whatitshouldlooklike-page2

Interactive Street Theater at a Renaissance Faire

If You Can't Dazzle 'em With Dexterity...

(Baffle 'em with Bullsh** )

As actors portraying characters drawn from what we know of village life in the 16th century, it is not enough that we look good and know our characters. We have to find ways to impart that to an audience without dropping character. For want of a better term, it is generally referred to as “Interactive Street Theater.” That is to say that we are not breaking down the “invisible third wall” that acting teachers talk about as existing between the stage and the audience. There aren't any walls in street theater, no boundaries except those of good taste. The actors and the audience intermingle, and despite the fact that you are the only 16th century personage in a crowd of patrons in 21st century duds, it falls to you to make them feel out of their time. And it isn’t easy.

But first a note from the author: (AKA: "Ye Auld Disclaimer")

I am not an acting teacher.

There. I said it. On a scholarly level, I don’t really know much about the psychology of acting and if you ever hear me refer to “My Craft” I’m most likely talking about sewing, calligraphy or bookbinding or something like that. I don’t have a “method” and I don’t know that I actually understand the whole “Method Acting” thing anyway. I only know what has worked for me and what has worked for those around me, because I learned to do what I do by watching them and learning from their successes and failures.

That being said, If I may be so bold as to create a set of ideas that I see as central to being a successful interactive street actor (specific to faire, of course) here is how I would break it down…

Self –possession. Be aware of your character and yourself as you move through the crowd. This doesn’t mean you have to drip fairespeke and accost all of the ladies for having bare legs as you often see happen at faire. That’s a fine gig in small doses. If overdone, it becomes obnoxious and only serves to take the patron out of their suspension of disbelief by reminding them constantly that they’re “out of uniform”. I mean knowing who your character is, why they are there, where they are going, what they want and how they mean to get it. (This is where I get metaphysical for a moment) It means transcending the costume and becoming a person wearing their everyday street clothes, completely at home in your own skin. That is what makes others feel underdressed and is an essential element in carrying off convincing performances.

Ignorance: This may sound odd, but break it down. Essentially what is necessary is to be completely naïve with regard to anything your character would not know. This is probably the hardest part to carry off without completely hamming it up. Think it through, though, can your character read? Add and subtract? Sometimes this should be played for effect, asking patrons to read something for you is a great gig. Especially if it is embarrassing, like a love letter. And remember ignorance is not synonymous with stupidity. That is a common error. Renaissance people were not necessarily stupid, their compendium of essential knowledge was simply different from ours. Unless you want to play the village idiot, which is fine too.

Speech: Face it, if we spoke as our characters really would speak, the average patron wouldn’t understand a word we were saying. Scottish villagers would be speaking a dialect called Scots that bears little resemblance to modern English. I will cover speech in-depth in another article at a later date because I take a slightly different view of the so-called “Basic Faire Accent” than others do. For the moment just think of all the movies that present a perfectly good period flavor without being incomprehensible. Go thou and do likewise.

Garb: The clothes make the man (or woman). Your garb shouldn’t look brand new. Why would it be? Take a look at your everyday wardrobe, not your work clothes, your weekend wear, your blue jeans and favorite tee shirts. Do they look new? Neither should your garb. Put it on, go out and roll in the dirt and then wash it. Repeat as often as necessary. Purposely stain it (within reason, of course). Use fine grit sandpaper (sparingly) in high-wear areas to make it look just a little worn. Tear it and mend the rip (neatly). Patch a knee or elbow. You don’t have to look like a beggar in rags, just someone who only owns three changes of clothes at best and wears each one until it no longer viable before replacing it. And for heaven’s sake, boys dress like boys and girls like girls. We’re presenting history as it was, not as it should have been. Sorry. More on this in the costuming section.

Footwear: This ties into the garb thing. I don’t need to tell you tennis shoes are not appropriate. Neither are most varieties of Birkenstock. Clogs are – for nobles – but I don’t recommend them for anyone. Go to the thrift stores and buy a pair of periodesque shoes. Villagers don’t wear cavalier boots either, cool as they may look. If you want to wear those, go be a Queen’s Guard or a Pirate. The best thing to do is invest in a pair of moccasins and chop the fringe off, they’re relatively cheap, well-made and look arguably period. I have a pair that lasted me twelve years of constant wear, now they have holes in the toes and heels and are a great conversation piece when I pull them out to wear them. They’re worth the investment and you can wear them as house slippers to break them in and “take the new off of them” so they become dual purpose!

The Play’s the Thing…

A Gigbook

On the next page is a list of ideas, what writers call “story seeds”. Each is essentially an idea written out in the most general terms and as few words as possible to get across the gist of things. It is my belief that no two people will look at the same seed and get the same result from employing it. Take one and try it out, use it as a starting point and spin it in new directions until the origin is all but invisible, even to me.

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