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Is Theater Ridiculous? Movies, TV and Books Seem to Think So Is Theater Ridiculous? Movies, TV and Books Seem to Think So
(about 11 hours later)
The acting coach Gene Cousineau seems to be a sadist. When a young woman in his class, performing a scene from the movie “Magnolia,” fails to meet his standards, he screams at her — “You’re stinking up my stage, babe!” — and humiliates her in front of her friends. “She doesn’t have any talent whatsoever,” he tells them. “This chick shouldn’t even be in this class.”The acting coach Gene Cousineau seems to be a sadist. When a young woman in his class, performing a scene from the movie “Magnolia,” fails to meet his standards, he screams at her — “You’re stinking up my stage, babe!” — and humiliates her in front of her friends. “She doesn’t have any talent whatsoever,” he tells them. “This chick shouldn’t even be in this class.”
But don’t worry: Just as the woman is exploding in tears, Cousineau has her restart the scene, which is now, supposedly, brilliant. In the theater, sadism is pedagogy.But don’t worry: Just as the woman is exploding in tears, Cousineau has her restart the scene, which is now, supposedly, brilliant. In the theater, sadism is pedagogy.
Or at least that’s how television sees it; Cousineau, played by Henry Winkler, is a character on the HBO series “Barry.” And “Barry” isn’t alone; as if theater weren’t already mocked enough for its hysteria and jazz hands, it now seems to be pop culture’s punching bag.Or at least that’s how television sees it; Cousineau, played by Henry Winkler, is a character on the HBO series “Barry.” And “Barry” isn’t alone; as if theater weren’t already mocked enough for its hysteria and jazz hands, it now seems to be pop culture’s punching bag.
Or so I felt after innocently wandering into several highly praised recent works that turn theater into the butt of satire or, in treating it too reverently, get it all wrong. Whether on film (“Marriage Story”), in prose fiction (“Trust Exercise”) or on television (not just “Barry” but also “The Kominsky Method”), these works portray the theater as a sad sack art form: a hotbed of psychological impairment and a leading lifetime cause of it.Or so I felt after innocently wandering into several highly praised recent works that turn theater into the butt of satire or, in treating it too reverently, get it all wrong. Whether on film (“Marriage Story”), in prose fiction (“Trust Exercise”) or on television (not just “Barry” but also “The Kominsky Method”), these works portray the theater as a sad sack art form: a hotbed of psychological impairment and a leading lifetime cause of it.
Anti-theatrical prejudice isn’t news; Plato banished theater from his republic because he felt it encouraged unreality. And plays have long made fun of their own foibles. But whether affectionate (“The Prom”) or scathing (“Noises Off”), backstage comedies have traditionally taken the art form seriously enough to affirm its worth despite its failings. Theatrical satire is premised on the assumption that dramatic literature as performed by live actors is at least sometimes capable of creating larger human value.Anti-theatrical prejudice isn’t news; Plato banished theater from his republic because he felt it encouraged unreality. And plays have long made fun of their own foibles. But whether affectionate (“The Prom”) or scathing (“Noises Off”), backstage comedies have traditionally taken the art form seriously enough to affirm its worth despite its failings. Theatrical satire is premised on the assumption that dramatic literature as performed by live actors is at least sometimes capable of creating larger human value.
I can detect no such assumption informing “The Kominsky Method,” the Netflix series starring Michael Douglas and Alan Arkin. Douglas plays Sandy Kominsky, a onetime Tony Award-winning stage actor whose Hollywood career never took off, possibly because he’s a disdainful creep. Though he now markets himself as a star-whisperer, the actual students at his storefront studio are laughably bad when they start and little better after his vague interventions.I can detect no such assumption informing “The Kominsky Method,” the Netflix series starring Michael Douglas and Alan Arkin. Douglas plays Sandy Kominsky, a onetime Tony Award-winning stage actor whose Hollywood career never took off, possibly because he’s a disdainful creep. Though he now markets himself as a star-whisperer, the actual students at his storefront studio are laughably bad when they start and little better after his vague interventions.
Theater, it turns out, is just the show’s setting; its theme isn’t art but narcissism. The students’ innocuous vanity serves as a foil to Kominsky’s metastatic form of it as he moves into the terra incognita of post-late-middle-age. We are meant to understand that the hollow self-regard of the performative life is no preparation for the drama of creeping decrepitude. The body does not give a damn about your inner monologue or warm-up exercises.Theater, it turns out, is just the show’s setting; its theme isn’t art but narcissism. The students’ innocuous vanity serves as a foil to Kominsky’s metastatic form of it as he moves into the terra incognita of post-late-middle-age. We are meant to understand that the hollow self-regard of the performative life is no preparation for the drama of creeping decrepitude. The body does not give a damn about your inner monologue or warm-up exercises.
Fair enough; the show, created by Chuck Lorre, is generally breezy, and the satire is lighthearted. But “Barry,” starring Bill Hader as a hit man who gets bitten by the theater bug, is much darker, and so is its satire.Fair enough; the show, created by Chuck Lorre, is generally breezy, and the satire is lighthearted. But “Barry,” starring Bill Hader as a hit man who gets bitten by the theater bug, is much darker, and so is its satire.
It’s not just that Cousineau is more abusive than Kominsky; it’s also that his students are so ridiculous. In the second episode, after a classmate dies, they decide to honor him by putting on a talent show; the stink of narcissism is so bad you begin to feel that the deceased was lucky to miss it.It’s not just that Cousineau is more abusive than Kominsky; it’s also that his students are so ridiculous. In the second episode, after a classmate dies, they decide to honor him by putting on a talent show; the stink of narcissism is so bad you begin to feel that the deceased was lucky to miss it.
I understand that such scenes function as comic relief from the rest of the story, which is violent and real, if real means “extremely unlikely except on TV.” The students, and even Cousineau, are not there to comment on the theater but to fan sparks in Barry’s numb soul. In the series’ wittiest moments, their apparently foolish exercises, such as mirroring facial expressions, actually help Barry learn to be more human.I understand that such scenes function as comic relief from the rest of the story, which is violent and real, if real means “extremely unlikely except on TV.” The students, and even Cousineau, are not there to comment on the theater but to fan sparks in Barry’s numb soul. In the series’ wittiest moments, their apparently foolish exercises, such as mirroring facial expressions, actually help Barry learn to be more human.
What’s unfortunate is that they don’t much humanize anyone else. The same holds for the acting students in “Trust Exercise,” Susan Choi’s novel set in a magnet high school for the performing arts in a city like Houston in the 1980s.What’s unfortunate is that they don’t much humanize anyone else. The same holds for the acting students in “Trust Exercise,” Susan Choi’s novel set in a magnet high school for the performing arts in a city like Houston in the 1980s.
They’re all talentless, at least in the eyes of their teacher, Mr. Kingsley, who makes Cousineau seem like Mr. Rogers. His cult, disguised as a curriculum, involves the destruction and reconstruction of the teenagers’ egos, except that he mostly omits the second part. Instead, he helps them develop sensory awareness by groping one another or, in special cases, by having sex with him.They’re all talentless, at least in the eyes of their teacher, Mr. Kingsley, who makes Cousineau seem like Mr. Rogers. His cult, disguised as a curriculum, involves the destruction and reconstruction of the teenagers’ egos, except that he mostly omits the second part. Instead, he helps them develop sensory awareness by groping one another or, in special cases, by having sex with him.
Choi, who attended an arts high school in Houston, executes several meta-narrational somersaults to demonstrate the damage done to young people seduced into a life that barely distinguishes reality from fiction. Norms of decency disappear when everyone is mirroring everyone else in an insular world. This is tough stuff, built as it is on an idea of the theater as an asylum run by sadistic has-beens and never-weres clinging to talismans of imaginary glory. (Mr. Kingsley is said to have appeared “with Joel Grey” in the original Broadway production of “Cabaret.”)Choi, who attended an arts high school in Houston, executes several meta-narrational somersaults to demonstrate the damage done to young people seduced into a life that barely distinguishes reality from fiction. Norms of decency disappear when everyone is mirroring everyone else in an insular world. This is tough stuff, built as it is on an idea of the theater as an asylum run by sadistic has-beens and never-weres clinging to talismans of imaginary glory. (Mr. Kingsley is said to have appeared “with Joel Grey” in the original Broadway production of “Cabaret.”)
“Trust Exercise,” which won the National Book Award for fiction, exaggerates some of the indignities and inanities of theater training. But anyone who has been through that wringer knows a Kingsley (or a Kominsky or a Cousineau) or two. Their antidote would seem to be Charlie Barber, the character played by Adam Driver in Noah Baumbach’s Netflix film “Marriage Story”: an actor, singer, director, producer, theater company founder, doting father and certified MacArthur “genius.” In some ways, he’s too good to be true; the last time an arty auteur’s multimedia production of “Medea” made it from a black box to Broadway, as it does in the film, was probably never. “Trust Exercise,” which won the National Book Award for fiction, exaggerates some of the indignities and inanities of theater training. But anyone who has been through that wringer knows a Kingsley (or a Kominsky or a Cousineau) or two. Their antidote would seem to be Charlie Barber, the character played by Adam Driver in Noah Baumbach’s Netflix film “Marriage Story”: an actor, singer, director, producer, theater company founder, doting father and certified MacArthur “genius.” In some ways, he’s too good to be true; the last time an arty auteur’s multimedia production of “Electra” made it from a black box to Broadway, as it does in the film, was probably never.
But Charlie’s connection to the theater is meant as the opposite of satire; it’s not deployed to belittle but to valorize. In the midst of a harrowing divorce from his wife, Nicole (Scarlett Johansson), his commitment to the underdog art form makes him sympathetic by association. Not so Nicole, who before becoming a stage actress was a movie star thanks to a teen sex comedy called “All Over the Girl.” In this way, “Marriage Story” is less “Kramer vs. Kramer” than New York vs. Los Angeles.But Charlie’s connection to the theater is meant as the opposite of satire; it’s not deployed to belittle but to valorize. In the midst of a harrowing divorce from his wife, Nicole (Scarlett Johansson), his commitment to the underdog art form makes him sympathetic by association. Not so Nicole, who before becoming a stage actress was a movie star thanks to a teen sex comedy called “All Over the Girl.” In this way, “Marriage Story” is less “Kramer vs. Kramer” than New York vs. Los Angeles.
The point is underlined by the terrific casting; aside from Driver, an astonishing stage creature, it’s a pleasure to see the set dressed with actual New York actors like Matthew Maher, Jasmine Cephas Jones, Mary Wiseman and Becca Blackwell. But in using the scrappy Off Broadway milieu to boost Charlie’s bona fides, “Marriage Story” makes the same fundamental mistake as “Barry” and the others. It buys into the idea of theater as harem, where great men get away with anything if they have enough charisma. They need not even be great.The point is underlined by the terrific casting; aside from Driver, an astonishing stage creature, it’s a pleasure to see the set dressed with actual New York actors like Matthew Maher, Jasmine Cephas Jones, Mary Wiseman and Becca Blackwell. But in using the scrappy Off Broadway milieu to boost Charlie’s bona fides, “Marriage Story” makes the same fundamental mistake as “Barry” and the others. It buys into the idea of theater as harem, where great men get away with anything if they have enough charisma. They need not even be great.
Take the matter of the movie’s homage to Stephen Sondheim. The separating spouses are each given a song from “Company” to sing — Nicole at a party, Charlie at a theater hangout with an open mic. Charlie’s is the big-belt ballad “Being Alive,” an instant sympathy-monger, drawing the listener into the heart of his struggle to embrace the need for connection. But Nicole’s number, an up-tempo comedy trio she sings with her mother and sister, is “You Could Drive a Person Crazy,” a song not about being alive but about being annoyed.Take the matter of the movie’s homage to Stephen Sondheim. The separating spouses are each given a song from “Company” to sing — Nicole at a party, Charlie at a theater hangout with an open mic. Charlie’s is the big-belt ballad “Being Alive,” an instant sympathy-monger, drawing the listener into the heart of his struggle to embrace the need for connection. But Nicole’s number, an up-tempo comedy trio she sings with her mother and sister, is “You Could Drive a Person Crazy,” a song not about being alive but about being annoyed.
In putting its thumb so heavily on the scales — giving Charlie but not Nicole theatrical depth — the movie does neither party any favors. Nicole comes off as a vengeful shark (her divorce lawyer is played by Laura Dern in stilettos), and Charlie as a martyr and a baby.In putting its thumb so heavily on the scales — giving Charlie but not Nicole theatrical depth — the movie does neither party any favors. Nicole comes off as a vengeful shark (her divorce lawyer is played by Laura Dern in stilettos), and Charlie as a martyr and a baby.
That’s how it seems to see the theater as well: as a cult of losers too delicate for the real world and thus vulnerable to abuse. So do most representations of the theater in other mediums; with few exceptions — Louis Malle’s “Vanya on 42nd Street” comes to mind — it’s less about diligence and intelligence than magic and mania.That’s how it seems to see the theater as well: as a cult of losers too delicate for the real world and thus vulnerable to abuse. So do most representations of the theater in other mediums; with few exceptions — Louis Malle’s “Vanya on 42nd Street” comes to mind — it’s less about diligence and intelligence than magic and mania.
The theater has such elements, sure, but it’s mostly the place that for centuries (“Medea” is more than 2,400 years old) has done the hard, collaborative work of mirroring humanity to humans. To have it reduced to a joke by its upstart sibling art forms is enough to make a real theater nerd cry. The theater has such elements, sure, but it’s mostly the place that for centuries (“Electra” is more than 2,400 years old) has done the hard, collaborative work of mirroring humanity to humans. To have it reduced to a joke by its upstart sibling art forms is enough to make a real theater nerd cry.