True and False: Heresy and Common Sense for the Actor by David Mamet Page B

your own theatre rather than go to Hollywood; to act the truth of the moment when the audience would rather not hear it; to stand up for the play, the theatre, the life you would like to lead. There is nothing more pragmatic than idealism.

THE DESIGNATED HITTER
    D isneyland is a rather restrictive work environment. The behavior of its employees is strictly prescribed and monitored. Individuality and improvisation are not, in the main, encouraged. But there is a counterexample.
    I visited Disneyland in 1955, and again in 1995, and on both visits witnessed this deviation: the men who “ran” the boats on the Jungle ride delivered a patter, which, while mild in the extreme, contained a touch of welcome institutional self-mockery. Further, the boat drivers were the wee-est bit free to improvise—to depart from the prepared script in a vein mildly mocking of the institution. It was there at the park’s opening in 1995, and use and forty years’ custom had ingrained it—a
droit de fou
, or fool’s license, to mock the dictatorial stolidity of the Establishment.
    Similarly, the concierge at many London hotels enjoys a position to some degree licensed to banter, to gossip,perhaps to camp—in short, to familiarize with the patrons, and so mitigate an unpleasant aspect of all that institutional propriety. And there are other examples of a position part of the duties of which are to mock, or at least mitigate, the dignity of the institution: the high school shop teacher and the television weather man are two. The hospital nurse, her visit coming on the heels of that of the hospital doctor, is another. And it’s noteworthy, I think, that the
quality
of their performance in these socially designated roles, is unimportant. It is the existence of the roles which delights us—that and the willingness of the actors to fulfill them. We do not require brilliance in the performance, merely willingness.
    Similarly, there is a spontaneously occurring position in the acting profession. It is that of the Great Actor. This is, in effect, an honorary position, awarded from a cultural need for the place to be filled, and not according to the merit of the individual. Indeed there is little or no merit required from the person so designated, save the willingness (whether in awe or vanity) to go along with the gag.
    Truly great performances cause us to question, to pause, to ponder, to reexamine. They do not conduce to the immediate ejaculation “bravo”; and so the Great Actor is, of necessity, seldom a very good actor. We praise his or her performances as we would praise our own possessions if we could do so with impunity. That is the gift of the Great Actor, and the reason he is so well rewarded—he allows us to act vainly and call itgracious appreciation. It is an example of our cultural insecurity. The praise means “Yes, and by God, he’s
mine. I’ve
got one, too.”
    We delight to slather appreciation on this placeholder for the minor inconvenience it causes us. It allows us to feel we have paid for the right to consider ourselves aesthetic. Our praises are as the sneezes of the fellow with a summer cold who enjoys informing us that it was caused by the air conditioner in his new car. We praise the Great Actor for all the world as if we were lauding the fiscal brilliance of the treasurer of the United States. And, like that honorary post, that of the Great Actor seems perpetually filled—one dies and another appears as if by parthenogenesis. We must require him. And we do. His presence reassures us that we need not be moved by art.
    Victorian physicians cautioned women to avoid at all cost that phenomenon they called “spasmodic transports” (orgasm), as nothing could be worse for the health. In our rote adulation of the Great Actor we instruct and remind ourselves to shun the spontaneous, the antisocial, the innovative, the organic. It is an inversion of the
droit de fou
.
    Well, propriety is fine in its place. But its place is