I know, I know: this intro does no more than establish that I am a Super Nerd, and an antiquated one at that. But here is what struck me as I was watching the quaint, black-and-white, video-taped stage productions: I was reminded why the Brits do such a better job with the Bard than Amuricans do. The reason is two-fold: diction and pace. Perhaps this seems obvious, but I will explain myself anyway.
Diction—as in: clear enunciation of one’s words—helps
animate Shakespearean text because, after all, the text is rather dense. Lots
and lots of words involved. If you cannot make out what the actors are saying,
you have little hope of understanding them. And most of what makes the plays
beautiful is a function of the language itself; plot and character are
compelling, but really only play a supporting role. When it comes to diction, most British actors
start out way ahead of their American counterparts. Let’s face it, unless they
begin life in some god-forsaken place like Lancashire or London’s East End,
they sound prettier than we do on this side of the pond without any training
whatsoever. Those who want to be actors then devote a lot more time working on
their speech than American actors do.
They train their voices as intently as professional musicians train on their
instruments and athletes train their bodies. By contrast, most American actors
focus on the mere surface itself (appearance) and/or the deep psyche, ignoring
the middle ground that involves drilling things like diction.
Pace—as in: going fast—also helps animate Shakespearean text
by making it approachable, if not exactly naturalistic. If a person takes too
long to get through a sentence, the listener is more likely to get lost—even if
one’s diction is superb. That is, even
if one speaks slowly out of reverence for the poetry, the language seems
ponderous and inordinately theatrical.
The poetic form is theatrical enough as it is. So a good actor “plays the opposite,” working
to make the unnatural seem as natural as possible by allowing the words to flow
trippingly off the tongue. As with
diction, being able to speak “apace” requires physical dexterity. But this skill also requires mental
dexterity, knowing what you are saying so well—not just the words but what they
mean—so that you don’t have to take time to think through lines as they are
uttered. For as we all know, in the real world, much of human speech comes
right out of people’s mouths without much of a filter. If you can “see” an actor thinking through
his lines, he is not entirely “in the moment.”
Working really hard on pace allows actors to give the impression that
they aren’t working at speaking at all—which makes for a more convincing
performance.
I am not suggesting that performing Shakespearean text
effectively can be reduced to a mere formula:
just enunciate well while racing through all of your lines at a
breakneck pace, then you’ll be great.
But as a mechanical starting point, excellent diction and the capacity
to speak the lines as fast as one would “ordinary speech,” in my view, are two
phenomena that explain why British actors are more likely to perform
Shakespeare effectively than even some of the very best American actors. The latter tend to be simultaneously too
sloppy and too reverential with the words.
Compare John Stewart
as John of Gaunt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuOvKOIGC0w
Sorry, Al. I love ya but. . . . Although both of these
performances are fraught with passion, I suggest that the first is far more
masterful because the passion is supported by both beautiful diction and
a brisk pace.
So, okay, like, uhm, lawyers do a lot of speaking too. They
speak to clients, co-counsel, opposing counsel; occasionally, they speak in
court to judges or jurors. And, I suspect, most lawyers—even those lucky few
who spend a great deal of time speaking in public, as opposed to private,
arenas—spend little or no time thinking about their diction or pace. Arguably,
paying attention to such things would be really useful to those folks because,
on the most basic level, lawyers, like actors, are in the communication
business. But even if we treat diction
and pace as metaphors, not just as descriptions relevant solely to the act of
speaking, it should be obvious that lawyers can benefit from giving them some
attention.
“Good Diction” could mean committing to precision when articulating
an argument, describing a legal proposition, telling a client’s story, giving
advice, setting up client expectations.
“Good Pacing” could mean being as efficient as possible when
preparing a legal strategy, conducting legal research, drafting legal briefs,
shifting through a sea of largely irrelevant documents, responding to professional emails about the
status of things that are making others anxious.
At the same time, just as lawyers can’t do any of the things
that lawyers are hired to do well if their diction is sloppy and their pace is
sluggish, they also can’t thrive when their diction is too precious and their
pace too frenzied. But we can take this
hint from the Brits when performing the Bard: doing the underlying work that
makes clear diction and effective pacing possible may mean better results than
worrying only about surfaces and/or deep truths.
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