Liesl Lafferty
Jessie Award Winning Director – Dramaturg – Playwright – CAEA – LMDA – PGC
In April 2001, when I became the artistic director of Theatre Terrific Society, western Canada’s oldest theatre company for people with disabilities, the company had been dormant for over a year. I had no previous experience in the disability field, so I really had to start from scratch. My only assets were the habits I had developed as a dramaturge/director to question the things that were unclear and follow the things that flowed. I hoped the same rules would apply here.
To begin with, I designed a performance-based program that provided students with the freedom to create, while training them in theatrical skills, such as mask, movement and storytelling. There were five people in the first two-month summer camp. One of the disciplines that was challenging to this particular group was improvisation. I tried a few times, without success. Then, I brought in a couple of “improv experts” and still no luck. The day the second expert was there, I could hear the frustration in her voice from across the room. She was trying to teach Freeze Tag, but the students would not switch topics. And, if they did, it was the person who stayed on stage who sparked the new idea, instead of the person entering the scene. The expert persisted in shouting instructions from the sidelines. Finally, I asked her to let them go, just to see what would happen. They kept going and going. They were doing it, or something like it. They yelled “freeze” and switched partners – and the rest, well … they improvised.Once the actors were freed from restriction, they flourished. Most importantly, they took care of each other on stage beautifully.
The second summer camp culminated in a fringe show. One of my favourite performance stories stars Margo Brisdon. When I first spoke to Margo, she didn’t respond, so it was hard to tell whether she understood. When she did talk, she mumbled very quietly in half sentences. It occurred to me that a microphone would help. Once she held that mike, she would not let it go. Being heard brought so her so much joy, I had to create a spot in the show to give her the chance to say whatever was on her mind. During the first two shows, the volunteer cut Margo’s cue because she paused too long before she spoke. On the third night, Margo’s parents were in the audience. I implored the volunteer to hit Margo’s cue no matter what and to keep believing. The moment arrived and Margo received the mike. There was an excruciatingly long pause. A voice from the audience exclaimed, “They are giving Margo a microphone!” The room silenced in anticipation of what would happen next. More silence. The volunteer was ready to bail and tried to retrieve the talking stick, but Margo pushed her away and very slowly began a striking impromptu speech in her piecemeal fashion. She thanked her parents and the audience for coming. She thanked the other actors for sharing the stage and she invited me for coffee. Then more silence. Suddenly, she was holding the mike like Dionne Warwick and she broke into an a cappella version of her mother’s favourite song, “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” Complete with the “Do, do, do, do, do, do, do’s …” As she finished, she bowed her head and the audience erupted. She really looked like a rock star. The only place I could hear her voice was on stage.
Every student benefited from freedom of expression. When George Lawson signed up for summer camp, he said that, due to his disability, he was not allowed to take drama or creative writing in school. Now, he wanted to tell his life story, paralleled with The Elephant Man. I asked him to relate five of his impressions from the classic play. Then, I had him connect those images to five events from his life. He told me of being picked on and laughed at. He told me of his low body image and his first kiss. He told me things he had never told before. As he spoke, I jotted down a line from each of his stories. Then I encouraged him to write it all out. He returned the next week with five monologues, called The George Man. The piece was dark, but funny. We removed some repeated words and massaged a few sentences. The night of the performance, George stood on stage and shared personal, often painful revelations. He had worked through his low self-esteem and achieved his ultimate goal of having people laugh with him instead of at him. After the show, George’s father shook my hand, “You did more for George in the last nine weeks than forty-two years of therapy.” All I really did was type up his story and pester him to memorize his lines.
Now, Theatre Terrific holds performance-based classes three times a year in four communities throughout Vancouver and the Lower Mainland. Hundreds of actors have been through our program, and each of them was freed from restriction and allowed to express herself. As the student numbers increased, so did the pool of talented teachers and generous members. Eventually, the gods were granting money to us again. Our dedicated Board of Directors and vibrant volunteers contributed to all activities, from fundraising to production. As a result, the theatre company was revived.
When I resigned from Theatre Terrific in November 2004, I realized that I had learned a lot about accounting but still knew very little about people’s actual diagnosed disabilities. It never really came up. We were too busy rehearsing and following the things that flowed.
Dedicated to the memory of Margo Brisdon … as an angel, she is surely singing.
ELLIPSIS… 2005 MANITOBA ASSOCIATION OF PLAYWRIGHTS NEWSLETTER
When I first heard the word ‘dramaturgy’ I knew exactly what it meant. In fact, I was relieved that there was a word to describe what I had been doing for years as a director, working with playwrights, on new plays. Then, I discovered the Literary Managers and Dramaturgs of the Americas. An association of professionals, scholars and students dedicated to the same craft, people who travelled across the continent annually to discuss their work. I always learned something practical from the ‘Turgs, and found a place to share my lessons. At the last conference, I had an experience that further solidified what dramaturgy means to me.
On the first lunch break, I wandered across the street to a restaurant and sat a table in the sun. I pulled out a pen to jot down some notes and ordered the all day breakfast. Before long, five other participants strolled in and we pulled our tables together. A lovely strawberry-blonde woman, with a distinctly Canadian accent, sat down across from me. Naturally, we started talking about our work. As she shared bits and pieces of her experience, she politely prodded with questions about mine. I spun my true-life tale and she marvelled in every word. She encouraged me to write this story down, but I scoffed and said that I needed to find a way to make it interesting. She assured me that it was interesting right now and that I should not wait. She wanted to hear more and I was suddenly able to tell my story in a way I never had before. I was inspired.
On the second day, when I saw my strawberry-blonde friend, I shook her hand and asked her name. Lois Brown. “You’re a good listener, Lois Brown.” I said. “It was a good conversation,” she replied. “I felt listened to and understood,” I beamed. A quiver came into her voice, “Now you are going to make me cry.” “You inspired me,” I celebrated, “So you go ahead and have a little tear. It was worth it.”
Upon closer inspection of the conference calendar, I discovered that Lois Brown, a dramaturge from Newfoundland, was the final speaker that afternoon. During her session, she referred to a dramaturge as “the other.” Someone… anyone you can bounce stuff off of. “As a performance needs an audience, as a cast needs a director… a playwright needs a dramaturge.” She spoke of everybody needing a dramaturge in every aspect of life, not just in theatre. She talked of wanting “more theatre now”. As I sat there, I knew that in our short time together, Lois Brown had been my ‘other’. She listened to me and understood me. She was my lunch break dramaturge.
That night I chatted with my friend, actor and playwright, Dmitry Chepovetsky. Before I got the chance to tell him about my inspirational encounter with Lois Brown, he stopped and said, “You know the great thing about a conversation with you Liesl… I feel listened to and understood.” That was exactly what I said to Lois Brown. She was right. We are dramaturges in everyday life, not just in theatre.
For years as a director working on new plays, I found that playwrights needed to be listened to, so they could ensure the story they were trying to tell was in their script. I found that playwrights needed to be understood, so they could secure a foundation for their inspiration. I found that being that ‘other’, the person to bounce stuff off of, is what dramaturgy has always meant to me.
Summer in Spoleto 2007… for Manitoba Association of Playwright’s “The Ellipses”
This summer, I attended a three-week International Symposium for Directors in Spoleto, Italy, with New York Company La Mama E.T.C. In this unique opportunity, I participated with other mid-career directors, taking intensive workshops with six prominent, world-class teaching artists.
My work was impacted deeply by each of the teaching artists. Putu Wijaya (Indonesia) meditatively stripped us down to our rawest selves with slow motion and concentration exercises. Then, we harvested inspiration from our surroundings to build stories on the spot. Petar Todorov (Bulgaria) experimented with physical techniques to illuminate the human impulses in the text of Strindberg’s Miss Julie. Yoshi Oida (Japan) reminded us of what he calls “Jo-Ha-Kyu”: the importance of beginning, development and climax in story-telling. With Yoshi, we also explored many of his “actor’s tricks”, including a method of breaking down ancient Greek text into syllables to demonstrate the theatrical relationship between sound and emotion. Andrei Serban (Romania) showed his methods, which were most similar to my own, due to his relentless drive for action on stage. He assigned us scenes from Sarah Kane’s Cleansed, which we performed in site-specific locales throughout our Italian country-side estate. Enrique Pardo and his wife Linda Wise (Peru/France) incorporated choreography and voice to bring forward meaning in text. Annie-B Parsons (Untied States) worked quickly to lead us through the creation of an enormous amount of choreography. I was able to discover practical and philosophical tools of creation.
Those were just our formal teaching artists. We also had evening sessions with fellow students in things like; voice, career coaching and I lead a discussion on dramaturgy. We were visited by the incredible Italian actor Dario D’Ambrosi, from the Passion of the Christ, who also works with people with disability. Neville Boundy, playwright from the Royal Shakespeare Company, spoke one evening. He gave tips on writing and encouraged dramaturgy. Even Oliver Stone dropped by for a chat one sunny afternoon.
A personal highlight for me was the chance to work with the great Ellen Stewart or “MaMa” of LaMaMa Experimental Theater Club. To demonstrate her methods, Ellen selected a play I had helped to create Drinking with Persephone, by Jenn Griffin. Conveniently, Jenn was also on the trip. Ellen listened to a brief re-telling of Jenn’s modern version of the myth, and then a few days later, Ellen wrote a poem based on that story and sang it to us. Within two hours, I was directing our entire class, singing and dancing, through an experimental version of our ten-year-old, well-toured, multi-award winning play.
I feel fortunate to be able to immediately apply what I learned this summer. Currently, I am directing Say Ginger Ale, by Marcia Johnson, a reading for FemFest 2007.
Liesl Lafferty