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PREPARING AND PERFORMING THE ROLE OF SHERIDAN WHITESIDE
IN FLORIDA ATLANTIC UNIVERSITY’S 2013 PRODUCTION OF
KAUFMAN AND HART’S THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER
By
Scott Wells
A Graduate Production Project Submitted to the Faculty of
The Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters
In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of
Master of Fine Arts
Florida Atlantic University
Boca Raton, FL
April 2015
PREPARING AND PERFORMING THE ROLE OF SHERIDAN WHITESIDE
IN FLORIDA ATLANTIC UNIVERSITY’S 2013 PRODUCTION OF
KAUFMAN AND HART’S THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER
By
Scott Wells
This Graduate Production Project was prepared under the direction of the
candidate’s G.P.P. advisor, Professor Jean-‐Louis Baldet, Department of Theatre and
Dance, and has been approved by his supervisory committee. It was submitted to
the faculty of the Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters and was accepted in
partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts.
SUPERVISORY COMMITTEE
Thesis Advisor 2nd Reader Chairman, Department of Theatre and Dance
Date
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE ............................................................................................................................... 1
SIGNATURE PAGE .................................................................................................................... 2
TABLE OF CONTENTS ............................................................................................................ 3
CHAPTER ONE: ......................................................................................................................... 4 IDENTIFYING THE PROBLEMS CHAPTER TWO: ...................................................................................................................... 9 RESEARCH AND ANALYSIS CHAPTER THREE: ................................................................................................................. 20 MY PROCESS, DEVELOPMENT, DISCOVERY, AND SYNTHESIS CHAPTER FOUR: ................................................................................................................... 40 ASSESSMENT APPENDIX A ........................................................................................................................... 45 IMAGES RELATING TO SHERIDAN WHITESIDE APPENDIX B ........................................................................................................................... 46 SCOTT WELLS AS SHERIDAN WHITESIDE APPENDIX C ........................................................................................................................... 47 THE ALGONQUIN ROUNDTABLE APPENDIX D ........................................................................................................................... 48 ORIGINAL PROGRAM COVER APPENDIX E ........................................................................................................................... 49 DIRECOTRS NOTES AND CAST LIST APPENDIX F ............................................................................................................................ 50 FRENCH SCENES, DRAMA PYRAMID, ACTOR BEATS APPENDIX G ........................................................................................................................... 56 RESEARCH NOTES WORKS CITED ....................................................................................................................... 59
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Chapter One: Identifying the Problems
This paper is designed to prove my hypothesis that Sheridan Whiteside,
central character in The Man Who Came to Dinner, is a boorish viper with a heart of
gold who uses sarcasm to hide his softer side and test the worthiness of his cohorts.
This is the study of the relation between my process and performance. I performed
this role for Florida Atlantic University’s Festival Repertory. Moss Hart and George
S. Kaufman wrote The Man Who Came to Dinner, and Jean-‐Louis Baldet directed our
production. It was performed in FAU’s studio One Theatre and ran from July 12th
through the 20th, 2013.
Aside from the enormity of the role, the material was particularly tricky for
me. In our first rehearsal, I found myself overacting. I was using vocal acrobatics
and mugging to deliver a superficial performance. I quickly identified my overacting
as a problem because I was having trouble finding emotional levels with the
character. I blamed the material. The stage directions on page nine of the script
indicate that “Whiteside [is like] every caricature ever drawn of him”, and initially I
equated a caricature with mugging and overacting. This prompted my research into
Kaufman and Hart’s vision for Whiteside.
In his book, Wisecracks: The Farces of George S. Kaufman, Jeffrey Mason posits
that all of the characters in The Man Who Came to Dinner subscribe to what he calls
the “clown-‐farce” model. “[Kaufman] and his collaborators developed three basic
approaches to farce…the fool-‐farce, the clown-‐farce, and the situational farce.”
(Mason 9) The “clown-‐farce” model invites overacting and mugging well suited for
the farcical aspects of the “Screwball Comedy” that is The Man Who Came to Dinner,
Wells 5
thus providing a tendency for actors to play Whiteside as an acerbic clown. (9)
Particularly, Kaufman’s writings gravitate towards the over-‐the-‐top antics of
a commedia dell’arte Harlequin, which can be witnessed in his scripts for the Marx
Brothers. One can see this in the film The Cocoanuts (1925), where Harpo, Groucho,
and Chico engage in slapstick buffoonery that is ripe with mugging and pratfalls.
“There is even a genuine Marx Brother in [The Man Who Came to Dinner], Banjo, and
he and Whiteside [are] the very spirit of the Kaufmanic clown…fashioning a world
that is always changing and undermining everyone’s expectations…” (57)
Indeed, my performance reflected the “Kaufmanic” clown, but my Whiteside
was also a bit more refined and able to buffer the crazy shenanigans of the play’s
over-‐the-‐top supporting players. This provided a strong contrast for the comic/
straight-‐man relationship needed in the “clown-‐farce” model (9), which I discuss at
length later in this paper. Nonetheless, initially the problem for me was finding a
way to preserve the integrity of the “clown-‐farce” model and not resort to mugging
and overacting.
My research also led me to a cast of historical figures that inspired the play,
but more importantly to Alexander Woollcott—or Aleck as he was affectionately
known to his close friends. Whiteside IS Woollcott, and it was imperative that I
knew who this man was and how he would serve my hypothesis.
In my Chapter Two: Research and Analysis, I examine Woollcott’s inspiration
for Sheridan Whiteside, particularly his disposition and philanthropic nature. I
discovered that Woollcott was a snarky wit with a soft spot for underdogs, but he
could care less about the worthiness of others and was often dismissive. (Hoyt 63)
Wells 6
My discovery that Woollcott was perceived this way presented another problem for
me: I had to find a way to make my Whiteside affable and I found that mimicking
Woollcott’s actual demeanor was just not funny.
Consequently, I determined my Whiteside would not be dismissive, but
instead, attracted to those who engaged in witty repartee. My Whiteside would be
in the habit of antagonizing the supporting cast, which allowed the audience to
conclude whom he favored or not. Furthermore, my choice to use Whiteside’s
nastiness as a test for the worthiness of his cohorts seemed buoyant and not as
mean as being purely dismissive. The problem, however, would be whether or not I
could reconcile my analysis with what Kaufman and Hart had written. Additional
chapters in this paper will detail the tools I used to support my hypothesis.
I will discuss the discoveries made through script analysis, the rehearsal
process, and various acting techniques taught in the Department of Theatre and
Dance at Florida Atlantic University, as well as their synthesis.
These techniques included “target practice”, which is a concept that I created
as an interpretation of Declan Donnellan’s book The Actor and the Target. In the
book, Donnellan speaks to specificity and clarity. He posits that in order to achieve
specificity and clarity, an actor must be detail oriented and mindful of the
connections made in the rehearsal process. Donnellan, however, discusses the
importance of connecting authentically to one’s personal analysis, which for me, was
lacking in terms of partner work.
Therefore, inspired by Donnellan’s technique I modified—for my own
edification—his concept of the target being just the actor’s objectives. I wanted to
Wells 7
include in my target practice the reactions provoked in my scene partners. This
modification was not without its problems, however, and this paper will discuss the
benefits and challenges of my concept of target practice as they relate to specificity
and authenticity in my performance.
Another technique I will discuss in the development of Whiteside is from
Patsy Rodenburg’s book, The Second Circle, which introduces a unique perspective
on focusing energy. Rodenburg offers that there are three circles of energy that
inform how we communicate with others and how human engagement can be
quantified and qualified. For instance, one might argue that Sheridan Whiteside lives
in the Third Circle as a disconnected blowhard that uses his wit as a self-‐defense
mechanism. This superficial ascription concerned me because I was weary of
making choices without examining all of my options. Therefore, I had problems
committing to which circle of energy my Sheridan Whiteside lived in. In this paper, I
aim to prove my position that my Whiteside lived in the Second Circle because he
connected with people on a soulful level.
I will address how the Alexander and Fitzmaurice techniques were
instrumental in overcoming the problems of being confined to a wheelchair. This
included the challenges of breath control, movement, and projection. The Alexander
technique opened my heart center, allowing for vulnerability that I felt was essential
for Sheridan Whiteside, and the Fitzmaurice technique was instrumental in freeing
my vocal instrument, particularly in the confinement of the wheelchair.
During my process for The Man Who Came to Dinner, I was also able to draw
upon what I learned from the Graduate Acting Program at Florida Atlantic
Wells 8
University. These lessons included highlights from Michael Chekov’s techniques
exploring archetypal actions and psychological gestures, which I discuss at length in
Chapter three. Moreover, Chapter Three will reveal how my acting classes played an
important part in helping me overcome the problems of overacting, making weak
acting choices, and not serving my hypothesis.
I often had difficulty in my development of Whiteside with making him
human. I will discuss how, from acting class, I used constructs from psychoanalysis
to inform my characterization and foster specificity in Whiteside. For example, Dr.
Eric Berne’s Transactional Analysis and Drama Triangle (the persecutor, the victim,
and the rescuer) guided my development of Whiteside because it prompted me to
examine the roles people play in their relationships. Additionally, Berne (a former
Consultant in Psychiatry to the Surgeon General) posits that individuals, in order to
remain balanced, must fulfill their Psychological Hungers that often are categorized
by one’s hungering for status, stimulus, or structure. Chapter three will discuss my
choices and struggles with identifying which of these hungers best served my
portrayal of Whiteside.
It is my intention, with this paper, to prove my supposition that Sheridan
Whiteside is more than the “Kaufmanic” clown. I also reexamine the idea that
Sheridan Whiteside is just a caricature. I will reinforce my theories with historical
facts and prove that my process fleshed out the human side of Whiteside.
Wells 9
Chapter Two: Research and Analysis
The dramatic time of The Man Who Came to Dinner is stretched over six
weeks and plays out in three acts. The entire play takes place in the Mesalia, Ohio,
home of Mr. and Mrs. Stanley. It is set in the month of December, when snowstorms
can be confining and foster a sense of claustrophobia. Radio personality Sheridan
Whiteside has been making scheduled appearances across the Midwest, one of
which includes a photo opportunity at the Stanley’s home. After slipping on an icy
stoop on their front porch and becoming incapacitated, Whiteside has doctor’s
orders to stay confined to a wheelchair. He is forced to recover in the conservative
Stanley’s home for an indefinite period of time. Moreover, Mr. and Mrs. Stanley
represent capitalist America, a fact that ultimately fuels liberal Whiteside’s disdain
for them. However, the Stanley’s two children, June and Richard, have not yet
succumbed to their parent’s conservative politics and lifestyle, setting the stage for
Whiteside’s plans to rescue them from their parents’ ideologies.
The Man Who Came to Dinner is a period piece and is demonstrative of
cultural universals defined by the values and language of the upper-‐middle class of
1930s America. These universals that color the world of the play include the air of
polite society, the conventional family unit, patriarchal values, and clear caste
distinctions. These universals informed my given circumstances during my script
analysis. However, my research for Whiteside strengthened through examining the
playwrights and their muse, Alexander Woollcott, as opposed to a comprehensive
study of 1930s America.
Wells 10
Indeed, The Man Who Came to Dinner (1939) is based on the lives of actual
people, whom the authors not so discreetly veiled in the aliases of the play’s
characters. Nonetheless, my character analysis compared Whiteside to Woollcott.
Woollcott, like Whiteside, was notorious for lambasting stupidity. He often used
clever epigrams and backhanded compliments to disarm unwitting opponents of his
steadfast and liberal points-‐of-‐views. At the time of the original production, famed
New York Times critic Brooks Atkinson wrote:
None would say that this is a portrait done in the oil of affection. Neither is it
etched in acid. It is done out of relish for the bountiful mischief and the sharp
tongue of the nation’s Town Crier. For a rounded portrait something would
have to be done for the good works that Alexander Woollcott squanders
lavishly as his old juggernaut goes rolling across the country, knocking down
defenseless bores and jostling the celebrities. But the chronicle of a radio
publicist, turning testily on his nurse, bombing his startled doctor, match-‐
making and match-‐unmaking, plotting deviously and always talking with
brilliant sardonic wit, is one that theatre goers are going to relish as much as
Mr. Hart and Mr. Kaufman have, and probably Woollcott
will also cherish it as one of the fabulous jokes in his Dickensian career.
(Hoyt 14)
Atkinson’s description provided me with clues to Woollcott’s compassionate
side. This was helpful in formulating my hypothesis, that Whiteside, although a
Wells 11
boorish viper, does have a heart of gold. Indeed, in order to achieve what Atkinson
describes as a “rounded portrait,” my Whiteside—like Woollcott—would need to
perform some sort of selfless act. Therefore, Kaufman and Hart ensure that
audiences witness the philanthropic nature of Whiteside. In the first act, Whiteside
entertains Jefferson with his vivid retelling of his self-‐described altruistic and
charitable endowments for the less fortunate and social outcasts.
WHITESIDE: I am going from here to Crockfield, for my semi-‐annual visit to
the Crockfield Home for Paroled Convicts, for which I have raised over half a
million dollars in the last five years
(Dramatists 18)
Later, I will address Whiteside’s penchant for playing the rescuer based on Dr. Eric
Berne’s theory of Transactional Analysis.
The dramatic structure of the play was characteristic of a new brand of
comedy for the American stage at the time. The Man Who Came to Dinner was one of
several collaborative efforts from the playwrights George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart.
In the director’s note for the 2014 FAU production of The Man Who Came to Dinner,
Jean-‐Louis Baldet posits that, “The names Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman are
synonymous with the term “Screwball Comedy” and their play The Man Who Came
to Dinner is the finest piece of that comic genre” (Baldet 10). Building on Director
Baldet’s position, my research for this role demanded a better understanding of this
genre.
Wells 12
Kaufman and Hart were engineering the “Screwball Comedy”, the
evolutionary product of farce and a genre that would become a trademark of the
entertainment industry during the Great Depression years.
Life for much of the original audience of [screwball comedies] was
undeniably hard. The screwball fantasy offered to them…implied that life
should be fun, echoing the playtime standard of childhood. Jobs that made
one a slave to a time schedule or mates who put happiness secondary to
wealth and social position were scorned by the screwball ethic. The ‘real
world’ depicted in the fantasy was ultimately nonsensical. Yet it was a more
appealing world than the one outside the theater's doors, for the pretend
world's threats could be anarchically overcome by cheeky misbehavior,
besting oppression by regression. There was but scant acknowledgment of a
continuing economic crisis or approaching war in screwball comedy, and the
traditional bridges to achievement and happiness were only temporarily
blocked. Passage and liberation were still possible. When the screwball hero
and heroine took on the world, they did so not in a crusade of reform, but in a
delirious spirit of self-‐survival, in some measure creating in the process a
new and private world of their own devising. What admiration they
commanded from the typical audience member was due in part to the
marvelous independence they displayed in regard to their surroundings.
(Byrge 16)
Wells 13
Many elements of the screwball genre can be traced back to such stage plays
as Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, As You Like It and A Midsummer Night's
Dream and Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest. Other genres with which
screwball comedy is associated include slapstick, situation comedy, and romantic
comedy. These farcical predecessors and companion genres compare to the
screwball comedy because they utilize similar characteristics such as improbable
events, mistaken identities, and deliberate deceptions. Much like the duped
Gwendolyn mistakes Worthing for her love interest, Ernest, in Wilde’s play, Lorraine
mistakes Beverly Carlton for her paramour, Lord Bottomley. However, the contrast
between the other genres is that the screwball comedy combines farce with
slapstick and speaks to a specific sensibility, particularly in the face of the Great
Depression.
Screwball comedies also tend to contain ridiculous and farcical situations,
which can be identified in the following synopsis of The Man Who Came to Dinner:
Sheridan Whiteside, having dined at the home of the Stanleys, slips on their
doorstep, breaking his hip. A tumultuous six weeks of confinement follow.
The Stanley living room is monopolized by the irascible invalid; ex-‐convicts
are invited to meals; and transatlantic calls bring a $784 phone bill. The
arrival of strange gifts from his friends further destroys domestic tranquility.
It would take a stoical housewife to harbor penguins in her library, an
octopus in her cellar, and 10,000 cockroaches in her kitchen. When Maggie,
his secretary, falls in love with the reporter, Bert Jefferson, Whiteside
Wells 14
summons a glamorous actress, Lorraine, to win the affections of the young
man. Knowing the girl’s charms, Maggie enlists the aid of a clever
impersonator, affecting the voice of Lord Bottomley, whom the actress hopes
to marry, asks her to return to him and be married. The ruse almost works,
but Whiteside, becoming suspicious, finds that no calls have come through
from London. In revenge, Lorraine suggests a three-‐week rewrite on a play
of Bert’s in which she feigns great interest. Lake Placid is to furnish the quiet
for this inspiration, and she is to be his collaborator. The unexpected arrival
of a mummy case, just as the relenting Whiteside is frantically seeking to get
rid of Lorraine, furnishes a malicious idea. Tricking her into stepping into the
case, he shuts the lid and blackmails his host into having the case carried to
the airport, preparatory to a round-‐the –world cruise. Whiteside departs
from the Stanley’s home triumphantly, but a second later a crash is heard—
he has again slipped and fallen!
Dramatists Play Service, Inc.
It should be noted that in Kaufman and Hart’s screwball formula, “The
playwrights design a given place…and then hurl various characters into the mixture.
The setting is specific and limited, a certain room in a certain house—to relocate the
action would make it [the plot] impossible” (Mason 47), thus allowing the situations
to come to Whiteside and not the other way around. This was a convention for
Wells 15
other Kaufman and Hart screwball comedies such as “You Can’t Take it With You
(1936) and George Washington Slept Here (1940)” (47).
Understanding these unique conditions assisted in my analysis, particularly
when identifying units of action that seemed entirely disparate from the antecedent
action. In other words, despite the immutable location, each scene was presented
with a new set of given circumstances. Our production of The Man Who Came to
Dinner took place entirely on a box set and with every introduction of a new
character, each scene lived a life independent of the main plotline; Whiteside’s
confinement in a stranger’s house.
Screwball comedy is often confused with romantic comedy, but while the two
genres share some elements, screwball comedy is a parody of romantic comedy.
Whiteside and Maggie, for instance, have a love story but it is not romantic in the
amorous sense. Instead, the romance of The Man Who Came to Dinner can be
identified by the silliness of the play’s conflicts (romantic), as opposed to the harsh
realities of the Great Depression ethos (realistic). “There were, from the early 1930s
to the mid-‐1940s, well over 200 screwball films, almost all of them dedicated to the
celebration of eccentric, unconventional behavior and attitudes and the proposition
that life could be a lot of fun in spite of war and a fouled-‐up economy” (Cinecollage).
The Man Who Came to Dinner is rich man’s troubles or “caviar comedy” (3).
Class issues are a strong component of screwball comedies: the upper class tends to
be shown as idle and pampered, and have difficulty getting around in the real world.
Whiteside’s obstacles seem trite, fueled by his own pursuit of troublemaking and
colored by his elitist points-‐of-‐view. Furthermore, the overall construction of the
Wells 16
piece incorporates key characteristics of the screwball comedy and class
distinctions such as “…abundant leisure time, childlike nature, urban life, apolitical
outlook, and basic frustration (especially in relationships with women)” (Gehring
37). According to Duane Byrge and Robert Milton Miller, (experts on the screwball
genre), Depression Era audiences found humor in the perceived lunacy of the rich
man’s world. Works from this genre are usually set among wealthy people who can,
despite the hardships of the Depression, afford to behave oddly. (40)
Nonetheless, I do not mean to discount the relationship of Whiteside and his
secretary and close confidante, Maggie Cutler. Their love for each other is genuine,
but the rules of screwball comedy in contrast to the romantic comedy avoids the
serious and/or dramatic overtones.
Born in the early 1930s, during the bleakest years of the Depression, the
screwball comedy became a very popular variation of the romantic comedy
film. Although the leading characters were usually reconciled to the basic
values of polite society by the story's end, most screwball comedies, up until
that final reel, were irreverent toward the rich, big business, small town life,
government, and assorted other sacred cows…
(Cinecollage)
Therefore, Maggie’s heartbreak would be “ a real threat in romantic comedy [but is]
conspicuously lacking in the screwball landscape or not to be taken seriously…the
Wells 17
genre only gets serious about satire.” (3). This research served my analysis because
it spoke to me in terms of a performing with a light-‐hearted tone (as opposed to
maudlin and heavy) towards Whiteside’s relationship with Maggie. In other words,
I knew to play our scenes in the style of screwball comedy and not romantic
comedy.
Another characteristic of Kaufman and Harts’ screwball comedies was their
impeccable use of language.
[A] common element [of screwball comedy] is fast-‐talking, witty repartee
(You Can't Take it With You, His Girl Friday). This stylistic device did not
originate in the screwballs (although it may be argued to have reached its
zenith there): it can also be found in many of the old Hollywood cycles
including the gangster film, romantic comedies, and others.
(Cinecollage)
Not unlike Oscar Wilde’s command for turning a phrase, Kaufman and Hart
were able to harness the acerbities of their effete and elite circle of friends that
inspired The Man Who Came to Dinner. After all, Sheridan Whiteside was written for
Alexander Woollcott, a popular raconteur of the roaring twenties whose witty
repartee earned him a place at the Algonquin Round Table1.
1 Algonquin Round Table, also called The Round Table, informal group of American literary men and women who met daily for lunch on weekdays at a large round table in the Algonquin Hotel in New York City during the 1920s and ’30s. <http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/15166/Algonquin-‐Round-‐Table>
Wells 18
Moreover, as the boorish viper “Whiteside is still a master of language, and
his expertise enables him to assert his power over the less gifted…given his violently
antisentimental attitude towards his friends…” (Mason 76) It can be observed, too,
that in The Man Who Came to Dinner, Whiteside uses these vivid retellings to bask in
his own self-‐worth. He uses his remarkable talent for turning a phrase “for the
sheer joy of demonstrating his skill and grace, recalling more subtle moments when
he restrains his impulse to destroy.” (76) Identifying said restraint for Whiteside
became an important part of this analysis, particularly when proving that he is
testing the worthiness of his cohorts by insulting them.
As you will see later, in the chapter discussing my process as an actor, I am in
the habit of working with two hardcopies of the script. One I use as a research copy
and the other is broken down into French scenes based on the rehearsal schedule or
my script analysis. In my research copy, I carefully, with multicolored highlighters,
search for what others say about my character. I also use this first script to make
notes on people’s names and how I feel about them, peculiar pronunciations, as well
as identify and define unfamiliar terms and/or vocabulary. Whilst doing so, I often
make preliminary discoveries that serve as a catalyst for character development.
This was important to my script analysis because I discovered that Whiteside
often uses restraint to temper his gluttonous appetite for exposing pretense.
However, when he did, his decision to filter himself was a savvy tactic as opposed to
an exercise in manners. Similar in scope to Algernon Moncreiff in Wilde’s The
Wells 19
Importance of Being Earnest, Sheridan Whiteside uses wit to dazzle and disorient
not only his targets but, perhaps more importantly, the audience too. (72)
I had an opportunity to play Jack Worthing in The Importance of Being
Earnest and observed a noteworthy contrast between Moncreiff and Whiteside:
Worthing was arguably the intended target of Algernon Moncreiff’s disarming
witticisms but he maintained a calculated distance from the paranoia he instilled in
Jack. Conversely, Whiteside “gets too involved with his material…preferring
immediate and startling effect to indirection and suggestion.” (76) I found the idea
of “immediate” and “startling” useful in supporting my position that Whiteside tests
his cohorts’ abilities to defend themselves in an exchange of wits.
Wells 20
Chapter Three: My Process: Development, Discovery, and Synthesis
My process began by scouring the script for any mentions of Whiteside,
either from himself or from others. Previously, I discussed that I am in the habit of
working from two hardcopies of the script (see appendix). Using two scripts, for
me, reduces the clutter of copious notes.
My first script is used for highlighting all of my lines and noting important
stage directions. I also use this first script to make notes on actual people and
historical events that I am not familiar with. It is very important to me to enter the
first read-‐through knowing correct pronunciations and historical facts. The Man
Who Came to Dinner speaks of actual peoples, places, and events. Consequently, this
research helped me immensely in rehearsals. I had a comprehensive knowledge of
who and what I was speaking of. This first hardcopy is littered with post-‐it note
mini-‐biographies of the peoples mentioned in the play.
My second script is my French scenes copy or scored script. With the help of
the director’s rehearsal schedule, I was able to break the play down into 30 French
scenes. I identified the French scenes by the entrances and/or exits of other
characters. I would alternate between four different colored highlighters to identify
a French scene—or unit as it is also called. In this second script there are also small
tick marks that identify beats, where I felt there were specific changes in
Whiteside’s intentions (see appendix). These beats would become increasingly
useful in developing specific choices for Whiteside because they specified my
objectives. An actor’s beats serve specificity because they address a character’s
objective, obstacle, and tactics used to forward the scene.
Wells 21
Specific choices are a necessity in authentic acting. I discovered that making
correct choices is not something that comes easily; it is a trial and error process. I
should clarify that when I say correct choices, I mean to say choices that serve the
whole aesthetic of the character and the world of the play. My choices were
informed by my relationship to the other characters in the play. This too presented
challenges, because Whiteside is like an onion with many layers. Superficially,
anyone is subject to his acerbic wit, but inwardly his brashness is often a mask for
his sensitive side. Identifying the difference informed my actions as Whiteside.
There is a moment in the play where Whiteside verbally spars with Burt
Jefferson, the potential fiancé of Whiteside’s closest confidante, Maggie. On the
surface, Whiteside bombards Jefferson with insults, demonstrating an overt
objective to belittle his opponent. The tactic being used is to insult Jefferson
sardonically. However, inwardly for Whiteside, there is an undercurrent of mutual
respect. Jefferson, like Whiteside, is a journalist so they share both professional and
personal interests. Therefore, Whiteside’s covert objective is to befriend his
opponent. Covertly Whiteside uses the tactic of challenging Jefferson’s intellect and
resolve. Playing Whiteside’s overt objectives with covert intentions became the
convention for my process, and it is this very type of complexity that I was
challenged with throughout the play.
Helping me with this challenge were techniques used from Declan
Donnellan’s book, The Actor and the Target. Donnellan posits that “the target is
always active…and whatever the target is doing must be changed—by me.”
(Donnellan 24) Inspired by this philosophy, I added a psychophysical element,
Wells 22
which made my target practice’s success contingent upon eye contact. This meant
not just looking at my scene partner, but really observing their thought process in
comprehending my words. Imagining the text as a weapon designed to pierce one’s
soul and psyche, I awaited the impact and steadied myself for retaliation. Targeting
my scene partner’s reaction to an overt tactic also validated my covert intentions.
By using eye contact, I was able to engage a connection that felt personal as opposed
to rote or mechanical. However, the practice of this in rehearsal can be self-‐
indulgent and oftentimes there is so much air between the lines that a director and
fellow actors can become frustrated. Nonetheless, for my process, especially in
early rehearsals, I find target practice useful in exploring relationships and gauging
my choices.
My scene partner’s reactions were important to me during rehearsals.
Because of the screwball comedy elements, I found that having a reaction to my
work in the rehearsal process was very helpful. Coupled with the directives from
Jean-‐Louis, I was able to hone in on specific choices, which served the comedy of the
piece. Comedy, for me, is challenging because of the rhythmic constructs needed to
execute the joke. Jean-‐Louis was helpful in explaining the meter in the screwball
comedy and it is not necessary linear like the formula of a stand-‐up routine.
He explained that in stand-‐up one could define the rhythm as ‘bud-‐duh,
bump’, or short expository jokes followed by a quick, staccato-‐like punch line. With
Whiteside, however, the joke was a long time in the making and its initiation could
start as early as several scenes (or acts) before the punch line. Extended set-‐ups for
jokes is a convention in The Man Who Came To Dinner. I found that act one and two
Wells 23
were mostly structured to set-‐up the jokes for the final act three. For example,
Whiteside uses his egotistical actress-‐friend Lorraine Sheldon as a tool to sabotage
Maggie Cutler’s romance with Burt Jefferson. Their relationship sets the stage in act
two for a huge punch line in act three; her entrapment in a mummy case.
Furthermore, each one of these extended set-‐ups contributed to what Jean-‐Louis
referred to as “backpressure”. This is the underlying cause of tension between
characters as a result of not achieving their objectives. This “backpressure” would
contribute to the chaos of the play’s multiple punch lines because it was generating
conflicts that begged for resolution.
An element of Whiteside’s character is his penchant for making impulsive
judgments of one’s character. The text is specific about these judgment calls, but as
an actor, I hoped to communicate Whiteside’s thought process concerning them and
this is where Whiteside’s super-‐objective became an important instrument for
success. Robert Benedetti, author of The Actor at Work, posits that:
Your character’s superobjective (sic) may be conscious or (more commonly)
unconscious. If the character is unconscious of it, you—the actor—can treat
everything you know that the character doesn’t: you take it fully into account
as you work, but you do not let your actor knowledge ‘contaminate’ your
character reality. Remember the idea of dual consciousness: what you know
as the actor is not the same thing as what your character knows.
Wells 24
Lee Strasberg once said the hardest thing about acting ‘is not knowing what
you know’.
(Benedetti 120)
Part of my process for not playing the punch lines (or the end of the play) was to live
authentically in the moments. In order for this to be successful, I was careful to
examine Whiteside’s super-‐objective. I decided that Whiteside’s super-‐objective
was to recruit new people into his exclusive entourage by using boorish insults to
test their character and resolve.
For instance, Whiteside’s verbal abuse of Miss Preen could easily seem
arbitrary and rude, but I wanted the audience to understand that my Whiteside was
testing her character by testing her will. Part of the running joke concept, Preen is
another undeserving target of Whiteside’s sarcasm, similar in reason to his
relationship with Jefferson. But unlike Burt, Miss Preen fails to pick up on
Whiteside’s tactics and consequently quits as his caregiver. As an actor, I could not
play each caustic exchange with Preen with the knowledge she would quit.
Methodically, I had to play each exchange with the hopes that Preen would engage
in some verbal sparring, bringing her that much closer to a successful recruitment.
Consequently, when she did not reciprocate, Whiteside’s disappointment would
manifest itself in some boorish, dismissive quip.
Whiteside’s super-‐objective towards Preen was to induct her into his circle of
trust using verbal hazing as a tactic. Each smaller objective, identified in my beats,
Wells 25
had to serve that super-‐objective. This would not be effective if I played to the
knowledge of Preen’s resignation. Each relationship in the play had to have a clear
objective in the moment that appeared spontaneous and not alluding to the end of
the play.
The relationships in the Man Who Came to Dinner were vital to
understanding Whiteside as the rude raconteur with a soft side. Uta Hagen speaks
of defining relationships in “broad terms” and encourages the actor to examine “the
relationship [as] one of competition, love, hostility, maneuvering or trading for
advantage and position—declared open, or is it hidden and
subconscious…reciprocal…or at opposites” (Hagen 166). At times, all of these apply
to Whiteside’s relationships, but in order for Whiteside to manipulate the
relationship, he has to be decisive and sure in defining them. However, it is this very
same decisive and assured way-‐of-‐being that we see Whiteside’s tragic flaw. His
relationships are doomed before ever given a chance to be explored; the steadfast
decision not to like the Stanley’s, for instance.
Physically, part of my process was freeing my voice. The actual time of the
play is just north of three hours, most of which I am confined to a wheelchair. This
was not without its physical challenges, particularly on my voice. My vocal warm-‐
ups were a combination of Fitzmaurice, Rodenburg, and Linklater techniques
learned in the Graduate Acting Program. These techniques are designed to identify
resonators, explore breath control, and stimulate articulators.
In her book, The Second Circle, Patsy Rodenburg discusses three circles of
energy that describe, “how human energy moves”. First Circle is introspective and
Wells 26
withdrawn, third circle is boisterous and insincere, but the Second Circle is
“focused…responsive with [an] energy, reacting and communicating freely.”
(Rodenburg 20) Using these tenets as a guide, I began to incorporate them into my
process.
However, Rodenburg also postulates that moving from Third to Second Circle
allows one to take control of relationships. When Richard Stanley, for instance,
wishes to speak with Whiteside privately concerning his future, he enters on the
heels of one of Whiteside’s outbursts. For me, using the circles justified the drastic
change in energy and volume.
Inspired by The Second Circle philosophy, I used circles to justify my volume
levels. For me First Circle energy was communicated in a stage whisper, which I did
not use in this production of The Man Who Came to Dinner. My Second Circle volume
was a conversational tone, and my Third Circle volume was communicated through
bellows and tantrums. Throughout the script Whiteside’s vocal levels change
dramatically and my script has been noted when I changed from circle to circle.
Using Rodenburg’s technique, I was able to justify my volume levels based on the
nature of the relationship in a scene.
Some might argue that Whiteside lives exclusively in a Third Circle world,
considering his bellowing and caustic quips, but I wanted to make it clear that his
bellowing was not arbitrary, but instead justified by the circumstances of the script.
For my process, I used Rodenburg’s position that Third Circle individuals “believe
that [they] are superior to…colleagues and neighbors” and that Third Circle
Wells 27
behavior is a means of self-‐defense. By this definition, I was able to reconcile my
supposition that Whiteside uses sarcasm (and volume) to hide his softer side.
While Rodenburg did much to inform the tonality of my Whiteside,
Fitzmaurice voice work did wonders in releasing tension that and fostering my
breath control. It is important for one to consider that the actor’s voice as an
instrument is subjected to blockage, much like an obstruent in a musical instrument.
When there is tension in the muscles of the body—particularly the diaphragm—air
is not moved freely and sound is restricted. By using a Fitzmaurice technique called
“tremoring”, I was able to isolate areas that seemed particularly tense and bring
awareness to freeing the tension. Since I was confined to a wheelchair, I found my
posture compromised and my breath control limited. Therefore, I knew that freeing
my chest cavity was going to get me through that three hours plus of projecting to
the back of the theatre. I found tremoring on my back (using the postures known in
the Fitzmaurice technique as “Happy Baby” and “Knees Over Head") to be the most
useful posture for freeing my voice.
As for my pitch, I liked using Linklater to explore different resonators.
Moving sound around from head voice, to chest voice, to belly voice is a great way to
awaken these resonators and start to explore levels in pitch and ultimately line
delivery. Pitch and cadence was important to my process because Whiteside is a
radio personality and his voice is his trademark. That being said, I would like to add
that it was my conscious choice as an actor to give a clear distinction between his on
and off-‐air pitch and cadence. The end of Act Two closes with Whiteside conducting
Wells 28
a radio broadcast from a portable feed, and without missing a beat, he flips his
cadence from antagonizing blowhard to celebrated raconteur.
Movement was an interesting challenge for me on the stage. We had started
rehearsing with a wheelchair almost immediately. Blocking the show was
contingent upon where the chair could and could not go, but it was also important
that I acclimated myself with the equipment. I became rather adept at maneuvering
the chair and discovered it was almost an extension of me. Despite the confines of
the chair, however, I was able to utilize movement techniques such as Alexander
and Chekov to assist in my comfort and inform my acting choices. Adjunct Professor
Jana Tift at Florida Atlantic University taught the Alexander technique to me. I was
introduced to Michael Chekov’s technique in my acting classes.
The Alexander technique was helpful in freeing tension during the entire
rehearsal process. Tension is par for the course in the actor’s world, and as I
mentioned earlier can be damaging to the rehearsal process—prohibiting
experimentation and closing off receptors. I find that engaging in the act of
percipience, or total awareness of our physical selves, was beneficial in getting out
of my own way (self-‐consciousness) and allowing character discoveries to really
take root. This works well in tandem with the idea of target practice because I was
able to open my heart center and be vulnerable and receptive to the tactics of the
other characters. I find that when I’m not open, I’m not vulnerable and I make it
part of my process to be as vulnerable as possible, particularly since characters’
vulnerabilities are an important point of interest for the audience.
Wells 29
Utilizing Michael Chekov’s statements of archetypal actions and
psychological gestures helped me to explore Whiteside’s vulnerabilities. My
experience with this technique was limited, but from what I did know, I found it
useful when stuck or unclear as to what choice to make. This technique emphasizes
working more from impulse and less from intellect.
In his book, The Michael Chekov Handbook: For the Actor, Lenard Petit states:
[Verbs can be translated into] archetypal statements of action, which will
lead us to [psychological] gestures, and these gestures can become our
guideposts. Being in the body, the gestures (forms) come to the actor
directly as knowledge, or a physical connection to the action. They can
generate impulses to satisfy the action. The impulses surge through the
body, and this engenders a real bidding to do. One doesn’t have to convince
oneself of anything, one is not called upon to consider anything, because the
intellect is left out of the effort. The inner gesture is the spark to the life on
stage.
(Petit 48)
Actions can be explored through psychological gestures that compliment archetypal
behavioral patterns that serve the human condition. Chekov identifies these
patterns as statements of action. They are called archetypal because they represent
the fundamental actions that all others are based in. These statements of action are
“I Want—I Reject, I Give—I Take, I Hold My Ground—I Yield.” (51)
Wells 30
Sometimes, in The Man Who Came to Dinner, I found myself wanting to make
obvious choices, particularly when Maggie reveals her plans to leave Whiteside. For
example, if the exchange was hot, aggravated and loud with Whiteside’s objective to
get Maggie to change her mind by demanding that she stay in his employ. We could
say that he is taking her power (in third circle), which is an obvious choice for
Whiteside. If, on the other hand, the exchange is cool, articulate and temperate with
Whiteside’s objective to get Maggie to reconsider a potential mistake by assuring
her that staying with him is the safer choice, we could say that he is giving her a
choice (in second circle).
The latter option works well with Whiteside’s character as a manipulative
mastermind and serves the tenet that action defines character. My intellectual
analysis in this scene led me to explode and berate Maggie for her decision. But I
experimented with options using Chekov’s technique. I discovered that, impulsively,
I gravitated towards the archetypal action of “I Take” and found that this action
came effortlessly. It was what I was doing all along, but I found myself struggling to
justify my choices because they seemed obvious.
However, after further experimenting with the psychological gestures (or
PG) associated with the archetypal actions, “I Give—I Take”, I felt more at ease with
the impulse “To Give”. These psychological gestures respectively, are simple
movements created by the actor to represent the action. My PG for “I Give” looked
as if I were presenting, palms up, an invisible gift to my scene partner. This gave me
a physical sense of what the action of giving felt like. My PG for “I Take” resembled
me reaching in and pulling an invisible energy away from partner. The actual use of
Wells 31
these PG’s vanished for the performance, resulting in what is termed “life-‐body”
(33), but what remains is the psychophysical memory of what it is to feel a
particular archetypal action.
Director Baldet had a lot of influence on choices I made and was a strong
supporter of experimentation. Furthermore, he was one of my acting professors
and I had the chance to experiment with various psychoanalytical theories that
helped me in my character and relationship development for The Man Who Came to
Dinner.
One of the theories we explored was that of Eric Berne, M.D.’s Transactional
Analysis (or TA). According to the book An Introduction to Transactional Analysis by
Phil Lapworth, “the practice of TA…integrates cognitive behavioural and
psychodynamic theories within a humanistic philosophy—from a unique relational
perspective” (Lapworth). Dr. Berne’s Transactional Analysis (hereinafter referred
to as TA) uses “four methods...[to analyze] two-‐way communication, [and] an
exchange, a transaction” (1). The TA methods I explored in the classroom and in
The Man Who Came to Dinner were Berne’s theories concerning Psychological
Hungers, the Drama Triangle, and Archetypal Trainings.
During my process, I discovered that Whiteside’s Psychological Hungers
were useful in creating specific acting choices. Comprised of what Berne calls,
“strokes”, human hungers serve as a “unit of recognition or any act implying
recognition of another’s presence” (73). When using this idea in acting,
Psychological Hungers become part of a “game [used to identify] a behavioral
sequence which 1) is an orderly series of transactions with a beginning and an end;
Wells 32
2) contains an ulterior motive, that is, a psychological level different than a social
level; and 3) results in a payoff of both players” (Steiner 44). Therefore,
Psychological Hungers serve to forward the action with a specificity that is
psychologically justified. Some examples of these hungers include a stimulus
hunger (the need for physical contact), structure hunger (the need for structure in
life), and status hunger (the need for recognition and place).
I jostled these concepts repeatedly during my analysis and discovered that
the stronger choice for Whiteside was to develop his structure hunger. This was
tricky, however, because I had to take into consideration how the playwright crafted
Whiteside and how I was shaping him. Kaufman and Hart had written a man that,
on the surface, was hungry for status, but I was reticent to commit to this choice
because it seemed too obvious. However, after reexamining my objectives, I found
that this status hunger served Whiteside’s need for control, but his structure hunger
fed his need for loyal companionship. I determined the latter to be more important.
Process of elimination led me to conclude that the stimulus hunger was not a
viable choice, because his need for physical contact was limited. I posit this based
on the context clues Kaufman and Hart have given the actor. The only written
reference that I had to go on concerning Whiteside’s response to physical contact
was his repulsion at the hands of Ms. Preen. His line, “Will you take your clammy
hand off my chair? You have the touch of a sex-‐starved cobra!” (Kaufman and Hart,
11) was used to inform my choice. Consequently, this allowed Sheridan to keep
everyone at arms length, helping to justify his penchant for detachment.
Wells 33
I had a difficult time identifying the top priority of his structure hunger
versus his status hunger. Whiteside lives an ordered life, what with all of his
performance dates and scheduled meetings. Furthermore, his secretary Maggie
Cutler takes responsibility for organizing these facets of his life; therefore he was
not hungry for structure in the clerical/ business sense. However, I came to the
conclusion that he hungers for structure in his relationships. According to Claude
Steiner’s book, Scripts People Live, “structure hunger is the need to establish a social
situation within which the person can transact with others” (Steiner 46). This is
consistent with my theory that Whiteside expects loyalty and tests his cohort’s
worthiness by testing their patience. Furthermore, this expectation speaks to a
structure hunger that cannot be wholly satisfied by the other hunger options.
That being said, one might argue this expectation of loyalty also
demonstrates a hunger for status. Loyalty can be defined as subservient2 and I had
to be careful to consider Whiteside’s relationships. I scanned the French scenes
copy of my second script to examine these relationships. I ensured his objectives
were not to seek social sovereignty and idolization, but rather to examine his
ingenuousness towards the people he respects: June and Richard Stanley, Bert
Jefferson, Lorraine Sheldon, Banjo, Professor Metz, the servants John and Sarah,
Harriet Stanley, Beverly Carlton, and of course Maggie Cutler. A status hunger
would cause Whiteside to diminish these characters to nothing more than loyal
subjects to Whiteside, and I had to be careful not to allow this to happen, thus
resulting in my decision to play Whiteside with a structure hunger. 2 Faithful adherence to a sovereign, government, leader, cause, etc. <http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/loyalty?s=t>
Wells 34
Another lesson from acting class that I used in The Man Who Came to Dinner
was derived from a TA concept termed the Drama Triangle. The Drama Triangle
identifies three roles that people play when engaged in a transaction (or
communication). The roles of the Drama Triangle include that of the Rescuer,
Persecutor, or Victim. These roles are “interchangeable so that any person who
played a ‘game’ while in one role would eventually also play the ‘game’ in another.”
(Steiner 176) Suffice it to say Whiteside can play all three equally well, depending
on his intentions in any given moment.
I strongly believe that Whiteside plays the role of Rescuer in his
relationships. Steiner posits that Rescuers see themselves as selfless, generous, and
cooperative. I want to impart that this is how I believed Whiteside viewed himself.
He sees himself as a hero to others and the champion of the underdog. I came to this
conclusion after carefully considering the three roles of the Drama Triangle. If I
categorized Steiner’s positions concerning the persecutor, which essentially results
in one becoming the rescuer (176), it would stand to reason that Whiteside
persecuted his targets only to become their rescuer. If I categorized Whiteside as
the victim, Whiteside would be rendered powerless to fulfill his rescuer role (176).
Therefore, when considering my supposition, his heart of gold, the role of rescuer is
the best description.
Take, for example, his philanthropic work for the Crockfield Home for
Paroled Convicts, or his sage advice to Richard Stanley to pursue his dreams, or his
encouragement of June Stanley to be her own person. While altruisms serve
Whiteside’s ego, they are not duplicitous and deserve to be recognized as genuine
Wells 35
acts of kindness. Undoubtedly this is the way Kaufman and Hart have written
Whiteside as is evidenced in Whiteside’s exit in act three, where he overtly
blackmails Mr. Stanley into allowing his children to “follow his own bent” (Kaufman
79). Paradoxically, the blackmail suggests Whiteside is a persecutor, but we see that
role ultimately serves his role as rescuer.
Whiteside sees himself as a survivor and judiciously ingratiates himself to
those who demonstrate similar tendencies. However he is a conundrum, because he
is compassionate but not affectionate, the results of his lacking hunger for stimulus.
It is my position that this is a result of Whiteside’s Archetypal Training that
resembles the ‘No Love’ paradigm. This construct precludes an individual’s ability
to give affection. This supposition comes from Berne’s idea that children, at a very
early age, are taught “how to behave, think, feel, and perceive” (Steiner 125).
Steiner takes Berne’s position and redefines it as “basic training”, which Jean-‐Louis
has redefined as Archetypal Trainings. In any case, the trainings include No Love,
No Joy, and No Mind.
The basic training of life includes a systematic attack on three primary
human potentials: the potential for intimacy, namely the capacity for
giving and receiving human love, the potential for awareness, namely
the capacity to understand the world and its people, and the potential
for spontaneity, which is the capacity of free and joyful expression of
the Natural Child.
Wells 36
I have called the end result of this three-‐part basic training
Lovelessness, Mindlessness, and Joylessness.
(126)
I look to Kaufman and Hart to support this. The script offers little clues to the
origins of Whiteside’s unaffectionate nature, except for a brief glimpse into
Whiteside’s childhood in act one:
Whiteside (to June):
Suppose your parents are unhappy—it’s good for them.
Develops their characters. Look at me. I left home at the age of
four and haven’t been back since. They hear me on the radio
and that’s enough for them.
(Kaufman 41)
There is an unmistakable tone of resentment in this line; however, it serves as a
valuable tool in understanding Whiteside’s ‘No Love’ training. As part of my
synthesis for Whiteside, I utilized this Archetypal Training to resemble ‘tough love’.
I also wrestled with Whiteside’s obligations. Acting classes taught me that I should
identify whom it is I am serving in a piece. I had to determine if he was obligated to
himself, other people, relationships, family, or to society. It is my position that the
superficial egoist is the comedic element that colors Whiteside’s character, but it is
his obligation to his relationships that make him more dimensional. However, I had
Wells 37
to consider Kaufman and Hart’s intentions for Whiteside, which presented the same
challenges as identifying his hungers; choosing the stronger choice.
Kaufman and Hart have written a man that appears to only serve himself.
Consider this exchange from the top act three. Whiteside has successfully sabotaged
Maggie’s relationship with Jefferson, and she is confronting Sheridan (Sherry) about
her decision to leave. Kaufman and Hart do not mince words when describing
Whiteside’s obligation to himself:
Maggie: Shall I tell you something Sherry? I think you are a selfish, petty
egomaniac who would see his mother burned…at the stake…if that
was the only way he could light his cigarette. I think you’d sacrifice
your best friend without a moment’s hesitation if he disturbed the
sacred routine of your self-‐centered, paltry little life. I think you are
incapable of any human emotion that goes higher up than your
stomach, and I was the fool of the world forever thinking I could trust
you.
Whiteside: Well, as long as I live, I will never do anyone a good turn again. I won’t
ask you to apologize, Maggie, because in six months from now you will
be thanking me instead of berating me.
(65)
Wells 38
Undoubtedly, Whiteside’s callous retort is meant to be funny as part of the
running joke recipe, particularly since the entire play has established Whiteside as a
megalomaniacal hedonist. But I had to serve my position that although he is ill
mannered, he is compassionate and if he were only serving himself, would not feel
remorse for betraying Maggie. Consequently, I was determined to explore
Whiteside’s living to fulfill an obligation to his relationship with Maggie. This failed
repeatedly. No matter how hard I tried to deny it, Whiteside had only one
obligation. Himself. That defines Whiteside; all of his friends own this about him.
One of Whiteside’s best friends—Banjo—even makes light of his selfish nature in act
three:
Whiteside: I did it for Maggie—because I thought it was the right thing for her.
Banjo: Oh, sure. You haven’t thought of yourself in years…
(69)
The rehearsal process allowed me to explore these tools and how they would
shape my rendition of Sheridan Whiteside. We had approximately 80 hours of
rehearsal and I found that absorption really started to happen as late as tech week,
and continued through the performances. But that is the nature of the craft. I never
stopped making discoveries because each performance had its own heartbeat and
the pulse was ever changing. The one thing that was consistent, however, was my
Wells 39
analysis and the tools I used to support them. The dynamics of the performance
may have changed, but the specifics did not. With all the challenges that this role
presented, I came away feeling that I had accomplished a great deal. The process
was a lesson all of itself. I will continue to use all of these tools in developing future
characters.
Wells 40
Chapter Four: Assessment
I once attended a self-‐assessment seminar that posited self-‐awareness
facilitates change. Being unaware, I unconsciously engaged in default behavior.
Only when I became aware of something was I able to make choices as to the action I
wished to take. Sometimes, being aware allows the problem to solve us, rather than
requiring us to solve the problem. I don't know how the world works. I can only
perceive how the world works and my unique perception is based upon who I am
and what I am aware of that is happening around me.
I was aware that this comedy made me nervous. I was self-‐conscious that I
was not going to be funny. I was afraid Whiteside would not be a lovable character. I
loved the play, but I was not having fun with the character.
Whiteside’s lines, as written, sound mean and dismissive. In rehearsals, the
director and I worked toward finding a way to buffer that. We agreed that
Whiteside should connect with the audience in a likeable way. We also determined
a detestable Whiteside could potentially alienate audiences. We worked
collaboratively on keeping him buoyant, affable, and playful.
We broke my habit of scowling, and we discovered that a smile could redirect
the mood of a scene. For instance, there was a playful sarcasm when Whiteside
smiled through his announcement that “I may vomit”. My initial take on the line was
not served by my predisposition to snarl and bite.
I discovered this playful sarcasm served Whiteside’s affability. However, I
had no way of gauging this in rehearsals. I needed an audience. For our preview
performance, I was nervous and uncertain if they would perceive Whiteside as
Wells 41
affable. I forgot to smile. Consequently, I pushed my performance and only served
myself. I felt detached from the material, my scene partners, and the audience. I
failed at portraying Whiteside as lovable. Sadly, my scene partner’s objectives
became irrelevant to me and Whiteside came across as contemptuous and aloof.
Determined not to let that happen again, the next performance I did smile. I
also started sharing the scene. Letting my scene partner’s back in rekindled the
playfulness we had discovered in rehearsals. This changed the mood of the play
from the previous performance.
I observed, too, that my scene partners seemed to have a different attitude as
well. The stakes were raised for me when I realized that the mood of the show
depended on Whiteside’s disposition. When the relationships were driven by
Whiteside’s love for teasing—taking into account that this is how we rehearsed it—
my partners and I began to have fun with each other. The pace of the show, for me,
picked up and my lines felt less laborious. The director commented that night that
he noticed the playful Whiteside and that it was serving Whiteside’s affability.
Furthermore, having fun with Whiteside helped support my theory that he toyed
with people to test their worthiness as friends.
For example, from my analysis, I concluded that Sheridan Whiteside and Burt
Jefferson were meant to be comrades. Early in act one, Jefferson meets Whiteside
asking for an interview. They share an interest in journalism. Jefferson wants to
interview Whiteside for a local publication. Whiteside is dismissive but Jefferson is
persistent. Whiteside is intrigued by Jefferson’s chutzpah. Whiteside, in his playful
way, dangles the prospect of an interview before him; like a carrot before a rabbit.
Wells 42
Jefferson identifies with Whiteside’s game and reciprocates. Jefferson has passed
Whiteside’s test of character.
I used this philosophy with my relationship to Miss Preen as well. In the
script, Preen quits as Whiteside’s caregiver, however that did not discourage my
intentions to test her resolve. I discovered that the comedy happened when Miss
Preen failed to realize Whiteside’s game. It gave me great joy to learn that the actor
playing Miss Preen (Katy Slaven) had noticed the change, for the better, in
Whiteside’s attitude. I was also pleased to learn that she felt we were working
together in the scene and that it was no longer a one-‐sided effort on my part.
My nervousness concerning Whiteside’s affability disappeared as my
performances became more playful. The performances revealed that the audiences
responded positively to Whiteside’s playful sarcasm. I made a conscious choice to
be aware of the audiences’ reactions. I started listening for laughs to make sure
jokes were landing correctly. I found myself including the audience as my partner,
whose responses were just as valuable to me as those who were onstage.
I remember during that first nerve-‐ridden preview performance, looking out
into the audience, momentarily breaking the proverbial fourth wall, and getting a
wink from an audience member. It was a simple act of validation, but more
importantly solidarity. In that moment I knew that random audience member
sensed my panic and wanted me to succeed. The beauty of live theatre is that
everyone, including the audience, is in it together.
As we have seen, Second Circle serves an individual’s ability to authentically
connect with other people. When one lives in Second Circle pretenses fall away. I
Wells 43
found this helpful with connecting to the audience. Rodenburg posits, “It is more
possible to like someone in Second Circle because they are “there for “ us
(Rodenburg 28). Importantly, I discovered being “there for” the audience
contributed to Whiteside’s affability.
Additionally, The Man Who Came to Dinner revealed my strengths and
weaknesses as an actor. Every actor has his or her own strengths that catch the
attention of audiences. What stands out most can be an intriguing personal quality
like being particularly lighthearted, soulful, and intense to name just a few. I came
into the production with these strengths, but I lacked authenticity. The Man Who
Came to Dinner encouraged me to explore relationships and to react genuinely as
opposed to rote or mechanically.
So what is "authenticity" when it comes to action? When I talk about
authenticity, I am presupposing that a character has a real, though unobservable,
inner nature, and I assert that he acts authentically when actions derive from or
reflect that inner nature. This is a kind of psychological realism where I work on the
assumption that there are real inner features of personality that influence (portions
of) that character’s behavior.
Up until this time, I was acting within the fundamental constructs of
Stanislavsky’s codified method. That technique relies heavily on an actor’s motives,
objectives, and magic-‐ifs. For me, where this method falls short is how to
authentically recreate emotional connections. Sometimes I found myself forcing
emotions and rarely felt authentic.
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Consequently, this production was the first time I had used Transactional
Analysis to specify those connections. For this cerebral actor, TA helped to clarify
moments of uncertainty in my relationships. Although not a conventional acting
technique, its roots in psychotherapy helped me to understand human interaction in
terms that everything I do (and how I do it) will have a direct result on how one
reacts.
Ironically, this discovery served my greatest weakness as an actor, which is I
think too much. During The Man Who Came to Dinner I learned that my thinking
mind is different than my feeling mind, and if I started thinking too much, I shut
down my creative expression. If I made a mental choice about something, my
experience became limited to only that. I learned that my creative experience has
many layers all at the same time. If I tried to juggle a bunch of ideas, I became
limited to my availability to feeling. I came back to the realization that overthinking
was stifling my fun with Whiteside.
For my final thoughts, I want to impart that I felt my overall performance
reconciled my position that Whiteside was a boorish viper with a heart of gold.
However, I only achieved this by learning to trust others and myself. I struggled
with standing in my own way and, as a result, prohibited the freedom to just play.
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APPENDIX A
IMAGES RELATING TO SHERIDAN WHITESIDE
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APPENDIX B
SCOTT WELLS AS SHERIDAN WHITESIDE
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APPENDIX C
THE ALGONQUIN ROUNDTABLE
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APPENDIX D
ORIGINAL PROGRAM COVER FOR FAU’S SUMMER REPERTORY INCLUDING THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER
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APPENDIX E
DIRECTORS NOTES AND CAST LIST
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APPENDIX F
FRENCH SCENES, DRAMA TRIANGLE, ACTOR BEATS
Image F1: My French scenes breakdown for Act One. Here we see nine scenes and I have titled each scene according to the characters’ crises.
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Image F2: My French scenes breakdown for Act Two.
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Image F3: My French scenes breakdown for Act Three.
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Image F4: In the margins, I made notes of how the Drama Triangle informed my choices. The adverbs preceding the chosen roles indicate the quality of the action.
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Image F5: The red tick marks indicate an actor beat. Each of these beats was used to identify a new objective within the dialogue.
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Image F6: I am in the habit of using different colored highlighters to indicate a French scene change. This example shows, how in the screwball comedy, a French scene can be very short.
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APPENDIX G
RESEARCH NOTES
Image G1: The Man Who Came to Dinner was full of actual people and events. Whenever I came across any of these, I would attach a post-‐it-‐note to the script that contained information about the person or event, as well as a phonetic key for pronunciation.
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Image G2: This image shows a note about Elias P. Crockfield. In the play Crockfield’s story inspired Whiteside’s support of the Crockfield Home for Paroled Convicts. Although I found no historical evidence of an Elias P. Crockfield, I included his invented biography. I felt it was important to endow Crockfield with a history. Having an actual Crockfield to envision helped me to tell his story.
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Image G3: I use d two scripts during rehearsal. One was used for French scenes. The other was my research copy.
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Works Cited
Benedetti, Robert. The Actor at Work. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 1997. Print. Cinecollage. <http://cinecollage.net/screwball-‐comedy.html> Web. Gehring, Wes D. Romantic vs. Screwball Comedy. Lanham: The Scarecrow Press. 2002. Print. Hagen, Uta. Respect for Acting. New York: Wiley Publishing. 1973. Print. Hoyt, Edwin P. Alexander Woollcott: The Man Who Came to Dinner. Radnor: Chilton
Book Company. 1968. Print. Lapworth, Phil. An Introduction to Transactional Analysis. Los Angeles: Sage. 1993.
Print Mason, Jeffery D. Wisecracks: The Farces of George S. Kaufman. Ann Arbor: U.M.I. Research Press. 1988. Print. Petit, Lenard. The Michael Chekov Handbook: For the Actor. London: Routledge. 2010. Print. Rodenburg, Patsy. The Second Circle. New York: W.W. Norton & Company. 2008. Print. Steiner, Claude M. Scripts People Live. New York: Bantam. 1974. Print.
