Theatre, by David Mamet
Writer, director and essayist David Mamet is a legend in the world of professional theatre. For more than forty
years he has successfully navigated the treacherous and unforgiving waters of Broadway and Hollywood,
collecting along the way numerous accolades and awards, most notably the Pulitzer Prize in 1984 for his
scathing corporate greed-inspired drama Glengarry, Glen Ross. So when Mamet’s much anticipated book,
simply titled Theatre, was released in 2010, theatre lovers as well as theatre professionals from New York to
Los Angeles were anxiously awaiting to read what the master had to say about their beloved and sacred craft.
What they weren’t expecting was a rhetorical punch in the mouth.
Mamet makes it clear right from the start that Theatre is not just another philosophical treatise covering the
same old tired subjects. “Many of the observations and suggestions in this book might be considered
heretical,” he begins. “That is, if the theatre were a religion. But, though its origins are linked with religion, the
theatre as an art is a profession, and, in its appearance as show business, is something of a racket” (9).
In Theatre, Mamet not only questions many of the industry’s most cherished teachings, theories and methods,
he dismisses many of them outright as misguided, unobtainable and, for the most part, worthless. For example,
he argues that traditional actor training is a waste of time, the only job of the playwright is to keep asses in the
seats, and that directors are not necessary to stage a play. The overall message of his arguments is that
everything actors, directors and playwrights been taught to believe is important to create great theatre is, for
the most part, a lot of hogwash. Mamet supports his arguments by using a variety of creative, as well as
effective, rhetorical techniques—but more on that in a minute.
It’s important to point out upfront that Mamet’s ethos in the world of theatre is without question; however, it’s
also important to note that, to professionals in the field, his credibility does not come from his awards, but
rather his theatrical genealogy. In fact, Mamet never mentions any of his awards in the bookhe doesn’t need
to because, as he reminds us in the Introduction, “The head of my school, my teacher, was Sanford Meisner”
(4). The significance of this fact cannot be over emphasized. But first a little background.
Actor, director and writer Constantin Stanislavski was, without question, the most influential figure in world of
theatre in the past 150 years. His revolutionary approach to bringing realism to the stage blossomed in Russia
in the late 1800s at (what is now) the world famous Moscow Art Theatre. Stanislavski’s successful and
exhaustively documented acting “Method” was introduced to the United States in the 1920s, where the (now
legendary) Group Theatre was formed to explore and produce plays using the Method. Two students of the
original Group Theatre eventually went on to run two of the most successful and renowned acting schools in
the world (both located in New York): The Actors Studio (Elia Kazan, Lee Strasburg) and the Neighborhood
Theatre (Sanford Meisner). According to Wikipedia, many of the students who trained at these prestigious
schools went on to become the greatest actors of their generation, including Marlon Brando, Dustin Hoffman,
Marilyn Monroe, Paul Newman, Al Pachino, and Jack Nicholson. The schools also produced many of our
greatest modern playwrights and directors, such as Arthur Miller, Tennessee Williams, John Frankenheimer,
and of course, David Mamet.
In addition to having studied with Sanford Meisner at the Neighborhood Theatre, Mamet also claims that he
“socialized with Stella Adler, Harold Clurman and Bobby Lewis” (also original members of the Group
Theatre) (4). Awards be damnedMamet’s ethos comes from being closely linked to some of the most
powerful names in American theatre, many of who were direct theological descendents of the great
Stanislavski. Knowing this makes what immediately follows even more intriguing when he observes, “I
admired their accomplishments and pored over their books, but, on reflection, I had (and have) little idea what
they were talking about” (4).
Theatre is Mamet’s self-described attempt to set the record straight; or at least, from the way he sees it based
on his 40-plus years of watching, writing and directing plays. His audience is not only everyone in the
industry, but also anyone either thinking of or currently pursuing a career in theatre. Mamet’s writing style is
very conversational and straight-forward, but it is not simplistic. It is clear and concise, but his knowledge of
the subject (as well as his vocabulary) is immense and therefore requires careful reading. Much of what he says
is very tongue-in-cheek, and he often contradicts himself, not because he has made a mistake or doesn’t know
what he is talking about, but rather, I believe, to provoke a wider discussion. Mamet makes several startling
proposals, but he also asks many questions which, as he readily admits, he doesn’t know the answers.
Theatre is not a book to be read through like a novel; rather, it is a (not an) collection of 27 original essays,
each presenting a thought-provoking and often controversial response to a particular theatrical treatise or
theory. Although each essay can certainly stand on its own merit, the series, when considered together, puts
forth a rhetorical argument that’s greater than the simple sum of its parts. You could read Theatre in just a few
hours; however, it’s a deceptively complex, often challenging and beautifully written work that’s best savored
one or two essays at a time.
Throughout all 27 essays in Theatre, Mamet makes liberal use of the rhetorical techniques of logos, pathos and
ethos to support his arguments. His ethos is further enhanced by the fact that he simply does not take himself
too seriously, and readily admits when he had tried and failed to put some of his ideas into action. His use of
logos is primarily though the use of analogies, anecdotes and authority voices. Mamet use of pathos is
accomplished by appealing to readers to compare their own theatrical experiences to his observations, as well
as making many controversial, and often purposefully outlandish statements to grab the attention of readers
and (hopefully) provoke a response. Let’s take a closer look at three of Mamet’s most controversial arguments.
Mamet believes that traditional actor training; that is, Stanislavski’s Method, is a waste of time because it does
not work. In fact, he complains, “Stanislavski’s theoretical books are a lot of trash” (40). This is arguably the
most troubling and outrageous claim in the entire book for most readers, and the biggest reason why many of
them will not read or, if they’ve already started, stop reading the book and toss it in the trash. I believe this
would be an unfortunate initial response. Although I don’t entirely agree with Mamet’s dismissal of the
Method as something that does not work (based on my years of personal experience as an actor), he does make
several points worth discussingpoints that I believe that many actors have thought of themselves but dared
not to speak out loud for fear of being labeled as uncooperative, egotistical, or worse, ignorant, by directors,
college professors and/or acting teachers. According to Mamet, “There is no such thing as a ‘Stanislavski
actor’ or a ‘Meisner actor’ or a ‘Method actor.’ There are actors (of varying abilities) and non-actors” (5). In
other words, Mamet believes that actors of ability are born to act, which is a gift from God, and cannot be
created using any specific method or technique. He builds the rationale for this further when he explains, “Past
telling the actor to fix his speech and posture, stand still, say the words, don’t fidget, and have a general idea of
the nature of the scene, there is nothing a teacher and little a director can do” (32). Mamet compares gifted
actors to similarly gifted athletes when he observes that, “The greatest coach in the world cannot take a random
sampling of hopefuls and teach them to throw a ninety-mile-per-hour fastball” (44). This is his rebuttal when
people point to out to him the many students of the Method who have gone on to become successful actors as
proof of its validity. Mamet argues that it wasn’t successful schools that made great actors, but instead it was
great actors attracted by (and wanting to learn more about) the Method that made the schools successful.
In Theatre, Mamet attempts to define the role of the playwright and the secret of writing successful plays. He
maintains that, “The job of the [playwright] is to get, and that of the actors and directors to keep, the asses in
the seats. Period. That is what pays the rent” (72). He makes it clear throughout the book that when he talks
about theatre, he is talking about drama as first defined by Aristotle in Poetics; that is, drama, tragedy, comedy
and farce. Mamet is careful to distinguish this form of theatre from what he considers the created-for-thetourist light and sound circus spectacles that dominate Broadway today that “neither provoke nor disturb” (14).
But what does it take to write a successful drama? The answer, according to Mamet, is “Through the
structuring of a plot,” because, “The plot, the structure of incidents, is all the audience cares about” (126). His
basis for this argument is rooted in his personal experience when he observes that, “A theatrical experience
needs a text, the text needs a plot, and the audience will pay attention even if the play is performed badly”
(136). In other words, Mamet claims that, “The task of the playwright is to make the audience wonder what is
going to happen next. That’s it. When the audience is involved in wanting to know what happens next, it
comes alive. When it no longer cares…the play is, in effect, over” (125). Mamet’s point is that audiences want
to be entertained, not lectured. He is expresses concern with the current trend of what he calls issue or “victim”
playspolitically-inspired devices full of meanings designed to pander to the lowest in the audience. In
Mamet’s view, these plays are a mild form of propaganda, “See how smart you are? You knew the deaf were
people too” (56). He flatly dismisses this form of playwriting as basically worthless tripe. I agree with Mamet
when he argues, “In great drama we recognize that freedom may lie beyond and is achieved through the
painful questioning of what was before supposed unquestionable,” and the only way that can happen is to first
understand and embrace the fact that, “There may be politically correct spectacle, but there can never be
politically correct drama” (69). I also believe that great dramas are those that shed light on those things we
would much rather prefer not to examine. “But the desire to examine them,” writes Mamet, “ to bring them to
light, to form the unformed thoughts into logical presentation, is the desire to create art” (27).
Perhaps the most ironic (and curious) argument Mamet makes in Theatre is when he concedes that directors,
although sometimes useful, are not necessary to stage a play. “Is the director needed?” he asks. “No” (137).
Mamet reminds readers that the position of director is a relatively modern invention. For thousands of years,
the lead actor (the star) was the person responsible for blocking and staging the play. Even today, actors in
workshops and small theatres throughout the country regularly stage successful play by themselves, without
the help of a director. Mamet complains that many times when directors are present, they either do no good at
all, in which case the actors get on with blocking and staging the show themselves (something I have
personally experienced on several occasions), or worse, actually do more harm than good. Mamet deplores the
tendency of many directors to spend time valuable rehearsal time focusing on frivolous acting exercises, browbeating actors thus making them anxious or insecure, focusing on finding character backstories not already
found in the text (a waste of time since they simply do not exist), or other such nonsense that has nothing to do
with the task of putting on a show. But he doesn’t end his argument there. He targets possible objectors when
he addresses the next question, “Might the director do good? Yes” (142). But Mamet also makes sure to
emphasize that, to do more good than harm, the director must keep it simple and trust his actors. “What can a
director do?” he asks. “Gently suggest the nature of the scene and block the damn thing, then go outside and
smoke a cigarette. That’s it” (40).
At first glance some may think that Theatre is proof that Mamet has become a curmudgeon in his old age who
has adopted a cynical view of his profession. But he doesn’t see it that way; rather, Mamet summarizes his
argument when he writes, “And that is what I know about directing. I believe most of the theoretical has been
beaten out of me by decades of actors and audiences, who are the only two groups from which one may learn
stage directing” (151). Based on my stage experience, it’s hard to argue with that.
Theatre is an insightful, thought-provoking book that covers many areas of interest to both theater
professionals and lovers of the craft. In addition to what we’ve reviewed, the book delves in many other
interesting subjects, such as the theatrical business and culture, the role of the audience, the influence and
consequences of governmental actions, and the role of educational institutions, just to name a few. Mamet even
examines the role of communism in shaping many of our current theatrical treatises and techniques.
In Theatre I believe (based on my experience as an actor) that David Mamet has effectively presented several
rhetorical arguments worthy of further investigation and conversation. However, although I agree with several
of them, I do not agree with them all; for example, I have had the pleasure of working with several talented
directors who were not only good at effectively staging plays, but who also challenged me as an actor to push
beyond my own limitations to create meaningful, effective and successful roles that I did not previously know
I was capable of performing. Despite the few disagreements I may have with Mamet, I found Theatre to be a
breath of fresh air in a world often stifled by age-old traditions. I believe that many actors, writers and directors
reading this book will find themselves, as I did on several occasions, saying to themselves, “What do you
knowI’m not the only one who feels that way.” Thank you, Mr. Mamet, for baring your soul and sharing
your passion with the rest of us.
I conclude with a quotation I believe best represents the paradox of Mamet’s personal love of the theater (and
one shared by many who also love it): “The perfect theatre, the Great Theatre, will sprout forth simultaneously
from the unquenchable desire of one or a few to bring their visions to the stage. If successful, it must
[unfortunately] attract those forces that will, eventually, lead to its destruction. But, then, like all other organic
life, it was never designed to live forever” (102).
Thesis: The classical methods in which people have been taught to create great theatre is a farce. Is that
your thesis? Or that general idea.
Is there anything confusing? Does anything need to be explained? Honestly, overall nothing was
confusing to me and you seem to elaborate on everything adequately.
Is it interesting? It is something I’ve never heard about before so I found in relatively interesting to read,
I didn’t have to force myself and it wasn’t painful so…The only thing I think may need a little work is that
towards the end you may want to revisit your thesis more clearly.
Red = Not really necessary
Blue = Reword