The Fear Factor: One of Commodification's Side Effects

Yes I'm unprepared
And in the face of it all I guess I get just the littlest bit scared
Yeah me
I feel around the darkness of an empty house and there's nothing there
Just a terrified chameleon hiding out in the thinnest of air

- From "Thinnest of Air" by Blues Traveler

In my last post, I explored a little bit of contemporary actor training, particularly the process of commodification that the student undergoes in order to be prepared "for the market."  Today, I want to start unpacking the overall effects of some of this, particularly what I call "the fear factor."

I have been teaching theatre in one shape or another for 15 years now, and one of the majors things I have been struck by recently is the level of fear in my students, particularly fear around making and committing to a decision.  In my experience, one of the primary responsibilities of the actor is to "make interesting choices."  Since they are the one playing the character, they need to decide on things such as actions and the given circumstances.  However, when I begin asking questions about things like objectives and tactics, I notice that, a majority of the time, the student freezes.

The effects of this freeze are noticeable on a physical level.  What is particularly noticeable is that their shoulders begin to creep up toward their ears and they begin pulling their necks in.  This is, essentially, the textbook startle reflex, where the body begins trying to protect its soft bits from attack.  Often, the scale of this response can be quite substantial, and recent studies have found that the more extreme startle reflex shown by the individual, the higher their generalized anxiety overall.  

And anxiety does run rampant in our acting programs.  Recently I had the opportunity to teach lessons on The Alexander Technique on another campus of the school where I teach.  From this perspective as something of an outsider, I was particularly struck by the amount of fear students expressed of the instructors on their home campus.  Whereas I was an "outsider" and thus "safe," students were keenly conscious of the fact that the faculty of their home campus had the power to cast them (or not), and thus horded a great deal of social and professional capital.  Margrit Schildrick acknowledges this element of training in a field like the theatre, writing "in the specular economy, such intertwined relations cannot be acknowledged, and the ethics of modernity are predicated on the separation and independence of subjects."  In essence, such power dynamics cannot be acknowledged least the system fall apart.   Schildrick goes on to point out that boundary crossing by instructors, as opposed to being a form of shared vulnerability, can amount to a bodily colonization.

 

Given all of this, it should come as no surprise that our students feel as if they were living in a veritable panopticon.  They're afraid of slipping up, of making a mistake, lest that mistake disqualify them from the continuing gamble that is a life and career in the arts.  Yet this fear can also be a major inhibitor of their pursuit.  Teva Bjerken and Belinda Mello write, "Fear of making a mistake is an obstacle to the free flow of imagination and expression in the actors' process."  The student essentially faces a potential "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation where they cannot afford to make a mistake and they cannot afford to freeze.  They think that there is a "right answer" and that they "have to get it in one."  Much of the workforce-centered education in the United States contributes to this as well.

 

Much like the "terrified chameleon" from the Blues Traveler song, our commodified students are trying to be completely fungible, and that is a daunting task for anybody.

 

What is to be done in the face of this fear?  I plan to continue this exploration and examine how we as educators can address this lack of comfort and bravery in upcoming posts.

Commodification and Capitalism in Actor Training

 

Who am I anyway?
Am I my resume?
That is a picture of a person I don't know
What does he want from me?
What should I try to be?
--From "I Hope I Get It," The opening number of A Chorus Line.

 Perhaps it is simply a streak of curmudgeonly contrariness, but I really don't much like A Chorus Line.  Beginning as it does with a desperate cry for work, proceeding through an exploitative "baring of the soul" and finishing with each of the formerly individual dancers tricked out in identical costuming as part of a never-ending ensemble, it is a piece that points up a great deal of what I find wrong with American performer training today.

When a system has you asking questions along the lines of "What should I try to be?" it should be abundantly clear that this system is broken.  Or at the very least not fit for human occupation, as broken indicates that the system is not working as intended.  In this case, it very much is, the reduction of vibrant individuals into interchangeable cogs.  Nor is this a merely a problem in the United States, Dr. Mark Seton of the University of Sydney also noted in his observation of actor training "Above all, we were to be taught what works and how we could commodify ourselves for the marketplace."

This bears out a great deal in my own training as an actor in college and graduate school.  We were taught to neutralize regional accents, work toward fitting an ideal (or set of ideal) body types, and embrace certain techniques of self-erasure, all in the name of becoming castable.  This is the process of "commodification."

In economic terms, a commodity is something which is a raw material considered primarily for its exchange value, and is fully or highly fungible.  Of particular importance is the fact that this substance can be bought and sold in the market, exchanged easily for other things of similar value.  In a capitalistic, market-oriented system, this is done regularly in order to facilitate the world of work as well as the procurement of goods and services.  

Take, for example, the emphasis on relaxation that often accompanies beginning actor training.  Many of the exercises I have encountered in the warmup of the beginning actor is rooted in trying to find relaxation.  Teva Bjerken and Belinda Mello note this in their own studies, finding "They overemphasize relaxation, especially at the beginning of their studies, when they attempt to embody neutral readiness."  The fully relaxed individual, if there ever could be such a thing, is essentially a palimpsest for inscribing, a blank slate that almost anything can be written upon.

That this is done in the name of joining the creative and expressive arts may seem contradictory on an intuitive level.  Actors are ostensibly chosen for the power, clarity, and effectiveness of their expression.  The very best, or at least most prominent, are rewarded handsomely for their abilities.  Could one imagine a De Niro or Dench commodified?

But those examples lie at the other end of a spectrum of wealth, fame, and power that is light years different than what the characters in A Chorus Line, or even my own students in the acting studio face.  They face a system that looks to commodify them and reduce their expression to liquidity in order to exchange it for value and profit.

This lies at the very heart of what I find wrong with much of American actor training, wrapping tendrils around the hearts, minds, and bodies of aspiring performers.  The question is, and what I propose to continue exploring, is what is to be done about this?

This is the Story of a Girl...

 When I was in elementary school, I remember reading a story in reading class about a young American girl who was living in Britain for reasons that I do not recall.  The hinge of this story was that before classes each day at the school she attended they would stand, face the flag, and sing "God Save The Queen."  In itself, this is nothing particularly remarkable, as I recall that I was in a grade where the pledge of allegiance was required before each day in my own grade.

However, the conflict of the story is that this young lady is an American.  She doesn't want to sing "God Save the Queen," because, as an American, she doesn't believe in the legitimacy of Queens and such.  Given that this was a story in a 3rd or 4th grade reader, there was not a great deal of abstract political theorizing, or moralizing.  The thrust of the story was that, as an American, she should not have to sing a song about a queen despite the fact that she is living in a country ostensibly "ruled" by a queen.

The story resolves itself when a clever uncle reminds her that the song "America" (aka. "My Country, Tis of Thee") shares an identical tune with "God Save the Queen."  So she resolves to sing the American lyrics softly.  The end.

I have been thinking about this particular story a great deal as our nation withdrew from Afghanistan, and the twentieth anniversary of the attacks on September 11, 2001 approached.  I thought about it as I sat in an Indian restaurant and listened to the father at the next table explain to his high school daughters the Imperialist justification for the invasion, while they took the abandonment of Afghan women and girls to the tender mercies of the Taliban as a major offense against decency and humanity.  I thought about it during a particularly shouty faculty meeting where issues of diversity and equity had been raised.  I thought about it as I scanned the news scrolls on Fox and CNN.

What was the point of the story of the girl?  A story which has stuck with me even if I cannot recall its title.  Was I to admire her bravery in her refusal to sing the lyrics to a song with which she did not fundamentally agree?  Or perhaps a refusal to embrace "when in Rome," on the grounds of national exceptionalism was to irk me.  Or perhaps I was to admire the skills of compromise that can be found in civilized society.  Some days I think one way, some days I think the other.

This is a nation where a pledge to the flag is nearly ubiquitous in schools despite the fact that is cannot be legally enforced (West Virginia Board of Education v. Barnette).  Politifact found that though not universal, recitation of the pledge is plenty common throughout US schools.  Even as recently as 2019, a black student was charged with a misdemeanor surrounding his refusal to recite the pledge.  I can only imagine what the "love it or leave it" crowd would do to a child refusing to say the pledge.  Yet with the same breath we are to admire a fictional girl who won't do similar in her host country.

And perhaps, even as we applaud her compromise, are we heading down a terrible path?  Here she just does her thing quietly so that way everybody can get on with the business of the day.  No muss, no fuss.  But in doing so, is she not like The Magistrate in J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians?  Is she simply offering herself a personal salve to soothe the feeling of not standing up against something she feels is systemically wrong?  She is able to have her special "American-ness" but not address the root of the issue, kicking the can down the road for another to deal with.

This story comes back to me again and again in the same way a cut on the inside of your mouth moves in and out of consciousness.  And I feel it illustrates something deeply troubling about this country.  It illustrates the quiet civility of the do-nothing liberal, who has all the right thoughts but does not act on them.  It illustrates the "America first, love-it-or-leave-it" conception of exceptionalism whereby special privilege is given for being "part of the club."

Perhaps I am making a simple grade-school reading activity carry too much.  It's just a story to teach kids how to read, after all.  However, we should keep in mind that it is precisely our "non-challenging" media that we need to be most acutely aware of, as that is where we will find our values painted in the broadest strokes.

How Long Can You Take It, Bruh?

Bad vibes and worse weather swept the Midwest this week.  One of those weeks that leave you staring out the window and wondering just what the hell happened.  Armed protestors on the steps of statehouses around the country, being egged on by the venal, half-bright gink who currently occupies the White House.

This is a man who has all the intestinal fortitude of a half-inflated leather sack with a couple of googly-eyes glued on.  Unable to indulge his penchant for chanting and adoring crowds, all he can do is star as the antagonist of the world-worst whack-a-mole game.  A degenerate carnival where the rich make the poor dance on hot iron plates.  Essential workers to the front.  Defund the WHO.  Normalcy be damned!

Ahh, but those protesters.  The Isolation finally got to you, eh Cletus?  Bunker life got you down?  You go four(ish) weeks without a haircut or the ability to go out and socialize, and you're grabbing your rifle and taking to the streets screaming about your rights? 

Your rights don't end where my fear begins?  Ho-ho.  You poor, spoiled manbaby.  Calling upon recourse to your rights is a weak reed.  It means, simply, that we cannot stop you from doing a thing.  It is a defense of the indefensible.  A ceding of the moral high ground and an embrace of the indulgent, atavistic freakout that you so deeply desire.  You have the right to speech and assembly, and you're a dangerous asshole for exercising it.

But, really, wasn't this what your gun-toting prepper-types have been waiting for?  A societal shutdown that allows you to demonstrate your rugged individualism is just what you wanted, right Luther?  You've been hoarding food and ammo for just this opportunity, but can't even make it a month before demanding your social safety net be restored.  A thirteen-year-old girl hid from the Nazis for two years.  Albert Woodfox did 43 years in solitary.  You can't even make it a month.

I guess nobody told you that the Apocalypse was boring as hell, eh?  There aren't hordes of brown people zombies to casually pick off while quoting "They Live."  You poor, poor deluded saps cast yourself in a video game and it just hasn't lived up to the hype.  So now what are you going to do?

Boredom is a hell of a drug, friends.

King Cucumber: The Bad Theatre of the Daily Briefing

Have you ever encountered a Sea Cucumber, friends?  They are largely crawling bottom feeders on the floor of the oceans, breaking down scraps and detritus.  To fit into small spaces, it can functionally liquefy its body, and then firm it back up. They have no brain, just a rudimentary nervous system attached to a mouth, and when they are threatened, they will literally eject their guts through their anus to defend themselves.  All very fascinating, for the Wonders of Nature know no bounds, and very useful to the marine ecosystem, but not the qualities one needs when it comes to the leader of the free world.

In the depths of the Great Depression and the Second World War, President Roosevelt took to the airwaves to discuss policy and procedure, helping to calm the worries of an anxious nation.  He calmed fears and dispelled rumours, and went down in history as one of the most effective communicators to ever occupy the White House.

But that isn't what we got, ladies and gentlemen.  Today, in the throes of pandemic, the venal gink occupying the White House gets up every day for the COVID-19 briefing.  And all I can think is, "ye gods... we have elected a sea cucumber." Listening to the chunks of phrases that come splattering from his puckered lips, even the least discerning listener cannot think that this mouth is hooked to a functioning brain.  Lies and misinformation, from the President in time of crisis.  No, no, the perception that he has a spine is just that.  He can't be from the same phylum.

And just press him on an issue, watch the tantrum as he ejects his gut to be devoured.  His own dysfunction provides plenty of food for the media, so there's no need to keep an eye on things.  But ho-ho, King Cucumber, we are watching.  Some of us are watching carefully.

It can be interesting to see such rare animals up close on occasion, but in terms of pathos and narrative, there's very little on offer. But King Cucumber is hungry for adulation.  Rallies used to scratch that itch, but that's now out of the question.  So he daily mounts the podium, spews without thinking, and effectively shits his guts out when pressed on something.  Ho-ho, it would be funny if there wasn't so much at stake.

But we're starting to catch on.  There are far more interesting animals to observe.  Is it any wonder that a number of NPR stations are now no longer airing his briefings in whole? 

Love and Prosperity in the Time of COVID 19

Weird times, dear reader.  Weird times.  A pandemic rages across the globe and we are called upon to rise to the occasion by doing as little as possible.  Sports is cancelled, and we are, for the most part, closed for business.  A good time to have invested in the streaming industry.  This is a war we're going to have to fight from our couches.

How long?  Oh lord, how long?  Who knows?  Maybe we'll be reopened by Easter.  Maybe this summer is already over.  Who knows?  Nobody.

For COVID 19 is a tricky bastard, with a long asymptomatic period.  Not to mention a varying list of symptoms that range from "almost nothing" to "iron lung."

So sit back, relax, and keep out of the line of fire.  You now have plenty of time on your hands!  You could catch up on projects, or learn a new language!

And right there it is, friends.  Capitalist Exploitation (nee Protestant Work Ethic) has managed to worm its way once again into the heart of public discourse.  The world is afire with disease, but what are you doing to improve and optimize yourself?  You have the time, after all.  Get off the couch!

The siren song of productivity rings in our ears.  To work!

If you're bored, why not make masks for your local hospital staff?  Put that time to good use and help us fight the pandemic.  Those on the front lines of this are most vulnerable.  What have you done?

Once again, the powers that be have offloaded their responsibilities on the backs of we, the people.  This is one of the great tests of the social safety net, and it shouldn't be necessary.  Those we elected to do the most basic job of governance, the protection of collective life and limb (IE, the Social Contract of John Locke), have failed to do this.


Shuttered factories could be tooling up to manufacture masks and ventilators.  Instead, local grannies sew masks and ventilators are improvised out of other pieces of equipment.  Stories of how we rise to meet the challenge make for a good pallet cleanser from the nightly spectacle of our half-bright gink of a president, bereft of rallies, posturing before the stage.

John Dickinson chided the Continental Congress for "braving the storm in a skiff made of paper."  Friends, we may very well be doing it again.

We are our symbols...

To quote the theologian Tom Driver, I find myself in a state like that of mourning.  My beloved country, that which Lincoln called "the last best hope of man on earth,"is failing.

The recent attack in Charleston, SC, is yet another event in a long string of systemic violence and oppression against black America.  It is, in a word, terrorism.  An armed thug went into a church and killed a bunch of black people because he felt that he could.  He felt that he was justified.  If reports of his words are correct, he felt that he had to do it. He had to do it because black Americans either "had to go" or had to be frightened back into knowing their place.

I am so sorry.

In front of the South Carolina state house, the Confederate battle flag flies.  It flies, ostensibly, as a symbol of the state's "heritage."  And yet, what is this heritage?  It depends on who you ask, I guess.

I've lived in the South for about 10 years now.  First in Texas, then in Georgia, and then in North Carolina.  During my time in Savannah, Georgia, I worked for a group called the Coastal Heritage Society, which operates a number of historic sites round the city.  Included among this collection is Old Fort Jackson, which is operated as a Civil War history center.

During my time there, I worked as a historical interpreter, doing programs for visitors and school groups.  They were mainly about what life at the Fort was like, daily routines, etc.  Very much in the frame of "history is a foreign country and this is how we do things there."  However, it always felt very strange raising the Stars & Bars (the actual 1st Confederate National, not the Southern Cross) over the fort every morning.

Through most of my time there, I stuck to a Union blue wool uniform.  I was never comfortable in the grey.  I also refused or avoided participating in Confederate Memorial Day, until finally I was told that I had no choice or I could look for another job.  And so, not having another income, I fired gun salutes to Jefferson Davis and the "lost cause."

You will hear things like "states rights," "tariffs," and "exclusionism" bandied about when the Civil War is discussed in such circles.  Friends of mine at work would insist that the War had not been concerned with race.  And yet, I cannot help but feel that it goes back to Alexander Stephens' Our new Government is founded upon exactly the opposite ideas; its foundations are laid, its cornerstone rests, upon the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man; that slavery, subordination to the superior race, is his natural and normal condition."

We are our symbols.  We continue to fly a symbol of the heritage of hate in our public spaces.  I was once asked by a man for directions to "West Broad Street" in Savannah.  Not being familiar with the road (and I know my way around Savannah), I ran a quick google to find that he was referring to Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd (it had been renamed)... when I told him about his mistake he simply shook his head and said "Oh, I don't say that name."

I have somehow made this post about me.  I set out to do something else, though.  

There is something deeply wrong with America that we as a people are not condemning this violence with one voice.  Hemming and hawing has already begun, and people have expressed shock and disbelief that such a thing could happen.  Fox News has even gone so far as to suggest these attacks were part of America's persecution of Christians.

White America is focusing on the individual because we have always had that privilege.  We are seeking already to spin and explain, to distance ourselves.  Hashtags like #NotAllWhites and #AllLivesMatter have sprung up like deceptive mushrooms after a rain.

We as a people are our symbols.  And the idea of American individualism and "heritage," etc, is rooted in a white ideology that at least passively promotes supremacy when it does not outright enforce it.

As an American theatre practitioner, as a symbol maker, I cannot help but think that we have failed our country.

I'm sorry.

I'm listening.

What can I do?