Shakespeare and Tea With Three Year Olds

(This article was written way back when I was Director of Performance at Please Touch Museum.)

Some time ago (in the mid-1980's) I was performing the role of Sebastian in Shakespeare’s TWELFTH NIGHT when something extraordinary happened.  I was in my “This is the air” monologue (IViii) and as I had in other performances I was standing at the very front edge of the stage.  Only on this particular night, for some reason I still cannot explain, I suddenly felt the absolute need to speak directly to the people in front of me. I stopped "acting" lines to a faceless mass of an audience and started sharing with the individual people I was now making eye contact with.   I could see they were not expecting such immediacy but then neither was I.   Still, many looked directly back at me and seemed to appreciate the sudden openness of my performance.  You may say that of course, acting is supposed to be that way but if you’ve ever acted on stage, you know just how rare such a connection is. 

I was still acting.  And we all knew I was acting.  But suddenly we all believed what I was saying. An actor may fake their performance but that’s nowhere near as personally thrilling.  Every actor has faked it.  That's called technique. I had faked it. Believe me, this was different.  This was thrilling. 

Shakespeare’s characters repeatedly announce, in asides and monologues, who they are and where they are and how they feel.  His audience easily accepted these statements as facts, giving them a firm frame of reference to watch from.   I think my three-year old audience is very Elizabethan in their thinking. You tell them who’s who and what’s what and you stay consistent with that, and they are all set.  Theirs is the ultimate in modern day suspension of disbelief.  Of course, because they believe so readily, their ability to un-believe is even more hair triggered.  They may have no appreciation of style (we’ll never hear them say, “Well, that was certainly a brave approach to THE THREE PIGS!”) and they may not have the skills to articulate their reaction to the performance but in their own uncomplicated, enviable way they are a most discerning audience. Disappointed Elizabethans might have thrown food, but you could still get them back with the sword fight.  Disconnected three-year olds just start saying loudly, "I'm bored", or worse just get up without announcement and walk away.  It’s nothing personal but to them you’re not even there anymore.

I do two kinds of theatre presentations at Please Touch Museum.  The first is in a formal theatre space and the plays are scripted with a clear beginning, middle and end. I am narrator, puppeteer or character, as the show demands.   The audience also sees me as Me before and after each performance. I always speak directly to my child-audience, making eye contact as much as I can, speaking directly to them and they seem to find safety and freedom in the fact that the rules have been clearly set out. 

In one of my puppet shows in the theatre space I use a long, black furry sleeve to create a Thing under the main character’s bed.  Although I worried that the furry sleeve might be scary for a three-year old I decided not to display it in pre-show lest it lose its power in performance.  (My MFA talking.)  I clearly remember the first public performance. Boy, do I remember. At the top of the show, after welcoming everyone, I tried in vague but reassuring terms to explain that there was really nothing under the bed that could hurt them.  Rather than having the desired calming effect my assurances started a slow snowballing of worry. Now they focused totally on the bed knowing something was going to happen. And then I got to the entrance of The Thing.  

The sleeve popped out.

Silence. 

Then...Screaming.

Crying. Children being carried out by parents.

I don't think I really ever got the show back after that.

Now I wisely bring the furry sleeve out at the very beginning, as I am welcoming them and introducing the show.  They are able to see and listen and understand my explanation of the furry sleeve as they touch it and play with it and decide for themselves there is nothing to fear. Then in the next moment they turn around and are safely thrilled by it in performance as though they had never seen it before  A five-year old might do the old, “Oh, I saw that before the show started.  I know what it really is.”  But three-year olds have no need to prove audience savvy and no desire to be emotionally removed from the experience.  I have even had children come up afterwards and ask what that thing under the bed was, totally forgetting that they held the same furry sleeve in pre-show as I was explaining. 

The other type of theatre I do is non-scripted performances on the gallery floor.  The best example is the Mad Hatter in our ALICE IN WONDERLAND exhibit.  Now clearly the children don't really know who The Mad Hatter is, unless maybe they saw the Disney movie, so having the parent exclaim, “Honey, it’s the Mad Hatter!” is generally pointless. But then Alice herself had no idea who this strange man was when she came upon his table that first time and found herself pulled into conversation with him.  So should it be with the three-year old, the experience becoming not one of finally meeting a famous character in literature so much as being irresistibly drawn into this strange world of tea services, large hats and odd words.

One day a little girl rather rudely demanded of me who I thought I was. “Why, I’m the Mad Hatter, of course.  Who do you think you are?”  Pause.  I went back to my business.  This seemed to stump her, either because I wasn’t working as expected to win her over or because I had asked a question she wasn’t prepared for.  But in the next moment she dropped her attitude, took a seat at the tea table and we had a cup.  I later heard her explaining with great authority to her mom that I was the guy who lived here and that her mom could have some tea too if she wanted.  The mom knew I was an actor in a costume.  The girl may have known that too.  But the only thing she seemed to really care about was that at that moment I was who I said I was and that the experience of having tea with me was worthy of her time. Or more to the point, this was safe, and fun.

Curiously enough something similar to the furry sleeve conundrum has developed around the Mad Hatter and the saying-who-I-am idea.  Not all children instantly leap to have tea with me nor do I expect them to.  But more than once a frightened child has grown even more upset when their overly helpful big-person explains, “Look honey, he’s just a man in a funny suit and he’s not going to hurt you.”  At this point I know the child will never feel safe and I simply have to wait it out until they leave.  Dropping my character (who they do not know anyway but now suspect could hurt them), to reveal the actor (who they definitely do not know), to tell them that they can trust me even though I am clearly lying to them, is not the way to win their confidence.  All that lying and reassuring.  It must be very confusing for them.  I truly believe that on a basic level the young child simply wants me to be who I say I am.  If the child decides to not sit at my table, I want it to be because they honestly do not want to have tea with The Mad Hatter.  Not because they believe David’s lying.

When you come for tea I always ask four questions.  “Would you like some tea?  Would you like some cre-e-eam-m-m with that?  Would you like some sugar-r-r with that?  How many lumps, one or…two-or-three-orfourorfive?”  (And there are also sound effects for each one.  It gets pretty busy.)  And as long as the child is drinking the “tea” I keep asking and serving and being the Mad Hatter.  One initially reluctant little boy came over and after the fourth round looked up at me and quite literally searched my entire face with his eyes.  I could tell he liked all this but I think he needed to know if I was going to keep it up.  If I really was who I said I was.  I could also tell this was the moment when I might lose him.  I looked right back at him while he searched.  And then I asked, “Would you like another cup of tea?”  Long pause.  He said yes and we jumped right back into it.  Looking into his eyes I suddenly felt just like I had at the edge of the stage in TWELFTH NIGHT.  I was being honest.  He had believed me.  We had absolutely connected.  It was thrilling.