Chapter
6
Conclusions
‘…Among others an ambitious
tragedian who, after reminding the master of ceremonies several times, is at
length permitted to start a scene of a play, only to be interrupted by the
‘drunk’ (played by Charles Chaplin)…”[1]
It is often said that there are no new gags, no new songs, and no new stories, only variations. The origins of clowning go back to the very beginnings of theatre and all the gags are variations on a theme; someone else’s pain, someone else’s failure, someone else’s humiliation. For example, we could trace the bird-shit on Alfredo’s head to the custard pie of the silent era and perhaps even to the spit in the face of Commedia dell’ Arte.
fig.9 Alfredo and the bird-shit
Just
as the gags are endless variations, so too the history of clowning itself
reveals a huge spectrum of it use. Clowns have been central to the subversion
of authority in carnivals. These political, rebellious figures of anarchy are
recognised in recent history by the likes of Brecht and Dario Fo, who claims,
in argument to Jacques Lecoq, that ‘it is a grave mistake to separate technique
from its ideological, moral and dramatic context.’[2]
Lecoq on the other hand, suggest, ‘the clown needs no conflicts because he is
in a permanent state of conflict, notably with himself.’[3]
Beckett used clown figures to emphasis the absurdity of human existence and the
lack of meaning in the world. Chaplin often used his Tramp to emphasise social
problems and class differences, or even to predict Hitler’s tyranny when he
made The Great Dictator in the late 1930’s (released 1940).
‘There is nothing
essentially immoral or blasphemous or rebellious about clownage … It cannot, of
course be denied that fools and clowns have at times been made to serve
political ends, but that in no way affects the essential nature of clownage.[4]
Cal’s clowns in Spymonkey
compete to make us laugh, to be our favourite. We laugh at their egos. In an
age where even short-lived fame is valued high above the personal dignity of
those who seek it, perhaps this is a more topical kind of clowning than it
seems to be. We could see Spymonkey as simply another carnation of clowning.
What’s the point, therefore, when we can still see the great film clowns any time
we like?
Whilst it is a wonderful
achievement of film restoration that we will always be able to watch the films
of the many great comics (among whom Chaplin, Keaton, and Laurel and Hardy have
been mentioned in this essay), we can never see them appear in new guises;
their movement in time has been frozen in celluloid. Nowadays, the film
industry is too commercially anxious to give artists the kind of freedom which
these clowns enjoyed. They simply wouldn’t risk funding an unscripted,
actor-led production in which the performers would be improvising their
material and writing the scenarios on location as they go along. Enticed off
the vaudeville stage by the emerging film industry, the clowns were shunned by
the studios (not the audiences) as quickly as they had been embraced[5].
And so, the place to find clowning now is on the stage, but is it welcome
there? Though the audience for Spymonkey is a young, loyal and growing one,
their work does not fit the arts council’s priorities.
Is there still an attitude that tragedy is implicitly worthier theatre than comedy? Can comedy only earn approval in modern theatre if it is explicitly political in its intentions? Do people still believe that comedy of this kind, i.e. that is accessible to all ages, races, sexes and classes, is simply ‘lowbrow’? In the words of Harold Lloyd…
‘Comedy that is basic will live forever because its language is universal.’[6]
Ultimately the pleasure of
being a director in a devising process is that you can make the show that you
want to see. Cal’s devising method can be described as making himself laugh by
getting the performers to do things he think will be funny. The nature of the
comedy then is governed by Cal’s own personal sense of humour. He does not
chose to make ‘really biting satire about the legal system or politicians or
whatever. I do think that’s funny but I prefer comedy that you don’t admire. I
prefer when you’re not sitting there thinking, ‘he’s clever that one, what an
education!’ I prefer this silly, childish, helpless laughter.’[7]
His affinity to clown-work is an instinctual one and once he had found it,
through Philippe Gaulier, he was at home. His work as director has sometimes
been with comedy companies like The Boosh for whom clown is not a reference
point and sometimes with companies like Peepolykus who adhere strictly to the
rules of pure clowning – his work with Spymonkey is the most personal, the most
Cal McCrystal.
The Spymonkey style has
clowning so much at its core that I believe it would be wrong to suggest they do
not make clown shows. Instead I would suggest that they distort the typical
image of clowning by modifying the rules. As we have seen, they turn clowning
into competitive clowning. They also invert the traditional balance of the
clown surrounded by non-clowns (it is the serious figure, Forbes Murdston, who
is outnumbered) and instead of facing the problem of getting by in the world,
they are given a script and faced with the problem of putting on a play. This
play then ignites their competitive nature and becomes ‘a vehicle for them to
show off in’[8]
‘I like to see actors in
competition as friends, so they're monitoring each other to see who the
audience likes best. In Stiff I give a verbal prize each night to the
best actor, and the three who don't get it always hate the one who does.’[9]
Cal does not simply use the bits of clowning he needs; he understands that it is only the fundamental honesty of clowning that can provide a strong enough foundation on which to build this structure and that pre-meditated ideas and choices cannot ring true. It is not surprising that the idea of the foiled tragedian appears in the routines of Fred Karno’s players and though the dynamic of Forbes Murdston and his attempts to stage plays with the three clowns may seem a perfect construction for Cal’s comic concerns - the comedy of acting and the battle of art and entertainment – we know that it was not a construction at all but the result of a personal and painful discovery for Toby Park through the process of finding his clown. ‘It’s the most simple, honest, vulnerable, sensitive part of yourself – clown – that’s what you are trying to show’ [10] .