A Dialogue on the Art of Acting

Proving That an Actress is More Than a Woman and an Actor Less Than a Man

FERENC MOLNAR

SCENE: The buffet of a theatre. The second. act has just ended. In a corner, a gentleman in a dress-suit and a lady in grande toilette are talking to each other. The conversation of the other people present will be omitted. Only the argument of this particular couple concerns us here.

THE LADY: HOW did you put it?

THE GENTLEMAN: This is the way I put it, —an actress is a little more than a woman.

THE LADY: And an actor?

THE GENTLEMAN: A little less than a man. THE LADY: That is a grave insult.

THE GENTLEMAN: YOU mean what I said about an actor?

THE LADY: NO. What you said about an actress.

THE GENTLEMAN: Come now! I said: an actress is always a little more than a woman.

THE LADY: When you men say: more than a woman, that means, in men's language, that she is worse than a woman. And when you say of a man that he is less than a man, it implies, in turn, that he is worse than a man. Because what men understand by "woman" is a certain, aggregate of undesirable characteristics. Again, what you mean by "man" is a masterly contrived mosaic of all beautiful, good, and admirable qualities. Therefore, saying that a woman is more than a woman, is as adverse a criticism as when you say of a man that he is less than a man.

THE GENTLEMAN: Thank you.

THE LADY: What are you thanking me for? THE GENTLEMAN: For having so briefly and precisely expressed the thing 1 wanted to explain at greater length. But I still ought to make a few of the nuances a trifle clearer. If you will permit me?

THE LADY: Of course.

(The lady assumes an expression like that of a fencing-master, who is saying to a pupil:

"Bravely now, just aim a few good blozos at my head, and don't be afraid, because I'll parry the thrust.")

THE GENTLEMAN: Every woman is a born actress. What we call "acting" or "playacting", is a special art only in so far as men are concerned, and they alone need talent and preparation for it. It is customary to say of a good actor: "This exceptional fellow was made to be an actor!" But—I repeat,—every woman is bom an actress. And it is only of those women who, through up-bringing, self-criticism and other forms of severe discipline, gradually lose this inherent ability, that it is possible to say: "Lo, this exceptional girl was made to be a wife!" Let me give you this definition: "An actress is a woman who has not lost her original characteristics, while an actor is a man who has lost his."

THE LADY: For instance?

THE GENTLEMAN: For instance: a man is not supposed to lie. Yet an actor goes upon the stage nightly and proclaims: "I am CEdipus Rex." Have you ever reflected that this is not

true? He is guilty of a falsehood. He is not CEdipus Rex, but Monsieur Mounet-Sully, member of the Comedie-Fran^aise. Furthermore, it is too risky a statement for a good lie, because every one knows that CEdipus Rex has been dead for ages.

THE LADY: But he says that on a stage, in a theatre!

THE GENTLEMAN: What difference does that make? Why should a lie be tolerated in some places but not in others? Just because in one place there are rows of seats behind each other, docs not give a fundamentally honest man the privilege to stand up on a platform and tell one lie after another. What has architecture or a mere name to do with a man's character? A man of honour would rather die than speak anything other than the truth in any building in the world. The man who speaks otherwise than his own conviction,—and for pay, besides, —is not a real man. And whoever is not a real man, is obviously less than a man.

THE LADY: Marvelous! Then you do not recognize the fact that there is an institution called the theatre? Can't you see evidence of it here? Look about!

THE GENTLEMAN: I am looking about, but I do not accept it. For my part, they may build a palace of gold and diamonds, they can equip it with a hundred seats, a hundred loges and a

hundred chandeliers—still, if some one should ask me in a theatre for my name and for my opinion of the Locarno agreement, I would give my real name and my real opinion-.

THE LADY: If you were an actor and were standing on the stage in the costume of CEdipus Rex, and another actor asked you who you were, what would you answer him?

THE GENTLEMAN: I could wear no cloth and no costume that would force me to deny my real name; which I bear with honour, and which I inherited from my father and my grandfather.

THE LADY: (A trifle nervously) You are an idiot!

THE GENTLEMAN: Unless my ears deceive me, you are trying to ridicule my theories. However, I accept the designation, because it is merely a criticism of my mental qualities, and carries no insult to my character with it.

THE LADY: Let us carry the argument further. What about the actress?

THE GENTLEMAN: Oh, that is another question. Woman is born with the art of lying as her defense. This was given her by the wisdom of Nature, just as the tiger was given teeth; birds, wings; rabbits, speedy legs. It is with the art of lying that woman defends herself against the man-made theory that a woman is the property of but one man. Now then: life gives a woman many opportunities for lying, but still not enough. Every woman would prefer to lie continuously from morning till night, and life does not provide her with sufficient opportunity. On the stage, however, she is free to lie in abundance: lie every day from eight in the evening until eleven, with matinees on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Have you ever noticed that after a performance actors are tired, while actresses are exhilarated? The actor is happy after a performance, because he is able to return to reality. But the actress is miserable, because she has to desert that which is to her reality. Have you ever noticed that elderly actors find it easier to forsake the stage, than do elderly actresses? Why? Because the more of a man an actor is, the more he has to influence himself to remain on the stage—and the more of a woman an actress is, the more she has to influence herself to leave the stage.

THE LADY: I know actresses who could give many married women lessons in domestic fidelity and maternal self-sacrifice.

THE GENTLEMAN: But that is easy for them! Because, whatever evil instincts they have in them, they purge* themselves of nightly on the stage, in the naughty plays. Then they return, purified, to their family circle.

THE LADY: I know actors who are the most correct gentlemen in the world!

THE GENTLEMAN: HOW difficult for them, being gentlemen. To paint their faces every night, sometimes to crawl around on their hands and knees, and even to be slapped in certain plays! A shudder runs through me every time I see one man strike another, who cannot return the blow, because it is not written in his role!

THE LADY: And what about the plays where the actor enacts a noble hero or a clergyman? Where he plays a splendid, good-hearted fellow.

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THE GENTLEMAN: It is in such plays that I hate actors most of all. And the more heroic, the more I can't bear them.

THE LADY: Why?

THE GENTLEMAN Because if one is qualified, because of stature, voice, presence, sensibilities, heart or brain to portray magnificently a hero or a clergyman on the stage,—then he is contemptible for having chosen the profession of acting instead of using all those external and inherent good qualities toward being a hero or a clergyman in real life. And without the necessity of charging admission.

THE LADY: And the actresses who play self-sacrificing mothers and faithful wives on the stage?

THE GENTLEMAN: They play the cruel step-mothers and faithless wives equally well in other plays.

THE LADY: And what is your opinion of the actress who is a loyal wife in real life, and who also plays a true wife on the stage? Where is the lie in that?

THE GENTLEMAN: If a good wife plays a good wife on the stage, then I suspect that such a wife is bad either in life or else a bad actress.

THE LADY: The two are impossible together?

THE GENTLEMAN: Not impossible. But I have never yet observed the combination.

THE LADY: And if a man is a gentleman in real life, does he play the role of a gentleman badly on the stage?

THE GENTLEMAN: NO.

THE LADY: Why?

THE GENTLEMAN : Because the truth is easier for a man than for a woman. A gentleman, when he has to portray a gentleman, says to himself: "Thank God, I'll have things easy to-night, because I'll not have to lie."—The good woman, when she has to play a good woman, says to herself: "How difficult it will be to-night, because I am a good woman and I'll have to lie the role of a good woman, and how difficult it will be to lie what I really am,—oh, I am surely going to be bad in this role."

THE LADY: Your reasoning is ridiculous.

THE GENTLEMAN: Not ridiculous. Normal. Perhaps a trifle too normal, therefore it sounds strange to your ears.

THE LADY: A man who does not respect the theatre as an institution, as a conventional illusion, but merely considers it a house built according to a special design . . .

THE GENTLEMAN: AS you see, there are such men.

THE LADY: Not many, fortunately.

THE GENTLEMAN : I am sufficient unto myself. Well, have you any more questions?

THE LADY: I have.

THE GENTLEMAN: Well?

THE LADY: (Belligerently) How do you think this argument of ours will end? (A gong sounds.)

THE GENTLEMAN: I think . . . when the curtain rises . . .

(They go back to theirlogeand take their places. They are silent. The Lady's face assumes an expression like that of a fencing-mastery who is saying to a pupil: "You hove hit my head hardy but because you did not do it according to the laws of fencing, I hove deigned it below my dignity to parry the blow?")