History of Stage Managers: Article for Sale

I’m publishing for sale, through Scribd.com, a unique piece on the history of theatrical stage managers from ancient Greek drama to the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, Vaudeville & Variety to the contemporary theatre. The article is 700 words, costs $5, and is a one-of-a-kind distillation of stage management history found nowhere else online. Preview available below:

Thornton Wilder’s ‘Stage Manager’ in “Our Town”: A Historical Perspective

Also available for sale, used with permission, is another one-of-a-kind piece I’m having published in the International Journal of Ambient Computing and intelligence: Adapting Technical Theatre Principles and Practices to Immersive Computing and Mixed Reality Environments.

Circus Impresario Dream

He was a large man, red of face, wearing a suit, but sweaty as the day was hot.

“I thought I was the only gangster here,” he said.

Don’t remember how I found this place. Some sort of train, coming back from somewhere else. I want to say family members were involved. I saw off to the right side of the train tigers circling. Big cats. We disembarked and walked through quickly, mostly through back areas, as if by impulse.

Many old wooden walkways painted a dull blue color, rickety ramps, rides. Children walking around in a daze, it reminded me of being a child, the joy I felt around animals.

“I spend all day with my animals – in Caledonia – and then come up here,” to take care of business, presumably. He ushered us along absently.

I had my shirt off at some point in the hot sun. A black band was around my upper right arm, a tattoo. My body seemed older, different, sagging. We walked backwards through the place, towards the entrance. Near it was a tiny room, an alcove filled with costumes, sparkling, feathers. I stopped and lingered, looking at them as if in a trance. Someone urged me to come along.

“I’ve spent the last two years working in theatre,” I told the man when he came back from wherever he’d been.

“It’s all the same,” he said. “We might as well start rolling the money into big balls right now!” he exclaimed, bypassing a seated woman in costume, reaching into another nook to pull out a box full of money, measuring it mentally, calculating how much must be in there, but putting it back without actually looking inside.

I took this to mean that I was hired.

History of Stage Management, Preliminary Notes

Going to expand this into a few different full-length articles, but thought it would behoove me to get my references together into one place first…

Wikipedia’s entry on stage management explains: “There is a profound lack of information regarding the history and evolution of stage management. Most stage management books are reference or how-to manuals describing the process of stage management, with little or no reference to the history of the field.”

It then quotes Larry Fazio’s book introduction on the subject:

“I realized that I wanted to include a section on the history of SMing. In my research, I found only one SMing book that briefly described the evolution of the SM, which started in the 17th century during Shakespeare’s and Molière’s time…by [this] time, the actor and/or playwright was well established as the director of the show and putting together a production had become more civilized and organized. More props were used and special costumes were needed to portray the characters. It wasn’t until the eighteenth century in England that the term stage manager was used instead of director. This was the first time a person, separate from the actors and playwright, was hired to direct or manage the stage. With the advent of elaborate sets, multiple costume changes, mechanical scenery and devices, gas lighting, and the lime-light spotlight, the SM’s job was split into the two positions as we know them today—the director and the SM.”

So we have a clear line connecting the stage manager and the director – which only makes sense, since nowadays the SM takes over completely from the director upon a show’s opening. Up until then, during rehearsals, the SM acts more as an assistant to the director, organizing, scheduling and handling logistics, and acting as a scribe to notate and maintain creative decisions made.

Wikipedia’s theatre director page elucidates another connecting line, via Greek drama down to the Mystery plays of medieval Europe:

In ancient Greece, the birthplace of European drama, the writer bore principal responsibility for the staging of his plays. Actors would generally be semi-professionals, and the playwright-director oversaw the mounting of plays from the writing process all the way through to their performances, often – as was the case for Aeschylos for instance – also acting in them. He would also train the chorus, sometimes compose the music and supervise every aspect of production. The term applied to him, didaskalos, the Greek word for “teacher,” is indicative of how these early directors had to combine instruction of their performers with staging their work.

[...] In Medieval times, the complexity of vernacular religious drama, with its large scale mystery plays that often included crowd scenes, processions and elaborate effects, gave the role of director (or stage manager or pageant master) considerable importance. [...] the director’s tasks included overseeing the erecting of a stage and scenery (there were no permanent, purpose-built theatre structures at this time, and performances of vernacular drama mostly took place in the open air), casting and directing the actors (which included fining them for those that infringed rules), and addressing the audience at the beginning of each performance and after each intermission.

Acting troupes in general seem also to have been run by the lead actor, or a prominent member of the company, often referred to under the category of “actor-manager” (same source as above).

From Renaissance times up until the 19th century, the role of director was often carried by the so-called actor-manager. This would usually be a senior actor in a troupe who took the responsibility for choosing the repertoire of work, staging it and managing the company. This was the case for instance with Commedia dell’Arte companies and English actor-managers like Colley Cibber and David Garrick.

Via Britannica’s entry on the actor-manager system, the

method of theatrical production dominant in England and the U.S. in the 19th century, consisting of a permanent company formed by a leading actor who chose his or her own plays, took a leading role in them, and handled business and financial arrangements.

And a Guardian article lamenting the decline of the actor-manager system:

It used to be quite natural for performers to run their own companies. The tradition dates back to the mid-18th century when Colley Cibber ran a company in Drury Lane. And it seems that in the 200 years that followed, almost every actor of note, from David Garrick to Henry Irving, did the same thing, with the practice culminating in Laurence Olivier, who was the first director of Chichester Festival Theatre and who then went on to found the National Theatre.

Jumping back to Medieval plays and pageants, I’ve also found mention of a title called the “pageant master” which seems pretty close to the stage manager role we’re describing herein.

Rehearsals were oversaw by an individual called the “pageant master“.

Pageant Master: The pageant master was hired to oversee rehearsals, like a modern-day director. The pageant master was onstage with the actors with a script and could feed them lines.

Another source indicates:

To the guilds the giving of the plays was a very serious matter. Often each guild had a ‘pageant-house’ where it stored its ‘properties,’ and a pageant-master who trained the actors and imposed substantial fines on members remiss in cooperation.

And still another:

The expenses, which were often large, were sometimes partly met by a nobleman or other public spirited benefactor; but in general the citizens or guilds financed the production. A collection was taken up at the time of the procession; and, in addition, a tax, ranging from a penny to fourpence and called pageant silver, was imposed upon each member of the guilds. It was paid over to the pageant master, who was elected each year. Today he would be called the business manager, or impresario. The actors and “drawers” were paid for their services; but there was a fine for bad acting or undue forgetfulness of the parts, also fines for guilds which were slow in handing over their pageant silver.

I’ve also traced the history of the stage manager to variety halls, vaudeville houses and minstrel shows. A note card I took from a library book (whose title escapes me, though the author is “Gilbert” – I’ll track this down…) says:

“The rest of the stage crew in the early variety halls consisted of two ‘grips’, or scene shifters, and a stage manager. The stage manager acted as interlocutor in the minstrels (a feature in many bills), played ’straight’ in the afterpieces, and sometimes took on important roles in the dramas and sketches.”

A few more references can be found online to the stage manager acting as “interlocutor” in the minstrel shows:

An interlocutor is the master of ceremonies of a minstrel show. A blackface character, like the other performers, the interlocutor nonetheless had a somewhat aristocratic demeanor, a “codfish aristocrat”.

From Dictionary.com:

the man in the middle of the line of performers in a minstrel troupe, who acts as the announcer and banters with the end men.

A Google books result about a Mr. Quinlan of the 1880’s who rose to the rank of “stage manager, interlocutor, manager and finally proprietor”…

Mr. Quinlan’s first appearance in the “middle” was with Sweatnam, Rice and Fagan’s Minstrels at Philadelphia, about 1888; subsequently he broke away from the conventional style of the interlocutor, and instead of keeping his seat during conversations, he would walk about, to and fro on the stage, leaving it entirely at occasional intervals; this was a unique departure, and was apparently well liked.

Interestingly, interlocutor is also a term in cultural diplomacy.

One other connecting line I’ve come across is the so-called MC or Master of Ceremonies, the term for which the internet alleges originates in the Catholic Church:

The term originates from the Catholic Church. The Master of Ceremonies is an official of the Papal Court responsible for the proper and smooth conduct of the elegant and elaborate rituals involving the Pope and the Sacred Liturgy. He may also be an official involved in the proper conduct of protocols and ceremonials involving the Roman Pontiff, the Papal Court, and other dignitaries and potentates.

If you look around, you’ll find other references to and variations of master of ceremonies referring to a member of a royal or imperial court who maintains social rituals on behalf of the court. Other cultures, however, use the term somewhat more informally. Wikipedia’s entry indicates a connecting line between the modern MC as a hip-hop rapper going back through to Jamaican revelries:

The use of the term MC when referring to a rhymer originates from the dance halls of Jamaica. At each event, there would be an announcer or master of ceremonies who would introduce the different musical acts and would say a toast in style of a rhyme, directed at the audience and to the performers. He would also make announcements such as the schedule of other events or advertisements from local sponsors. The term MC continued to be used by the children of women who moved to New York to work as maids in the 1970s.

This would, in turn, connect us back to the European (and really global) tradition of bards, etc – people who are looked up to to say meaningful things, make toasts, etc at important social gatherings. In that same vein, one last quote before I sign off to begin my day as a modern stage manager (also from Wikipedia source above):

In the context of a comedy club, the role of MC is traditionally filled by a “compere”. The compere of a comedy show is the host of the evening’s events, charged with a variety of responsibilities. These typically include making announcements, introducing the other comedians of the evening, and interacting with the crowd for such events as birthdays, anniversaries, and other parties.

Fear, Behaviour, and the Root of Acting

The essence of theatre, so far as I can tell, seems to be doing the right thing at the right time in the right place. Action, timing and location. This rule applies equally whether you’re working onstage as a performer, backstage as a hand, behind the scenes in the shop, or assisting in rehearsals (just to name a few – these are the areas I’ve gained some experience in).

Until you gain some actual experience though, figuring this all out is confusing at best. Assuming you actually have a desire to do your job well and to get better at it, the learning curve can be steep. Can’t remember the original source of this (maybe Peter Brook?), but I read somewhere that painters work with paints, brushes and canvases. Sculptors work with shape, form, mass and volume. Actors, though, all they have is their behavior.

And when behavior is your medium and performance is your product, that essentially means that people are constantly watching you and judging whether what you’re doing is the right thing at the right time in the right place. If it’s not, hopefully you work in a theatre where you’re lucky enough to have people tell you in a constructive way what’s wrong and how to fix it.

But this puts you into a peculiar position vis-a-vis your professional community. If you’re relying solely on the people you work with to tell you whether what you are doing is right or wrong, you end up at the mercy of their judgement. If their judgement is refined, and their sensibilities sound, you may gain a great deal from the experience. If they are petty, jealous or unskilled, you may find yourself in a nightmarish working environment.

How do you find your way around such a thing? From my own experience – and I’ve mostly worked with great people throughout my short career – what you have to do is soundly build your own skills and confidence in what you are doing. If you can internalize through training, practice, patience and the right application of natural talent what is the right thing at the right time in the right place, then you will be acting from a position of strength and resilience.

If not, and you’re solely rooted on what others think and feel about you, you’ll be inevitably stuck playing social games you can’t win. The more I’ve seen of this hidden undercurrent behind professional acting, the more I’ve come to understand the wisdom of Antero Alli’s paratheatrical focus on “asocial intent” within the work his group does.

Social rituals fulfill personal and social needs for security, status, courtship, emotional support, and a sense of belonging. These rituals serve socialization processes, as well as, the development and integration of the social personality. Pursued as an end in itself, however, social rituals become a spiritual cul-de-sac where personalities conform to consensus morals, ideas, dogmas, and status symbols, which inhibit the more authentic spontaneous impulses flowing free of social considerations.

[...] The intent of asocial ritual is to cultivate receptivity to transpersonal forces emanating from the body itself and beyond the social persona we sometimes identify with. The physical body embodies and personifies the so-called Subconscious. In this way, the body acts as a gateway to the internal landscape where autonomous archetypal forces govern existence as we know it (and don’t know it). These forces can be liberated after meeting the body’s most central need for being felt deeply. When the body is felt deeply it yields its treasures with less resistance.

[...] An asocial climate can also be established by increasing commitment to one’s individual integrity and autonomy. This can occur as each participant commits to a silent pledge of being responsible for their own safety and creative states. Becoming accountable for one’s own fears and frustrations amidst the creative process increases one’s integrity and autonomy, two core values in this approach. It also sets up a non-responsibility to others in the social sense.

Don’t get me wrong though: working in theatre is absolutely wonderful partly because of the tight communities which spring up amongst those brave souls who can commit their lives not only to the integrity of the work, but to the success of one another. But in order to be a fully-functioning, effective, grounded and meaningful contributor to such a creative community, you’ve got to find your own footing. And it seems, the only way to do that is to work through the fears surrounding other peoples’ judgement of your actions, by making yourself pliable enough to learn from those whose experience and skill surpasses your own, and the confidence to express the skills and talents you’ve developed.

Achieving Stage Management Bliss

Over the past few weeks of work, I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon beginning to take hold. I described it to the person under whom I’m learning the ropes of the job from, and she knew right away what I was talking about: stage management bliss.

If you’re not in the field, stage management is one of those esoteric disciplines, the definition of which is cloudy at best. The stage manager basically is the eye of the storm during the course of a theatrical production, overseeing and coordinating the entire rehearsal process, and then maintaining the shape and definition of a show once it reaches opening night, after which point the director steps away. The stage manager organizes and schedules not only show staff, but also technical elements – the calling of cues and changes within the performance. And perhaps more importantly, the stage manager is the point of contact for a diverse group of people with unique demands, skills and responsibilities.

Thus, it pays to be able to achieve that eye of the storm type of calm. Everything around you is moving and swirling; dozens of people are moving in different directions; ten different conversations are going on at once, and somehow you’re able to listen to all of them with half an ear, prioritize their relative importance, evaluate their need for an immediate response, and then record any decisions which are made that will affect the outcome of the performance.

Recently, we had a slight snafu backstage during a show, wherein I had to run and find an individual as quickly as possible to make sure things kept going as normal. It was that point where I first noticed stage management bliss really kicking in. I went and found this person, and without saying a single word to them, communicated the immediacy of the need, and returned to my station to continue with the course of the show.

I know from experience that a year or two ago, given the same situation, my heart would have raced during this same sort of under-taking. My mind would have leapt forward, unbalancing not just me, but causing a contagious wave of nervousness to sweep through other staff. But this was not the case. I’ve learned something. Something I didn’t know I had been even working on: the ability to calmly focus within a critical time-based scenario and carry out to my fullest ability a task set before me.

Years ago, before I ever got into theatre, a friend of mine, a career sailor, correctly identified this streak in me. “You’re an adrenaline junkie, like me.” Turns out he’s right, and a career in stage management is an exceptionally rewarding one for people like us. There are days lately where I’m able to “tune in” to the vibe, where my brain empties except for this quiet pervasive buzzing. It’s like a state of nervousness, but except you want it to continue. You somehow thrive on it, even though afterwards, it can take a while to come down off of it. It’s a real high, its a chemical thing. Two or three beers and a meal afterwards can help you cycle back down from it, but I’ve had moments after where I could feel my body on the verge of shaking, teetering right on that edge. And I like it.

Adapting club promotion techniques to theatre

Before heading in to work the matinee this afternoon, I stopped by a local restaurant for a bite to eat. Looking around at the people assembled there, I began thinking of which people – which type of person – I’d like to see in the audience of shows at my theatre. And then a little light bulb went off in my brain, zooming me back to years ago when I used to frequent the “club scene” down by the rivers in Pittsburgh. One of my cohorts at the time was a long-time veteran, having worked and partied at clubs all over Miami. He’d tell me stories about things that would happen, business practices, and simple techniques that work. Like promotion.

One of the most basic techniques to build up a specific type of crowd to attend your event is to go out and hand-select those people. Approach who you want, talk to them, engage them, invite them. Give them free tickets, drink vouchers, whatever. Just get new blood, new faces, new life, new spirit in the door.

It’s funny, cause I hear people in theatre all the time lamenting the lack of “quality” audiences, but I don’t see anybody going out and actually doing the hand-to-hand work to actually find, build and engage those audiences. The techniques exist. Other hospitality businesses use them to great effect. It’s not rocket surgery, folks.

Public Domain Where Applicable, Copy Left Where Not, Universal Free Realms Everyware Else for 2009 and for forever.*tim boucher says. No rights reserved.