the
writing of plays and the presentation of dramatic experience may be activi-
ties of the same kind. Both rely upon the sensitive attention to context
which has been displayed by these children and both demand an apprecia-
tion (however dimly felt) of the patterned, structured, ordered nature of
our lives, and of the managed quality of that patterning, structure, and
order.
References