Shakespeare was not a full-time writer without other responsibilities, like O’Neill or Williams. But what might look like a distraction for such authors—acting in his own and other people’s plays, coaching fellow players, helping manage the ownership of the troupe’s resources (including its two theaters, the Globe and Blackfriars)—was a strength for Shakespeare, since it made him a day-by-day observer of what the troupe could accomplish, actor by actor. [...]Shakespeare and Verdi in the Theater.
'According to Pacini,' Julian Budden writes in The Operas of Verdi, 'it was the custom at the San Carlo theatre, Naples, for the composer to turn the pages for the leading cello and double bass players on opening nights.' The composer had to change his score to fit new voices if there were substitutions caused by illness or some other accident. In subsequent performances, he was expected to take out or put in arias for the different houses, transposing keys, changing orchestration. He was not a man of the study but of the theater.
The book Squeaking Cleopatras: The Elizabethan Boy Player has a lot of information on that subject, fascinating if you're sufficiently interested.In the month of January, 1596…the Admirals’ Men played on every day except Sundays and presented fourteen plays. Six were given only one performance in the month, and no play was presented more than four times. The shortest interval between the repetition of any single play was three days, and the next shortest five. Although all except one were old plays, this record represents an achievement that would almost certainly be beyond the capacities of actors in the modern theatre.We can only be stunned at the memory powers of the actors on such a schedule. The opera houses of Verdi’s time were just as bustling with new works and crowded seasons...
...The trickiest job was to write for that rare commodity, the boy actors who played women. These were hard to come by and train in the brief time before their voices broke. That is why women’s parts make up only thirteen percent of the lines in the plays. The playwright had to know what stage of development each apprentice had reached. There were usually just two or three boys in the public plays (though more were available from choristers when a play was given at court or in a great family mansion). The boys’ memories were such that Shakespeare wrote shorter parts for them than for adult actors—an average of three hundred or so lines to the adults’ 650 or so lines per play. But when he had a spectacular boy like John Rice, he was able to write as big a role for him as that of Cleopatra (693 lines). Nothing could be more absurd than the idea of the Earl of Oxford writing a long woman’s part without knowing whether the troupe had a boy capable of performing it. Only Shakespeare, who knew and wrote for and acted with and coached John Rice, knew what he could do and how to pace him from play to play.
To be, or not to be, aye there's the point,No wonder it's short if that's the best that could be made of some of the best lines!
To Die, to sleepe, is that all? Aye all:
No, to sleepe, to dreame, I mary there it goes,
For in that dreame of death, when wee awake,
And borne before an euerlasting Iudge ...
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Bingo.
The process of writing a play is incredibly collaborative, and the best playwrights get this. You have to take feedback from non-writers into account -- if only so you know whether the technical stuff you want to happen is even possible.
The company I work with predominantly does play development rather than full-on plays. The development process, including the workshop, is something that I've come to understand is vital to a play's success - and there are a hell of a lot of people other than the playwright that have to weigh in. The contest we do every year offers a workshop -- a quick-and-dirty production that comes earlier than the full-on opening -- as its grand prize, which may sound kind of wimpy; but it's actually a chance for playwrights to work with a really good director, some really good actors, and a really good technical staff, and to see first-hand how their play can work with all that.
What's supposed to happen is that the playwright writes a final draft of their work, based on what they saw when the play got 'on its feet' for the first time, and incorporating feedback from the whole company. The smart playwrights we've worked with have done just that, and their works have gone on to world premieres in L.A., in London, in New York; one's even been published. Some playwrights, though, balk at the feedback and don't go on to another draft -- their plays are great as is, but they don't get that it could be even better, and the feedback is designed to make it even better. Those plays, sadly, never get much further than the workshop.
Shakespeare may not have done anywhere near as well if he hadn't been so tied into what Robert Armin or William Kempe was able to do, or if he hadn't been so familiar with Italian commedia, or into what actually is going through actors' heads when they have to say things like "Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?" or "O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew," or "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, For he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother." And doing some acting yourself is a fantastic way to learn that.
posted by EmpressCallipygos at 7:43 AM on November 18, 2011 [4 favorites]