The Acting of Angry Actions
Stage combat is the simulation of violent actions specific to the production requirements of a play. It may extend to a full-cast medieval multi-weapon fight in a production of Henry IV, or be as simple as a single slap. When done well it brings a level of excitement to the play that words alone cannot reach. When done poorly, the scene drags, it looks hokey, and the actors are placed in real danger.
“Stage combat is the simulation of violent actions specific to the production requirements of a play.” Let’s parse out my little definition.
Stage combat is the simulation … for it is not real violence. It is also not stunt work, nor martial arts, nor fighting with pulled punches. We are creating an illusion, just as does a magician.
… of violent actions … which is not the same as violent intent. An action with a violent consequence might come out of either anger or accident, so it could be found in a comedy as well as in a drama. Violent actions without violent intent are the hallmark of slapstick and modern physical comedy.
… specific to the production requirements … these will change from show to show, so the way a punch is performed in one show may need to be modified considerably for another, even if performed by the same actors portraying the same characters.
… of a play. The techniques are designed for use in a live theatrical scripted play. There is a different set of techniques for film, as there is another set for live-action stunt shows. Stage combat exists as a storytelling tool for theatre.
Physical violence on stage is most effectively used when the words alone are insufficient to contain the overflow of emotions that the character feels. But that doesn’t mean that the actors can give themselves over to those feelings. Sometimes they want to, because they enjoy ‘feeling’. But try to explain that what the character feels is one reality, one that must be transmitted to the audience. The actor, on the other hand, is the pilot of that character, modulating his own actions so that the audience can follow the story. Whether the actor feels anything is beside the point. Examples from theatre abound. I once watched a show in which a charming young couple was performing a love scene that was absolutely true to life. The more and more intimate the conversation became, the quieter their voices dropped until they were barely murmuring to each other. Of course it was uncompromisingly real; lovers do create a miniature universe in which nothing else exists – but the audience couldn’t hear one blessed word they said. The actors were performing selfishly, precisely because they were being so truthful.
In a good musical, characters speak until the emotions become so intense that mere words would normally fail, so the music becomes the vehicle by which these heightened and sometimes conflicting emotions can be shared. But the true physical response to intense emotion is usually to restrict the throat and to begin to hyperventilate, hardly actions conducive to producing dulcet tones. In the same way, a dance is usually a way of expressing a burst of emotion that normally exists only inside someone’s heart. In order to fully express them, the dancer must have complete control of the body. So we know that acting/performing always has to provide the identifiable shape of a real human response, but expressed and controlled in such a way as to transmit it meaningfully to the audience.
That’s what stage combat is. We are actors telling the story about some angry people without getting angry ourselves. We tell about a very traumatic episode while staying relaxed inside so that we can tell it.
In a very well written play, an instance of violence occurs because the emotional tension of the characters has reached a breaking point. Words alone no longer suffice in order to control these powerful emotions, and finally they explode into movement. Even a tiny attempt at a shove must have that reality behind it if we want the audience to believe it.
And now for a slight digression, I’d like to mention the one good reason why you should consider not doing stage combat. To be honest, most plays are not very well written. Too often, playwrights use a slap to the face or some-such in order to “cap” a particularly dramatic verbal confrontation. Where do all of these slaps come from? Certainly not from life. I’ve been in and seen hundreds of heated arguments, most of them fully abusive in tone and terminology and several far worse than anything I’ve read in a script. No one ever slapped the other in the face. Attempted choking, sure; scissors thrown, plates hurled, wild punches and flailing kicks galore — but no slaps. I’m sure it happens, and have heard of a couple of first-hand reports. But my point is that in film and on stage it has become like the poisons of Shakespeare – used to move the plot along but really a theatrical convention rather than something found in real life.
And yet we’re stuck with the slap (or, if it’s two men in a movie, the single punch to the face). Usually the pattern is –
- a] argument starts
- b] argument escalates
- c] slap or punch occurs
- d] argument stops or takes a new direction
– and it’s pretty obvious that the violence is there because the playwright simply found it to be the easiest way to get from point “b” to point “d”. We as actors are supposed to make it work, and we usually do, by committing fully to the give and take of the emotional buildup. But what if we find that we can take the plot to that new direction that the playwright wanted without having to resort to the slap? My guess is (and experience has been) that when we do, the moment resonates with the audience as being more truthful and therefore more affecting than by resorting to the cheap trick of a false action.
What I’m trying to say is that any bit of business or even any line of dialogue exists in service to the play. If it propels the plot forward, great. But if the same information can be presented without the action, why slow down the play by insisting on performing it? We cut lines from shows all the time for that very reason. We should be ready to do so with actions as well. Remember that a theatre audience doesn’t pay to hear certain lines or to see a fight. They pay to see characters deal with issues and how that changes them.
Now, I’m not so naive as to think that fights will only be choreographed by a professional fight director just because I tell you to. It’s going to happen that either from budget constraints, scheduling difficulties, or just not being able to find anyone, a fight director is not used for a production. It is also reasonable to assume that just as there are novice directors, there have to be opportunities for nascent actor/combatants wanting to learn about choreography to actually have the opportunity to work on a show. It is only for the eventuality that actors are left exposed to harm that the following pages are offered. It is certainly not meant as a substitute for adequate supervision.
But please remember – less is more. Choreograph only the basic minimum needed to tell the story and then stop. Make sure your actors understand that only rehearsed and polished moves can be in the show. Every second of performed stage combat is another accident waiting to happen. Reduce your risks.
By the way, whether you hire an outside choreographer or not, know what you want to have happen within the fight. Not just who wins and who dies, but really examine why the plot requires the audience to see violence at that particular point in the play. Don’t be afraid to work out a rough draft of the way you envision the fights. You don’t have to know the names of the moves or even decide what specific moves need to be used in order to block out a fight. Even if you delegate the choreography to someone else, the finished fight is still your responsibility in terms of what it has provided or diminished from the story. Get an image of how the fight will “pulse”, and by that I mean the changing flow of upper and lower hand, winning and losing, aggression and fear. The clearer your internal vision becomes of the fight the more easily you’ll be able to translate that into some very specific actions. Storyboard it, just the way film directors do. Some choreographers may resent that much input and may even let you know that you are treading on their turf. Tell ‘em to lump it. It’s your show. A good choreographer will take everything you come up with and either mold it into something effective, or give you some very good and understandable reasons why it should be cut.
Why demonstrate the fight at all? The Greeks wrote powerful drama without showing any at all, and they certainly dealt with emotions as powerful as anything written since, so why does your show need visible violence? What do you need to transmit? What does your audience need to know by the end of the fight that they can only receive by witnessing violence?
What is the simplest, most straightforward way to transfer that knowledge? Is demonstrating the violent act the best way to do so? Is it the only way? If you have no alternative to demonstrating violence, how much must you show to get the point across? Can it be implied? Can it be shown stylistically or symbolically? Be honest – are you adding violence because it is fun for your audience? Because it is fun for you? I’ve had to choreograph fights that were added by a director’s whim to give more actors a chance to participate in the “fun”, and these fights have always detracted from the show.