Don't Lean on the Window
Authors: Dorney Marcel 
Published: October 2020

'Shut up, Graeme; I want to see those two rooting.'-- Description by a spectator of her own thoughts during Bulldog Front, Underground Productions, Cement Box Theatre, Brisbane, June 1999.

A split scene in a small theatre, with a transverse stage faced from both sides by audiences. On a raised platform, two co-workers from a recruitment firm hired to sell forced-labour camps for the unemployed to the Australian public extend their awkward flirtation to a slow, gentle sexual encounter. Separated by several metres and a small patch of light, their shaven-headed supervisor stares down a gun barrel wielded by a former employee who has sold the firm's secrets to a competitor, then returned to negotiate terms of blackmail regarding their new contract. The scenes, observed and reported on by two other employees (as characters and as actors) from the space of the audience, end simultaneously. As the sounds of heterosexual coitus reach a (relatively) subdued climax, the former employee, a young man utterly unprepared for the reaction his threat receives, falls through the window of the office as he writhes away from the supervisor's angry tirade.
Is this exploitative? If so, of whom and in what way?
From March to June of this year, my co-workers and I on the Bulldog Front project at the University of Queensland attempted to realise the political potential of a physically-oriented rehearsal style. The mode of operation of the show -- the way it was rehearsed and performed, as well as the mode of its reception (for the audience only sees the 'product', one of the thorns in the side of 'experimental' praxis the world over) -- concentrated almost entirely upon the labour of the actors to develop and realise the operation of political forces through physical action. The politicisation of bodily desire within this framework was not an avowed intention at the beginning on the process, neither textually nor in the conception of the action by the creative team. However, the role of discourses regarding desire asserted themselves repeatedly in the course of realising the action -- and the interesting aspect is how easily, in comparison to methods of work we had experienced previously, this process allowed us -- in fact, forced us -- to address the social implications of specifically sexual desire within a textual matrix which often actively marginalised it.
The scene in question did not arise, for instance, because of some misguided wish on the part of the producers to include a 'sex scene'. Indeed, the scene took place in low light, with clothes remaining in place - the action was obviously mimed, although the actor's bodies were in full contact. The violence in the other part of the split scene, by way of comparison, took on several sexualised manifestations, including the obviously phallic weapon and the grabbing of the employee's crotch while he cowered on a table. Contextually, the play's action up to that point had attempted to diversify the largely homosocial contact of the office and street in question in terms of the manifestation of male sexuality. The male co-worker in the 'sex' scene, Anthony, was engaging in intercourse with the newly-employed daughter of the company's owner. Throughout the play, Anthony's sometimes overtly sexual attitude to his work -- 'straight to bed on both of 'em,' he claims of his ability to derive (non-sexual) favours from the employees of a prospective 'victim' -- engaged in a dialogue with his attitudes towards his own sexual relations.
The character of Teara, his co-participant, was by contrast desexualised in the office context -- or so it might have seemed in the text. An examination of the play reveals that other factors -- notably the fact that it's her first day back after working in Europe for three years -- mediate this verbal marginalisation. But to what extent can her later sacrifice of the relationship that develops between them -- and, indeed, of Anthony's life -- be read into her actions with regard to the staged encounter, particularly because she plays pursuer far more than pursued (Anthony, it seems, being far from competent in this area)? Is she sublimating her father-murder (her wish to take over the company) into physical 'conquest' of Anthony, who seems the perfect candidate according to the arrayed forces within the company (or the society)? Does this masculinised reading of her actions rob her of female psycho-identity? Does the anecdotal evidence of female audience members saying they enjoyed this scene more than any of the others have any relevance to the question of exploitation? Do any of these questions matter?
What place, it may be asked, does desire have in the creation of a theatre of politics? It has, I would argue, everything to do with it. The question of exploitation or misrepresentation is not only a real one, it is anything but a side issue. This is not a question derived from guilt, either male or Catholic in my case, but from a wish to challenge the mode of storytelling without compromising the story I wish to tell, which must involve an ongoing inquiry as to what exactly -- and where exactly -- that story is. 'Desire' in this context should be read as that contact between actors which can be sexualised in terms of the discourses of the body -- and the reason why I state that 'desire was not the point' is that there was less of that in this fairly passionate production than I, for one, had expected. However, no opportunity for inquiry into this sexualisation had to be avoided, simply because the methodology of rehearsal (for a reference point, look to Thomas Richards's At Work with Grotowski on Physical Actions) allowed the physicalisation of impulses which did not have to necessarily engage directly with the social situation as experienced by the actor.
Most productions of my experience, it must be noted, begin with the actor -- usually her or his 'mind', in the form of seated and abstracted discussion about the possiblity of the concrete event of the text. From such seeds, many stunted representations and discursive effects of erotic and thanotic desire have sprung -- it is not an accident that displays of passion in Hamlet, the tragedy most self-consciously elevated by theatre cognoscenti, are ones of frustation. This frustation is doubtless a familiar one to many Western actors, precisely because the terms of their theatre are not constructed from the inside to even acknowledge, much less codify or liberate, desire. The address of such issues in 'psychological' terms usually ends up translating various social codes which have been assimilated by the actor regarding her/his own sexuality into the action of the play -- or more often, into the process of rehearsal, where they are often challenged by the actor for 'personal reasons' or eliminated by the producers for the 'public safety'. This is not to say that all productions which do not include a cornucopia of sexual acts, or even suggestions thereof, are concessions of artistic dignity or political commitment. The subject of this article cannot, for reasons of space, be about even the barest generalities regarding the topic of realising sexual desire -- even simply heterosexual desire, as if there were anything simple about it -- on the stage or between actors.
The question remains one, then, of: did we -- that is to say, as writer/director, did I -- exploit the performers as sexual beings, either deliberately or through failing to satisfactorily address the issues of desire's representation in the production? Did I, while juxtaposing consensual heterosexual intercourse with sadomasochistic homoeros, merely read the desire of the female character into a phallocentric mode of discourse? Or is the question that I would prefer to ask (and the answer to that is emphatically 'yes'): Was the scene staged simply in order to excite the desire of the paying customer to see heterosexual intercourse? I can claim, and to my mind rightly, that the answer is 'no', and I'm off the hook -- I can tell myself I am not a pornographer. But take the word 'simply' out of the sentence, and we're back to square one, because something else was obviously going on.
The question of whether or not the contexual devices employed in this scene justified the staged manifestations of desire is one for the individual audience member. The point of this article is to explain my thinking about the scene; it is also to explain how, to my mind, the approach to the actor's craft is a vital and near-neglected area of contestation with regard to how desire begins to be staged, and how modifications of the performer's act by the director impact upon the physicalisation of -- among other things -- heterosexual desire. The performance which seeks to address social forces in its approach to the action, as well as the dramatic elements of the action itself, must continually ask such questions without forgetting that a performance is not a lecture (and if every fibre is infused with the spirit of inquiry, it doesn't have to be). This is the promise of a performance approach to political theatre that doesn't just base itself in intellectual analysis.

References

Thomas Richards. At Work with Grotowski on Physical Actions. London: Routledge, 1995.

Citation reference for this article
MLA style:

Marcel Dorney. "Don't Lean on the Window: Desire's Presence and Representation in Political Drama." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.5 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/window.php>.

Chicago style:

Marcel Dorney, "Don't Lean on the Window: Desire's Presence and Representation in Political Drama," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 5 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/window.php> ([your date of access]).

APA style:

Marcel Dorney. (1999) Don't lean on the window: desire's presence and representation in political drama. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(5). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/window.php> ([your date of access]).