Clowndance Summer Course 2022
TUESDAY: Audience
Prime Objective- To explore moving, dancing and playing
in direct communication with the audience.
Material Covered:
- Games of walking, being aware of others and being aware of the external picture our bodies create
- Sudden reversals, listening to others to make rapid decisions- adapted from John Wright (2006, p. 154)
- Taking direction from the audience’s reactions
- Having an opinion- the Good, Isn’t It? Game
- Sharing something personal with an audience
Moment 1:
We played a game so familiar I can’t even remember where I first encountered it: The Applause Game (Davison, 2015) (Johnstone, 1999). The rule is that the player must work out what action the audience want them to perform, and then perform it, based solely on the audience’s responses. The audience, who have agreed among themselves what it is they want to see, give clues in the form of clapping, booing, sitting in silence, and in the tension in their bodies. The principle is to force the performer to really listen and respond to the audience.
One particular round of this game took an extraordinarily long time. We had determined that we wanted Samantha to perform a plie, and while she got as far as bending her knees on numerous occasions, it took her a long time to make the slight shift in posture that would make the knee bend into a recognisable ballet step. We all felt the frustration build, we all internally wondered if there was a way out of the apparent impasse. Once we realised there wasn’t, we relaxed and the game truly took flight. Towards the end Samantha had in fact worked out what was required, but took her time, teasing us, testing the theory, soliciting rhythmic cries of ‘yay!’ and ‘boo!’ from the audience as she repeatedly turned one foot out then in. She was teasing us, playing with us and for us, and we, as an audience, were hugely invested and entertained.
We played a game so familiar I can’t even remember where I first encountered it: The Applause Game (Davison, 2015) (Johnstone, 1999). The rule is that the player must work out what action the audience want them to perform, and then perform it, based solely on the audience’s responses. The audience, who have agreed among themselves what it is they want to see, give clues in the form of clapping, booing, sitting in silence, and in the tension in their bodies. The principle is to force the performer to really listen and respond to the audience.
One particular round of this game took an extraordinarily long time. We had determined that we wanted Samantha to perform a plie, and while she got as far as bending her knees on numerous occasions, it took her a long time to make the slight shift in posture that would make the knee bend into a recognisable ballet step. We all felt the frustration build, we all internally wondered if there was a way out of the apparent impasse. Once we realised there wasn’t, we relaxed and the game truly took flight. Towards the end Samantha had in fact worked out what was required, but took her time, teasing us, testing the theory, soliciting rhythmic cries of ‘yay!’ and ‘boo!’ from the audience as she repeatedly turned one foot out then in. She was teasing us, playing with us and for us, and we, as an audience, were hugely invested and entertained.
Building tension and wants in an audience creates not pressure, but intensity: as an audience, we want you to succeed, but we want you to work for it. There’s pleasure in failure- the ending had the quality of an orgasm- teetering on a yes, but not quite... Played with hierarchy with the audience- getting us all in the shit meant we had to earn it together… the audience are so often so separate, why are we OK with audiences being bored and polite? Journal extracts from group discussion: 19/07/22 |
Moment 2:
This next was one of the most revelatory performance experiments of the week, and perhaps unsurprisingly, one of the simplest. I trialled a game that I named Dance Like Everybody’s Watching. Essentially that is all we did; I asked the dancers to bring headphones and a favourite track to dance to, and we danced.
The dances were extraordinary to watch and to perform. Each was unique and personal, most had laugh out loud moments, and all were filled with a kind of angry joy. What we all felt was a sense of release, of not needing to be anything other than who we were, on that day, in that moment. We all felt immensely vulnerable, but held in a safe space which made it feel powerful, and cathartic. As an audience, we saw each dancer as a unique human being; flawed and honest and beautiful, sharing a moment of joy directly with us, and it was utterly compelling. See Blog- Bubbling with Pleasure
This next was one of the most revelatory performance experiments of the week, and perhaps unsurprisingly, one of the simplest. I trialled a game that I named Dance Like Everybody’s Watching. Essentially that is all we did; I asked the dancers to bring headphones and a favourite track to dance to, and we danced.
- First we danced all at the same time, but each in our own space, and each hearing only her own music. I gave the provocation to dance as if we were in our own kitchens or living rooms.
- Next we repeated the dancing, still on headphones and to the same tracks, but making eye contact with a partner. We were still dancing privately, for our own enjoyment, but some of that enjoyment was being shared. The dances grew a little, and became slightly more outward focused. I saw glimpses of movements passing from one dancer to another.
- Finally I asked everyone for their tracks, and I cued them all up in a playlist to play through the studio’s sound system. As each track came on, the dancer whose song it was got up, entered the space and danced it for the others, acting as audience. At the start and end of each, we applauded. I gave the provocation not to change the dance, not to try to make it objectively better or more interesting or more choreographed, but simply to dance with the same joy and intensity, and share that with an audience. To dance as if everyone’s watching, and you’re fucking loving it.
The dances were extraordinary to watch and to perform. Each was unique and personal, most had laugh out loud moments, and all were filled with a kind of angry joy. What we all felt was a sense of release, of not needing to be anything other than who we were, on that day, in that moment. We all felt immensely vulnerable, but held in a safe space which made it feel powerful, and cathartic. As an audience, we saw each dancer as a unique human being; flawed and honest and beautiful, sharing a moment of joy directly with us, and it was utterly compelling. See Blog- Bubbling with Pleasure
VIDEO: Dance Like Everybody's Watching
Seeing enjoyment and joy- honest vulnerability.
No judgement- not being perfect- it’s OK to not be any good at all.
We were responding to relatability, not skill.
Journal extracts from group discussion: 18/07/22
No judgement- not being perfect- it’s OK to not be any good at all.
We were responding to relatability, not skill.
Journal extracts from group discussion: 18/07/22
End of the day thoughts about art were around the theme of vulnerability, letting go of the need for perfection, and connecting with the audience. We wondered how much music was colouring the dancing we had been doing, and what we could explore without it. Personal reflections recorded a massive sense of freedom, questions about our identities as dancers and performers and how that relates to an audience. I simply reminded myself that I am still a dancer. |
Bibliography
Davison, J. (2015) Clown training: a practical guide. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Johnstone, K. (1999) Impro for storytellers: theatresports and the art of making things happen. 1. publ. London: Faber and Faber.
Wright, J. (2006) Why is that so funny? a practical exploration of physical comedy. London: Nick Hern Books.
Davison, J. (2015) Clown training: a practical guide. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Johnstone, K. (1999) Impro for storytellers: theatresports and the art of making things happen. 1. publ. London: Faber and Faber.
Wright, J. (2006) Why is that so funny? a practical exploration of physical comedy. London: Nick Hern Books.