Donna Peberdy

Tongue-tied – 1. Having the frænum of the tongue too short, so that its movement is impeded or confined; incapable of distinct utterance from this cause; also, unable to speak, dumb.
2. Restrained or debarred from speaking or free expression from any cause; speechless, mute, dumb, silent; also reticent, reserved.
Oxford English Dictionary

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, meaning in a Mamet play is inevitably in the ear of the listener.
David Richards, The New York Times (1992)

The big question is whether there is an unbridgeable division, even opposition, between the two arts. Is there something genuinely ‘theatrical’, different in kind from what is genuinely ‘cinematic’?
Susan Sontag, ‘Film and Theatre’ (1966) [1]

The voice as an acting tool has long been neglected in critical studies of film and performance. While a small number of key studies were published in the early 1980s, such as Mary Ann Doane’s ‘The Voice in the Cinema: The Articulation of Body and Space’ (1980) and Michel Chion’s The Voice in Cinema (1999 [1982]), only recently has there been some resurgence of interest in studies of the voice. The dearth of scholarly material has been explained by the tendency in film studies to concentrate on ‘the image’, viewing film as primarily a visual medium with sound as a subsidiary component. The voice in the theatre has received significantly more attention. However, the literature principally consists of practical and coaching manuals for voice training exercises, so that explicit studies of voice in theatre appear even more intermittently than studies of the voice in film.[2] Ultimately, the role of the voice in performance studies has largely been overlooked.

The plays of David Mamet present an opportunity to explore this critical insufficiency. As the writer and director of over twenty stage plays, director of over ten films, author of more than twenty-five screenplays, not to mention a number of non-fiction books on both theatre and film, Mamet is a valuable subject for any comparative study of filmic and theatrical forms and structures. He appears to move relatively easily between these seemingly contradictory art forms, achieving critical and commercial success in both. The dialogue that characterises his plays and screenplays has become widely known as ‘Mametspeak’: a rhythmic and manifestly dramatic style consisting of broken sentences, interruptions, long pauses, overlap, and repetition. It is this distinctive relationship with language and the voice that distinguishes him from other contemporary playwrights. As Anne Dean notes:

Perhaps more than those of any other American playwright, David Mamet’s works constitute a theatre of language: the lines spoken by his characters do not merely contain words that express a particular idea or emotion; they are the idea or emotion itself. (My emphasis. Dean, p. 15)

It is the idea that meaning in Mamet plays is not just represented in the words that are spoken but in how they are spoken that is the focus of this essay. While dialogue is central to Mamet plays, his 1992 play, Oleanna, explicitly foregrounds the power of language in its three-act, two-character story about political correctness and sexual harassment in the higher education system. As a text that began on the stage and has been revised for the screen, Oleanna (UK/USA, 1994) is a revealing case study of the use of the voice in both theatre and film. The use of language in Oleanna has already been the subject of a number of studies, particularly the relationship between words and power (Bechtel, pp. 29-48; Dean, p. 15; McDonald, pp. 23-30; Murphy, pp. 124-137; Richardson, pp. 681-694; Zinman, pp. 124-137). However, as Martin Shingler has noted, ‘there is much more to the voice than dialogue’, and it is the centrality of the voice to Oleanna that I wish to address in more detail here (Shingler). This essay will consider the voice as a performance tool, exploring differences between the voice in the theatre and the voice in the cinema.

In the first part of this essay, some problems associated with studying the voice are addressed, and the differences between the voice in the theatre and the voice in film are explored. Is there, as Sontag has asked in relation to the two art forms, something genuinely ‘theatrical’ about the voice in the theatre that differs from what is ‘cinematic’ about the voice in film? With Oleanna as the principal text, the second section examines the centrality of the voice to the construction of meaning in the play. Considering the voice as distinct from the words that are spoken, I examine how meaning is created in Oleanna through how the words are spoken. That is, how the voice is used as a performance tool. The transition of the voice from stage to screen is examined by considering how the use and sound of the voice differs from the play to the film version and how this conversion affects our understanding of the play. Does the theatrical voice always become a cinematic voice once it is filmed? Can the theatre voice remain intact despite the inevitable changes introduced by the medium of film?

The Voice in Film and Theatre

Unlike the film still, photographic image, script or screenplay, the voice cannot be ‘captured’. An image can be paused, enhanced or magnified; a passage from a play or screenplay can be read, re-read, and reinterpreted. ‘Capturing’ a voice, however, proves much more problematic. Certainly, the voice can be recorded and repeatedly played back, to allow the listener multiple opportunities to hear the sounds of the voice, to analyse the pauses, inflections, accents, tone and textures of the voice. However, the act of recording distorts or affects how the voice is heard. As Gianluca Sergi argues, in ‘Actors and the Sound Gang’, this is the main characteristic of the film voice: ‘the film actor does not simply speak … like any aspect of filmic performance, the voice is mediated’ (Sergi, pp. 131-132). On the one hand, the presentation of the film voice is influenced by the need to create optimum sound quality – using the correct number of microphones and the best type of microphone for the scene or film, for example. On the other hand, choices regarding sound technology can be more to do with practicalities than aesthetics, that is, factors such as the cost-effectiveness of the technology used can be more influential than achieving optimum sound. The cinematic voice, therefore, is a constructed voice, the product of external influences outside the actors’ control.

While the film voice is an altered voice, subject to the modifications of sound technology, the theatre voice appears to be raw, organic and authentic in comparison. The process of recording and editing dialogue has been seen as a sanitising process, cleansing the voice of blemishes and imperfections. James Naremore, for example, has posited that:

The microphone is capable of bringing us the ‘grain’ of an actor’s voice, but in usual practice it tames and naturalizes the vocal instrument, detheatricalizing language in much the same way as close-ups detheatricalize gesture. (Naremore, p. 46).

The voice in the theatre is here considered in opposition to the modified film voice; the film voice is tamed and naturalised while the theatre voice is untamed and untreated. Sergi expands on this idea when he asserts that ‘[t]he film voice, unlike that of the theatre, is not a given, fixed value, but a variable’ (Sergi, pp. 131-132). By this reasoning, the film voice is the product of any number of technological influences – from microphone choice to post-production sound editing – whereas the theatre voice is a fixed, predetermined entity, unrecorded and unbound by the manipulations of technology.

However, the voice in theatre performance is also affected by a multitude of factors influencing vocal acoustics: the size and layout of the theatre; the size and distribution of the theatre audience; stage height; the absorbency of the walls, the seating and the audience members themselves. Although theatres are designed to distribute sound as evenly as possible, studies finding that the most absorbent materials in theatres are the patrons themselves make the possibility of a ‘fixed’ voice a moot point. [3]  In fact, it could be argued that the voice in the theatre is even more variable than the voice in film since the theatre voice is less quantifiable: it cannot be played back and we hear it only once, thus making it more difficult to study. Certainly, a theatre performance could be recorded, yet the sounds of the recorded theatre voice would be dependent upon the quality of the recording, the positioning of the recording device in relation to the subject being recorded, and the quality of the format on which the voice is recorded. In each instance what we ‘hear’ would be different from the original performance.

While it is true that the film voice – in contrast to the theatre – is a mediated voice, the film voice is also a documented and documentable voice. Once the film reaches cinemas it becomes fixed; the cinema patron will hear the same voices whether they watch the Sunday matinee or a Wednesday evening performance (there is always the possibility, of course, that the sound equipment in the cinema is not up to standard, thus affecting the quality of the sound). In the cinema auditorium, the sound absorption that poses a problem in the theatre is reduced with surround sound technology; speakers are placed around the room for optimum sound reflection and refraction. In the age of DVD, it can be played back and looped with a remote control, made louder or quieter using the volume dial, and altered by turning on (or off) numerous sound technology devices (Dolby Digital, DTS, THX), each time transforming the acoustic properties of the sound. Technology therefore has the potential to radically alter our perceptions of the voice. As Michel Chion notes in relation to Dolby:

Dolby helps to give a direct, close, and palpably physical presence to the voice, entirely changing the way we perceive it. More generally, it focuses finer attention on vocal texture, subtle variations of timbre, vibration of vocal cords, resonances. (Chion, p. 166).

With this sound technology, the voice can be presented to the listener as clearly as possible. Filmmakers are also able to choose between sound technologies depending upon the effect they wish to achieve – to ‘define cinematic space’ – and can influence what the audience actually hear (Chion, p. 166).

Bearing in mind the difficulties in studying the voice – particularly in the theatre where each performance differs from the last and considering the problems associated with ‘capturing’ the theatre voice – it would seem an impossible task to explore the ‘theatrical’ voice in Oleanna. It is certainly easier to discuss the ‘cinematic’ voice by examining the film text because a similarly ‘fixed’ document of the theatre voice is not available. However, Mamet’s precise and rigid devotion to the written script as well as his emphasis on the dialogue above all other elements of the play, means it is still possible to examine the theatre voice in Oleanna and how meaning in the play derives not only from what is spoken but from how it is spoken.

Direction and Diction

It is clear from Mamet’s own writings that he does not believe in deviating from or elaborating on what exists in the play or screenplay. In On Directing Film, his most sustained study of film acting, Mamet asserts that the actors’ job is to ‘accomplish, beat by beat, as simply as possible, the specific action set out for them by the script and the director’. For Mamet, it is the script that becomes the most important tool for the actor – the words written on the page – and it is the director, not the actor, who controls the performance. This polemic is central to his beliefs about the processes involved in stage and screen acting on which he has written extensively. [4]  The import Mamet places on the words in the script recalls his own training as an actor under Sanford Meisner, an acting coach who closely followed the Stanislavski System. Mamet frequently refers to Stanislavski in his essays and the stress he places on the dialogue for the ‘aesthetic integrity of the play’ is reminiscent of Stanislavski’s emphasis on ‘verbal action’. Stanislavski maintained that the script should be closely analysed by the actor whose task it is to decide the vocal intonation required to convey meaning, which words to emphasise, and where the pauses should appear. However, with his scripts written so precisely, with emphasis on certain words, pauses and interruptions written in, Mamet sets out to minimise the actor’s contribution to the creative process. Disapproving of those actors who ‘try to use their intellectuality to portray the idea of the movie … performing mundane and predictable actions in an overblown way’, Mamet suggests that the director (both stage and screen) prefers to work with what Stanislavski called the ‘organic’ actor who acts according to the words in the script, adding nothing nor taking anything away. [5]

Mamet’s work is almost exclusively concerned with masculinity and its discontents; from his award-winning screenplay and play Glengarry Glen Ross (USA, 1992), to his critically successful plays Sexual Perversity in Chicago, Speed-the-Plow and Edmond, to his films Homicide (USA, 1991) and Heist (Canada/USA, 2001), men and male issues are at the centre of the narrative and this focus on the masculine extends to the dialogue. Expletives punctuate the male characters’ speech, asserting power through coarse language. Carla McDonough has argued that male power and loss of power are indicated by the sounds of words:

[Male characters] attempt to use language to establish a place for themselves that does not exist in the reality of their play worlds. But, if their language is the last masculine space that they can find for themselves, it, too, is ineffective as it breaks down, repeats itself, pauses. Because they have no adequate vocabulary to fully express their fears and desires, Mamet’s men end up speaking their confusion in broken syntax and hysterical invective. (McDonough, p. 99).

While this is true, as well as asserting power through the very words that are spoken (in the case of the habitual use of expletives), Mamet’s male characters also assert power and demonstrate loss of control through how the words are spoken: in broken, incomplete sentences with recurrent pauses and repetitions.

Oleanna was the first Mamet play to give equal stage time to a female character. A student failing her course (Carol) approaches her professor (John) to ask for help. What John believes are innocuous, accommodating suggestions to help Carol understand, are interpreted by Carol as sexual harassment and rape, resulting in John losing his university tenure and, consequently, his new house. In the play, words take centre stage: the breakdown of power is demonstrated by the breakdown of language as John’s grasp of the powerful properties of language are gradually stripped away as a result of Carol’s manipulation of his words. Initially, John demonstrates power through his knowledge and understanding; he uses words or concepts such as ‘term of art’, ‘paradigm’, ‘index’ that Carol does not understand and asks John to define. In Act II, Carol demonstrates her ability to manipulate John’s words, to change their meaning, and the power over words begins to be transferred to Carol. By Act III, the transference is complete; her ability to know which words to use has increased and she has also gained access to the space in which to say them. It is Carol, by Act III, who dominates the verbal sphere, delivering long speeches while John is relegated to the position of listener, sporadically interjecting in the same manner that Carol was fighting to be heard in Act I. However, it is not necessarily what is said but how it is said that governs this transference of power. By comparing John and Carol’s dialogue, it becomes evident not only how a masculine dialogue is constructed, but also sets this apart from ‘female’ dialogue, demonstrating how language serves to deconstruct male identity through emasculatory vernacular. This is first made clear in the language tussle at the beginning of Act I:

JOHN: I know how…believe me. I know how…potentially humiliating these…I have no desire to…I have no desire other than to help you. But: (He picks up some papers on his desk.) I won’t even say ‘but’. I’ll say that as I go back over the…
CAROL: I’m just, I’m just trying to…
JOHN: …no, it will not do.
CAROL: …what? What will…?
JOHN: No. I see, I see what you, it…(He gestures to the papers.) but your work…
CAROL: I’m just: I sit in class I…(She holds up her notebook.) I take notes…
JOHN (simultaneously with ‘notes’): Yes. I understand. What I am trying to tell you is that some, some basic…
CAROL: …I…
JOHN: …one moment: some basic missed communi…
CAROL: I’m doing what I’m told. I bought your book, I read your…
JOHN: No, I’m sure you…
CAROL: No, no, no. I’m doing what I’m told. It’s difficult for me. It’s difficult…
JOHN: …but…
CAROL: I don’t…lots of the language…
JOHN: …please…
CAROL: The language, the ‘things’ that you say…
JOHN: I’m sorry. No. I don’t think that that’s true.
CAROL: It is true. I…

Mamet uses minimal stage direction to develop the narrative. Instead, words determine the pace of the exchange. With the recurrent ellipses, sentences are left in mid-air, overlapped, words are left incomplete creating a sense of urgency but also frustration as each character tries to gain verbal authority over the other. The ellipses create the impression of incoherence and inarticulateness as the words are stumbled over in an attempt to verbalise thoughts as quickly as possible. When a character finally manages to complete a sentence, the effect is final and infers a confidence and authority that is missing from the broken sentence. Rather than presenting dialogue in a straightforward manner, allowing the actor room for interpretation, Mamet directs the actor to those important words that should be emphasised. Certain words are emphasised here (in italics) in order to reinforce a point, to stress a particular idea, and to demonstrate how the meaning of a word is affected by how it is said. John’s emphasis on believe and tell, for example, underscores his intention to help Carol understand the information he is imparting. Carol’s double emphasis on difficult and language, however, reinforces her frustration, making her speech more urgent and frenzied.

In Oleanna, shouting operates in a similar way. In The Voice in Cinema, Chion distinguishes between male and female exclamation. He notes: ‘The man’s shout delimits a territory, the woman’s scream has to do with limitless…The scream gobbles up everything into itself – it is centripetal and fascinating – while the man’s cry is centrifugal and structuring’ (Chion, p. 78). In other words, the ‘male shout’ is a marker of power, indicating the boundary or territory, and implying a degree of control. The scream on the other hand, is a feminine action, implying a loss of control or powerlessness, inferring a degree of hysteria and disorder. Similarly, Carol’s shouting in Oleanna (indicated by capital letters in the script) takes on a number of different forms, emphasising her frustration (‘I DON’T UNDERSTAND. DON’T YOU SEE???’), her anger (‘NO! YOU FOOL!’), to make demands (‘I WANT UNDERSTANDING!!’) and to gain control of the conversation (‘I BELIEVE THAT I’M SPEAKING!)’.

By contrast, John’s voice is balanced, his pitch constant and his volume remains the same. According to Sergi, dialogical authority can be gained through difference, ‘by adopting a different pitch’, independence, ‘through adopting a different metre, syncopating the lines where he extends his and vice-versa’, and authority, ‘by setting the tempo of the exchange’ (Sergi, p. 130). In Act I, John has complete control over the exchange. He refuses to raise his voice in response to Carol’s shouting, keeping his voice at the same pitch and forcing Carol to lower hers. John talks over Carol, breaking up her sentences so he retains control over the pace of the dialogue; he employs repetition and emphasis to make his points stronger. Carol continues to resort to shouting, even when she has gained power over John, positioning her character as overly-emotional and irrational against John’s rationality.

By Act II, John’s waning power over words is evident when he begins to raise his voice in an attempt to retain control. Whereas in Act I John says ‘one moment’, firmly but without shouting when Carol interrupts him, in Act II, John raises his voice, shouting ‘ONE SECOND!’ in a response to Carol’s interruption. Later, his emotions are revealed by his frustrated ‘OH COME ON’ in reaction to Carol’s incredulous accusations, and again in Act III with ‘ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT!’. In a similar way to how John asserts authority by changing his tempo and style in Act I, by Act III Carol talks over John, interrupts him and cuts him short. John loses authority as Carol gains confidence in her ability to use language, making it increasingly difficult for John to remain rational. That Carol continues to raise her voice in the final Act only reinforces the emasculatory effects of shouting since she is portrayed in a hysterical light. When John resorts to shouting in an attempt to regain verbal authority, it is all the more clear that he has lost control over the verbal arena and thus his power over Carol. His masculinity is called into question precisely because he has resorted to using the tactic that Carol has so unsuccessfully employed, a tactic that portrayed her as irrational, hysterical and emotional. John is feminised through his loss of vocal power.

From Stage to Screen

Mamet’s emphasis on remaining faithful to the script and to the precise way in which dialogue is written, directing the actor towards how the lines should be spoken, suggests that the published stage play is a consistent documentation of dialogue, at least for those performances directed by Mamet himself. Although there is no aural record of the theatre voice, we have an indication of how the words should sound, which words should be emphasised, when the silences should occur, and when voices should overlap. However, with the theatre voice there will always be ambiguity, particular as there is no indication of the ‘qualities’ of the voice in the stage play, that is, how should the words  sound, what emotions should be conveyed by the voice. The highly structured and precisely written dialogue in the play goes some way towards removing this ambiguity by constraining the actor to the words in the script. As William H. Macy has commented, dialogue in Mamet’s plays ‘is so finely tuned that improvising is nearly impossible. If you paraphrase it, it suddenly becomes very clunky in your mouth as if you stumbled over it’ (Macy, p. 148). The key word here is ‘nearly’; while Mamet writes in a way that minimises or limits the actor’s contribution to a role, the opportunity to improvise (even if it is slight) still exists. This also raises a possibility that Mamet refuses to acknowledge in his writings – that the actor invariably brings an element to the role that does not, nor can not, exist in the words.

The film release of Oleanna provides a record of the voice, making it possible to explore the performance properties of the voice in a way that was not possible prior to its release. The ending of Oleanna clearly illustrates this vocal ambiguity in action. At the end of Act III, John has found out that Carol is accusing him of rape. Realising he has lost the battle of words and nothing he can say will better the situation, John attacks Carol violently and forces her to the ground. After a pause, John says:

JOHN: …well…
(Pause. She looks at him)
CAROL: Yes. That’s right.
(She looks away from him, and lowers her head. To herself🙂
…yes. That’s right.

The ending has been interpreted by Kellie Bean as evidence of the misogyny and patriarchal dominance that underlines the whole story. She states:

No matter what Carol has visited upon John, he finally dominates her unequivocally, and in a paradigmatically masculine style – through violence against her. He forces her to the ground, where she acknowledges her final defeat, head bowed and ‘To herself: …yes. That’s right’. (Bean, p. 123).

From the written words alone, it is certainly possible to come to this conclusion. There is no indication in the stage directions of precisely which emotion each character should reveal in their voice. While Mamet limits the possibility of interpretation for much of the play, the ending is left open, leaving the elucidation of the lines completely to the actor or director (or reader). However, a line is added to the film challenging this reading. After John has beaten Carol, he looks around the room as if collecting his thoughts and addressing his actions, and says, ‘Oh, my God’. He sits down on a chair and slowly puts his hands through his hair. Looking at Carol, who has picked herself off the floor and is sitting on the sofa, John looks away from her and repeats ‘Oh, my God’, this time in an almost inaudible whisper. ‘Yes. That’s right’, Carol replies. According to Bean: ‘Although the plot punishes John for his treatment of Carol, the visual argument of the play celebrates John’s power over Carol. Oleanna ends with a stark image of female submission to masculine dominance’ (Bean, 120). The addition of the line ‘Oh, my God’, challenges Bean’s contention and removes the ambiguity apparent in the script by shifting the power from John to Carol with his vocal surrender. Confirming this, Carol’s ‘Yes, that’s right’ is spoken quickly, strained yet factual, acknowledging John’s validation of the charges against him. In the film, therefore, the voice is contained, removing the ambiguity that was present in the script.

As a writer and director for both the stage and screen, Mamet is consciously aware of what he perceives to be the differences between the two performance forms:

in a play…the only way you have to convey the action of the plot is through the action of the characters, what they say to each other. With a movie, the action has to be advanced narratively. To advance it through the dialogue is just boring; it is not the proper exploitation of the form. (Vallely, p. 44).

Involving only two characters, with the ‘action’ wholly taking place in John’s university office, the stage version of Oleanna presents the narrative as simply as possible, directing the audience towards the most important element of the play: the words. According to Mamet’s comment, and inherent in many of his essays, the most important element of the play is the dialogue. In revising Oleanna for the screen, however, it seems Mamet did not follow his own recommendation; the three Acts in the film are virtually identical to the stage script and hardly create the impression of ‘proper exploitation of the form’. Five scenes were added to the film – at the beginning and end of the play and between each act – which serve as interludes to the Acts. There is no dialogue in these brief scenes; only a song is played in each, the only non-diegetic sound in the entire film. Rather than advancing the action narratively, the scenes only reinforce what the dialogue already presents, and appear as if they were inserted as an afterthought. However, the scenes do succeed in highlighting the difference between the theatre and cinema; each scene takes place outside John’s office – around the university and at John’s new house – sets that would be difficult to recreate on stage. It seems that while Mamet drew on the visual potentials offered by the cinema, he remained faithful to the aural narrative of the play and retains the theatricality of the original.

Dialogue continues to be the most important aspect of the performance; for the majority of the film the only noises we hear are the voices of the two characters (William H. Macy, playing John – the role he originated on stage – and Debra Eisenstadt, replacing Rebecca Pidgeon as Carol) and the incessantly ringing telephone that figures as a third ‘voice’ in the film, interrupting the narrative and signalling key moments in the story. In the three acts, music and sound effects are unexpectedly absent – in fact, it appears the only extra noise in the film that is not written into the screenplay is the cup of tea Carol drops on the floor when she becomes frustrated with John interrupting her – the smash of the cup reinforces her shout of ‘I BELIEVE THAT I AM SPEAKING!’. Oleanna was filmed in Dolby Digital 2.0 mono, creating a simpler sound to stereo technology. The achievement of simplicity supports Mamet’s assertion that ‘[t]he acting, the design, the direction should all consist only of that bare minimum necessary to put forward the action. Anything else is embellishment’.[6] By keeping the sound as simple as possible, the importance of the dialogue over all other elements of the play is retained.

Despite being mediated, voice in the film version of Oleanna is still a theatrical voice. Mamet’s statement that an emphasis on dialogue over action is not the ‘proper exploitation of the form’ is a contradictory one when taking into account that in Oleanna the action is the dialogue. Rather than ‘detheatricalize’ the voice, to borrow from James Naremore, the sound instruments used in the film version of Oleanna actually add to the film’s theatricality, reinforcing the emphasis on the dramatic use of language and retaining a spareness or starkness that characterizes theatre performances. The end result is closer to the appearance of a filmed play than a cinematic translation of a stage play.

I would like to thank Paul Grainge, Sharon Monteith and Gianluca Sergi for their comments on an earlier draft of this article.

Works Cited

K. Bean, ‘A Few Good Men: Collusion and Violence in Oleanna‘ in C. Hudgins and L. Kane, eds., Gender and Genre: Essays on David Mamet, St. Martin’s/Palgrave: New York, 2001.
A. Dean, David Mamet: Language as Dramatic Action, Associated University Presses: Toronto, 1990.
R. Bechtel, ‘PC Power Play: Language and Representation in David Mamet’s Oleanna‘, Theatre Studies vol. 41, 1996.
M. Chion, The Voice in Cinema, trans. Claudia Gorbman, Columbia University Press: New York, 1999 [1982].
W. H. Macy cited in D.B. Wilmeth, ‘Mamet and the Actor’ in Bigsby, ed., The Cambridge Companion to David Mamet, Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 2004.
P. McDonald, ‘The “Unmanning” Word: Language, Masculinity and Political Correctness in the Work of David Mamet and Philip Roth’, Journal of American Studies of Turkey, vol. 7, 1998.
C. McDonough, Staging Masculinity: Male Identity in Contemporary American Drama, McFarland, Jefferson, 1997.
B. Murphy, ‘Oleanna: Language and Power’ in C. Bigsby, ed., The Cambridge Companion to David Mamet, Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 2004.
J. Naremore, Acting in the Cinema, University of California Press: Berkeley, 1988.
B. Richardson, ‘Voice and Narration in Postmodern Drama’, New Literary History, no. 32, 2001.
G. Sergi, ‘Actors and the Sound Gang’ in P. Krämer and A. Lovell, eds, Screen Acting, Routledge: London, 1999.
M. Shingler, ‘Fasten Your Seatbelts and Prick Up Your Ears: The Dramatic Human Voice in Film’, Scope: An Online Journal of Film Studies, no. 5, Sound: Special Issue, 2006.
J. Vallely, ‘David Mamet Makes a Play for Hollywood’, Rolling Stone, April 1980.
T. Silverman Zinman, ‘Jewish Aporia: The Rhythm of Talking in Mamet, Theatre Journal, vol. 44, no. 2, 1992.

Endnotes

[1] Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd ed., Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1989; D. Richards, ‘The Jackhammer Voice of David Mamet’s Oleanna’, The New York Times, Sunday Review Supplement, 8 November 1992, p. 1; S. Sontag, ‘Film and Theatre’, The Tulane Drama Review, vol. 2, no. 1, 1966, p. 24. A longer, revised version of this essay subsequently appeared in Sontag’s Styles of a Radical Will, Delta Books, New York, 1969.
[2] A notable exception to this tendency is J. Martin’s Voice in Modern Theatre, Routledge, London, 1991.
[3] See, M. Barron, Auditorium Acoustics and Architectural Design, Chapman and Hall, New York, 1998; C. N. Brooks, Architectural Acoustics, McFarland, Jefferson, 2003; J. S. Bradley, ‘The Sound Absorption of Occupied Auditorium Seating’, The Journal of the Acoustical Society of America, vol. 99, no. 2, 1996, pp. 990-995.
[4] D. Mamet, On Directing Film, Penguin, New York, 1991, pp. 70-71. Other non-fiction works include: True and False: Heresy and Common Sense for the Actor, Faber and Faber, London, 1998; 3 Uses of the Knife: On the Nature and Purpose of Drama, Columbia University Press, New York, 1998; Make-Believe Town: Essays and Remembrances, Faber and Faber, London, 1996; Writing in Restaurants, Penguin, New York, 1987.
[5] D. Mamet, ‘Realism’, in Oleanna, Methuen Drama, London, 1993, p. iii. First published in Writing in Restaurants, op. cit. For more on Stanislavski and theatre acting see J. Martin, op. cit; and Mamet, On Directing Film, op. cit, pp. 70-71, p. 76.
[6] Mamet, ‘Realism’, op. cit, p. ii.

Created on: Thursday, 21 June 2007