Saturday, January 28, 2012
Is it healthy to be a luvvie?
Took a turn around Epsom Common this afternoon to be greeted by the remains of about 20 more mature trees laid low by the chain saw volunteers. Logged and neatly stacked to provide habitat for the lesser grey spotted death watch beetle. I continue to look forward to the day when these people take up a more discrete hobby, one which does not disturb the rest of us so much. Perhaps a tiddlywinks league sponsored by Wetherspoons (London, South West)?
Back home to peruse two rather different obituaries for Nicol Williamson, one from the Guardian and one from the DT. That in the Guardian dwells on his huge talent, talent which was rather spoilt by his unpredicability. That in the DT is much less kind and uses the occasion to take a pop at Lawrence Olivier, alleging that his need to hog the lime light drove a host of young talent such as Williamson and Burton onto the bottle and into lucrative but otherwise second division film, often fantasy. While Williamson is portrayed as an exhibitionist drunk, along the lines of the late Oliver Reed. Contrariwise, the obituary closes with a lament for the passing of the days of these unpredictable giants in favour of dull but reliable. Certainly not much in the way of giants to be seen on my recent outings to the Globe.
All of which led me to wonder, not for the first time, what an odd trade it is to spend your day pretending to be someone else. At not being yourself. At this point I ought perhaps declare an interest in that I went to a school which was quite hot on the then fashionable teaching of drama and which ran to a quite decently equipped, small teaching theatre. The catch was that I discovered very quickly that I had no aptitude at all for the acting lark; a lack of aptitude which translated in the world of work to weak performances as after dinner speaker, lecturer or presenter - although it did get better with practise.
Going back to the wonder, the next thought was for the science fiction story in which the ruling classes were so indolent that they hired actors to perform their ruling roles for them. Then there was that rather different ruling class, the Sun King, who starred as himself in his own production; a good part of his life was a performance, perhaps even to the way he treated his various mistresses. Courtiers is his sort of court would also be performers, albeit second division. We expect our own ruling classes to turn in good performances at things like coronations and royal weddings. We expect our politicians to be masters of the small screen. Prime Minister Blair was, I believe, a master of that particularly obnoxious genre, the decent chap in cardigan and chinos, clutching a mug of coffee, not so very different from you or me.
In more humble spheres, we might have role models. We might ape the fashions and manners of our favourite football star or soap star. Or television detective. We might go on training courses where we are expected to act something out in the interests of some teaching point or other. When we take the chair at a meeting, we assume the demeanour and gravitas appropriate to the meeting and if it were a legal meeting we might emphasise the point by wearing funny clothes and talking a funny language. A bit of ritual to prop up the performance. Some people are alleged to project the appearance of some readily recognisable type, an appearance behind which the real self can dwell in peace and quiet, unaffected by the noise and bustle of the outside world.
So while we do not go as far as pretending to be someone else, running along a script written by a third party, some of us do spend a fair part of our life in a role, pretending to a role in the case that we are not very good at it. Perhaps to the point where what we are is what we pretend to be - rather than anything else? What counts is what is shown to the outside world, the show put on for the outside world; anything else that might be swirling around inside is of lesser importance and certainly not for public consumption. To that extent we are what we choose to be in our dance to the music of time.
Professional actors just get a bit more license; they are allowed to vary their diet in a way which the rest of us are not and to get paid to educate or entertain us in the process. Amateur actors can try out being someone else, to see if some new role would suit them better than the one they are in. While the rest of us are supposed to stick to just the one role, at least at any one time; splitting being generally regarded as a bad thing.
Deep stuff. Perhaps I had something odd for lunch.
Back home to peruse two rather different obituaries for Nicol Williamson, one from the Guardian and one from the DT. That in the Guardian dwells on his huge talent, talent which was rather spoilt by his unpredicability. That in the DT is much less kind and uses the occasion to take a pop at Lawrence Olivier, alleging that his need to hog the lime light drove a host of young talent such as Williamson and Burton onto the bottle and into lucrative but otherwise second division film, often fantasy. While Williamson is portrayed as an exhibitionist drunk, along the lines of the late Oliver Reed. Contrariwise, the obituary closes with a lament for the passing of the days of these unpredictable giants in favour of dull but reliable. Certainly not much in the way of giants to be seen on my recent outings to the Globe.
All of which led me to wonder, not for the first time, what an odd trade it is to spend your day pretending to be someone else. At not being yourself. At this point I ought perhaps declare an interest in that I went to a school which was quite hot on the then fashionable teaching of drama and which ran to a quite decently equipped, small teaching theatre. The catch was that I discovered very quickly that I had no aptitude at all for the acting lark; a lack of aptitude which translated in the world of work to weak performances as after dinner speaker, lecturer or presenter - although it did get better with practise.
Going back to the wonder, the next thought was for the science fiction story in which the ruling classes were so indolent that they hired actors to perform their ruling roles for them. Then there was that rather different ruling class, the Sun King, who starred as himself in his own production; a good part of his life was a performance, perhaps even to the way he treated his various mistresses. Courtiers is his sort of court would also be performers, albeit second division. We expect our own ruling classes to turn in good performances at things like coronations and royal weddings. We expect our politicians to be masters of the small screen. Prime Minister Blair was, I believe, a master of that particularly obnoxious genre, the decent chap in cardigan and chinos, clutching a mug of coffee, not so very different from you or me.
In more humble spheres, we might have role models. We might ape the fashions and manners of our favourite football star or soap star. Or television detective. We might go on training courses where we are expected to act something out in the interests of some teaching point or other. When we take the chair at a meeting, we assume the demeanour and gravitas appropriate to the meeting and if it were a legal meeting we might emphasise the point by wearing funny clothes and talking a funny language. A bit of ritual to prop up the performance. Some people are alleged to project the appearance of some readily recognisable type, an appearance behind which the real self can dwell in peace and quiet, unaffected by the noise and bustle of the outside world.
So while we do not go as far as pretending to be someone else, running along a script written by a third party, some of us do spend a fair part of our life in a role, pretending to a role in the case that we are not very good at it. Perhaps to the point where what we are is what we pretend to be - rather than anything else? What counts is what is shown to the outside world, the show put on for the outside world; anything else that might be swirling around inside is of lesser importance and certainly not for public consumption. To that extent we are what we choose to be in our dance to the music of time.
Professional actors just get a bit more license; they are allowed to vary their diet in a way which the rest of us are not and to get paid to educate or entertain us in the process. Amateur actors can try out being someone else, to see if some new role would suit them better than the one they are in. While the rest of us are supposed to stick to just the one role, at least at any one time; splitting being generally regarded as a bad thing.
Deep stuff. Perhaps I had something odd for lunch.
# posted by Jim @ 8:43 AM 
