A No Passport Thread

On Titles...
This is a bastardized exerpt from a longer article by Playwright Mark Ravenhill, which originally appeared in The Guardian on March 16. As always, better to read the whole article; I'm including the part I reacted to..and, in this case, the part that some of the playwrights on No Passport (a good online listserve for theater practitioners, playwrights, and interested parties).

From Ravenhill:
...It's the same in my profession. There is a certain bond between playwrights. I suppose it's because we have such a strange job: paid to put words into the mouths of people pretending to be someone else. And our shared concerns as playwrights - finding a good director, dealing with theatre managements, ducking the brickbats of critics - mean that we always have far more in common than our plays would suggest. Running a country must be a strange job, too, and a lonely experience; it must be quite a relief to meet another world leader, whatever their politics.It's hard to confront someone over breakfast.
I'm never quite sure where I fit in this relationship... I detected a slight laugh in Marr's voice as he introduced me. I was the final guest. Does this make me the light relief, the skateboarding duck, the "and finally ... "?
I found myself wishing I didn't make plays, wishing I was part of the club. But in many ways, I think what playwrights do is more important than what most politicians do. Being a dramatist isn't just about writing. That part often takes just a few weeks. But we do spend a long time thinking about how people behave, how they live together, how they might live together better - as well as the great cruelties they are capable of. And we're constantly testing language, time and space in our work, to extend the possibilities of human experience. Politicians are concerned with the pragmatic business of running the world; artists, meanwhile, dedicate themselves to finding new insights into our existence. Most of the insights are feeble or crackpot - but some are visionary. So I wish I could shake off the feeling of being the lightweight at the table on Start the Week.

Response from Duca Knezevic:
That's what happens when the playwrights/artists decide they are somehow different than the rest of the society, not to say special, (god given?) constructing the Other willingly and entirely enjoying the process of distancing themselves from the Other.
When we start operating with less and more important occupations, less and more important people, the next step always somehow ends up in concentration camps.

And from (the worship-worthy) Jason Grote (if you haven't read 1,001, do so immediately):
Thanks for this, Duca. I was wondering why this article wasn't sitting well with me (other than that is seems a little self-important) and I think you've identified some sort of deep ontological issue I've got with the occupation of playwriting. I enjoy writing plays, but for whatever reason, I have no desire to "be" a playwright. In modern Western capitalist culture (and perhaps many others), this is seen is a sign of immaturity, but in practice there is something deeply sinister about ascribing a class of career to one's identity (of course Ravenhill can't be blamed for this).

My Thoughts:
This resonates, for me, with a lot of the head-bumping that I've seen happening in our collaboration class. To what degree to you carry your prescribed notion of your role into the room? I have seen some of my colleagues who cling to their definition of "actor," "playwright" or "director" like a drowning man grabbing a life vest, staking out their territory and defending (usually politely, always with good intentions) to the death. Others who summarily reject the idea that any of us should have a particular role in the room.

There's something dangerous about replying to the question "what do you do" with a single word. Playwright. Teacher. Lawyer. It doesn't answer the question at all, does it? "Teacher" might mean I stand in front of a classroom every day, leading them through text or yoga poses or writing exercises. It might also mean that I have coffee with several people every day and help them through a project. Or it could mean something else entirely.

I know someone who walk into a room, records everything she sees, then figures out how to shape it into an experience meant for an audience. Doesn't write much down at all. I know others who spend several hours a day locked in a room, typing. Both playwrights. They are DOING very different things, but have the same one-word answer. If they simply gave you the shorthand version of what they did, you would probably have your OWN preconceived notion of that shorthand...and the truth of it would be entirely lost in translation. God help us when we try to collaborate -- if I come to you with MY definition of YOUR work, I'm cutting you off at the knees before we move an inch.

And when we start to ascribe VALUE JUDGEMENTS to words like "actor," "artist," "mother," "politician," when we do that before we AGGRESSIVELY INVESTIGATE WHAT WE MEAN BY THEM, that way, as Duca says, lies the concentration camp.

So how to keep from being imprisoned by titles? From trapping other people in theirs? What if we take the time to really answer the "what do you do" question? Not every time, but when we can? What if we include what we DON'T do, too, or at least what we haven't done YET?