My understanding of the Cavell reading is that the spectator
does nothing because “there is nothing and we know there is nothing we can do”
(147) in the sense that “I have given over the time and space in which action is
mine” (154). Cavell seems to be saying that this knowledge or understanding is
what makes someone “an ideal auditor of serious drama” (154), unlike the yokel
who stands up and tries to save Desdemona from Othello. The spectator must “acknowledge
totally the fact and the true cause of … the suffering of others” (153). Cavell
seems to say that the proper response is for the spectator to be “in awe before
the fact that I cannot do and suffer what it is another’s to do and suffer”
(154). And in feeling this sense of awe, the spectator is able to perceive and
confirm their separateness, which in turn “is the unity of our condition”
(154). Cavell seems to be suggesting that this process is important because it
is allows spectators “a respite within which to prepare for [the] necessity” of
acknowledging the pain of others outside the theater, i.e. in actuality, and by
implication that one would take action to help others (149). Cavell explicitly
warns that a failure to achieve this sense of awe increases the risk that “I
continue my sponsorship of evil in the world, its sway waiting upon these forms
of inaction” (154). The spectator, if properly experiencing the play, will
leave with an increased ability to take positive action in the real world when
faced with the pain and suffering of others.
I felt that the experience Cavell hopes all spectators would
have when attending theater failed to occur for me at Don Giovanni in part because of the plot and in part because of the
artifice of the mise-en-scène, which for me combine in the moment when the
statue speaks in Act 2, Scene 3. Up to that point, I was willing to accept the
highly stylized staging and acting, and to deal with the story itself, trying
to extract the message, while also thinking about how I might react in the
situations (thus approving or disapproving of certain characters’ decisions).
As for the mise-en-scène, I was highly aware of the staging. I think the main
reason for this was the opening scene in which a lace screen impacted direct
visual access to the bedroom, while giant mirrors gave clear views from alternative
angles. The actor playing Don Giovanni also engaged in highly stylized (unrealistic)
movements as he walked around the bed. Moreover, the dialogue was almost always
repeated three times, as well as offered in translation on the wall above the
curtain over the stage. As a result of these factors, I did not get lost in the
trance, did not fully sympathize with the characters. But I accepted them. I
was willing to accept all the strange bits of theater, staging, and acting
(which was stylized and kind of dreadfully bad if compared to what we expect
from regular theater) which were part of the performance. I say I was willing
to accept them because I thought they were supposed to be that way, as part of
the conventions of opera (which I have no accurate sense of).
But the moment the statue spoke, I felt differently toward
the opera. I suddenly found myself thinking about how much this opera resembled
a morality play, and that it seemed to be instructing the audience in how to be
good aristocrats and good people, and that its final message is that ultimately
punishment should/will come not from outraged members of one's own social class
or the lower classes, but from god. This is my main criticism of the story:
Mozart brings in god to punish Don Giovanni, instead of making a political
argument for the aristocracy to do a better job of policing their own -- or for
the peasantry to follow through with their threats of violence against the
aristocracy. Therefore, in Don Giovanni,
it seems that ultimately the spectator is being discouraged from taking action
in the real world. This feeling was unexpected, since I felt that through Act 2
Scene 2, the opera seems to be encouraging action. The story to that point explores
the roles of the aristocracy and the peasantry in policing immoral behavior, first
with the notion of the aristocracy being responsible for punishing one of its
own, and next with the notion of the peasantry justifiably rising up when the
aristocracy fails to enact that punishment. But as soon as the statue speaks in
Act II.iii, the story removes all responsibility for action from humans and
places it in the hands of god/the devil/the supernatural, and thus the spectator
is excused from feeling the need to take action in real life, and really is encouraged
to remain inactive in real life. Because of this, I question whether this
production of Don Giovanni could effectively create the sense of awe that
Cavell seems to feel is necessary for theater to have a positive effect on the
spectator (in terms of encouraging action in the real world).
1 comment:
Hi Derek. I am re-posting this from my Gradebook comments because I think it's worth discussing Cavell more generally:
I am especially impressed by your close engagement of Cavell at the start of your post. My reading diverges from yours in some places--for instance, I don't think that Cavell disparages the yokel's position, nor do I think he admires the rote upholding of theatrical decorum (sit still, keep quiet). I also am not convinced that Cavell's view of the theatre is as purely instrumentalist as you propose. It's not clear to me that he proposes (as Brecht does) that we act on what we see. Instead, he proposes that the theatre can instill in us the recognition that we are alike in our separateness. If, like the theatre, the world is full of tragedy in which we cannot intervene, we can do this much: we can choose not to blind ourselves to this tragic condition (something Cavell calls theatricalization), and we can love (in the ethical sense) across this insuperable divide.
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