Dramatic literature is not for wimps. Really. Many people complain about how difficult it is to settle into a favorite armchair next to a crackling fire, strong cup of joe in hand, to turn the pages of a script. To find its magic, you have to want the inner life of a play badly enough to overcome the distraction of ellipses, dashes, and stage directions. And the magic is in something the playwright doesn’t even endow with actual words.
Dialogue in both dramatic literature and fiction is obviously the words that pass between its characters; however, in a playscript, while the dialogue is of course written, it is spoken language meant to be heard. The printed text is not just what the characters say; it is what they do. Dialogue becomes the primary vehicle for dramatic action.
In the gold standard of directing texts, Francis Hodge wrote, “From the casual reader’s view, dialogue looks like it is only the printed text of the play, but it’s basic function is to contain the heart and soul, the essence of the play—the subtext or dramatic action” (22). A play is more than talk; its characters live and move and have their being. They are involved in activities, and those activities fulfill two functions. On one level, the activity is what a character physically does within the context of the given circumstances in a scene that provides a “fabric of normalcy” for the character (Hodge 26). On another level, the activity contains and conveys the subtext, which is always related to what the character really wants, but may not be obvious or observable.
What is compelling about dramatic literature and its result on stage is what Hodge calls the “pitched battle” of the tension between the two levels of activity: the forcing that happens in the struggle between the lower level—what the character is really thinking and volitionally seeking—and the upper level, in which the character lives in the sphere of everyday life. What’s happening on the seemingly placid surface and what’s coursing through the underground river compose the complexity of dramatic literature. Both activities must occur simultaneously. Giving life to both normal interaction and to the subtext is the collaborative and essential work of the playwright, the director, and her cast (Hodge 27–28).
I can’t think of a better way to illustrate the pitched battle of subtext than to take some excerpts from the Tony-award winning play Doubt by John Patrick Shanley. Inserted in blue font are my possible subtext translations about what the character may actually be thinking, feeling, and wanting. The context is St. Nicholas Catholic school, 1964, in the Bronx, New York. The principal of St. Nicholas, Sister Aloysius, is a crusty and hardened nun who strongly suspects the parish priest, Father Flynn, of inappropriate behavior with an eighth grade boy, Donald Muller, who is in the class of the novice and perhaps naïve teacher, Sister James. Sister Aloysius and Sister James have invited Father Flynn to Sister Aloysius’s office on the pretext of discussing this year’s Christmas pageant. When the scene opens, Sister James has not yet arrived.
(A knock at the door.)
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Come in. (The door opens. Father Flynn is standing there in his black cassock. He doesn't come in.)
FLYNN. Good morning, Sister Aloysius! How are you today? God save me. The Battleship Aloysius. She always looks like she’s left the dock before repairs have been finished.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Good morning, Father Flynn. Very well. Good of you to come by. (Father Flynn takes a step into the office.) Where is Sister James? God save me, I’m going to have to tread water and make small talk with him until she arrives. Awkward.
FLYNN. Are we ready for the meeting? Let’s move this along. I just want to get out of the Admiral’s path unscathed.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. We're just short Sister James. (Father Flynn steps back into the doorway.) Did you hear that wind last night?
FLYNN. Small talk time. I’ll try some charm; I’m good at charm. Perhaps it’ll knock out a few of her guns. I certainly did. Okay, Flynn. Wax poetic. Maybe an appeal to masculine angst? Or masculine angst in the Old West? Something that fires up her imagination? Does she even have an imagination? I’ll give it a go… Imagine what it must've been like in the frontier days when a man alone in the woods sat by a fire in his buckskins and listened to a sound like that. Imagine the loneliness! The immense darkness pressing in! How frightening it must’ve been!
SISTER ALOYSIUS. If he thinks he can charm me, he’s mistaken. He’s in love with his own words. I’ll try a warning shot across the bow. If one lacked faith in God’s protection, I suppose it would be frightening.
FLYNN. That salvo smarts! Last time I weaponize my charm. (Shanley 28)
Soon after this, Sister James arrives.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Well, come in, please. Sit down. (They come in and sit down.)
FLYNN. I’ll counter with a torpedo that glances off her starboard bow. (Father Flynn takes Sister Aloysius' chair. He's sitting at her desk. She reacts but says nothing.)
FLYNN. HA! Got her! First blood!
SISTER ALOYSIUS. White male privilege. Perfect example. Just wait, you self-satisfied, arrogant misogynist! You have no idea what’s in the waters ahead. I actually have a hot pot of tea. (Closes the door but for an inch.) And close this but not quite, for form's sake. Would you have a cup of tea, Father?
FLYNN. I would love a cup of tea.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Perhaps you could serve him, Sister? Give me a report from radar. I’d like to keep eyes on the enemy at all times.
SISTER JAMES. Of course. Thank God. It’ll give me something to do. I won’t have to make eye contact with him or with Sister Aloysius.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. And yourself, of course.
SISTER JAMES. Would you like tea, Sister Aloysius?
SISTER ALOYSIUS. I've already had my cup. As commander of this vessel, I set the example; I’m the soul of restraint and self-discipline. I would never allow myself the luxury of two cups of tea a day.
FLYNN. Is there sugar?
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Sugar? Yes! (Rummages in her desk.) He’s completely self-indulgent. It's here somewhere. I put it in the drawer for Lent last year and never remembered to take it out. Proof of my restraint!
FLYNN. Up periscope. Got her in my sights… It mustn't have been much to give up then. Direct hit! Maybe a little harsh, but it’s true, right?
SISTER ALOYSIUS. No, I'm sure you're right. He’s got the momentum, but I have the element of surprise. I’m saving my ammunition… Here it is. I'll serve you, though for want of practice, I'm ... [clumsy] (She's got the sugar bowl and is poised to serve him a lump of sugar with a small pair of tongs when she sees his nails.) Your fingernails. Does he never work with his hands? His nails are manicured like a woman’s.
FLYNN. I wear them a little long.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. It’s unmanly and unnerving. It confirms my suspicions that he’s not fit for command.
FLYNN. The sugar?
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Oh yes. One?
FLYNN. Three.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Three. (She's appalled but tries to hide it.) More evidence of a hedonistic life. He has no idea of the importance of sacrifice and self-denial at the center of a consecrated life. He makes me sick to my stomach, but I can’t let him see that.
FLYNN. Whoa! Radar detects a crack in Battleship Aloysius’s armor. Sweet tooth.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. One, two, three. Sister, do you take sugar? (Sister Aloysius looks at Sister James.)
SISTER JAMES. (To Sister Aloysius.) I would never admit to even thinking about three lumps of sugar. Sister Aloysius would expel me from the order! Never! (To Father Flynn.) But…I’d never want Father Flynn to think I’m judging him, so… Not that there's anything wrong with sugar. (Shanley 28–29)
As the scene progress, the two levels Hodge refers to become evident in stark illustration. There’s the “fabric of normalcy” shown through the rules of propriety, a seemingly banal discussion of the past pageant successes and failures, and the serving of tea all while the palpable subtext runs underneath the conversation. In addition, the dialogue in Doubt is an incredible example of the end result of the interplay:
Only rarely do these layers come together or merge—and when they do, it’s almost always in climactic moments where the dramatic action breaks through the surface of the normalcy that the characters are seeking to maintain and present to each other. (Hodge 28)
As you read the final excerpt below, observe Shanley’s craftsmanship as the pitched battle between the fabric of normalcy and the undeniable subtext merge to a point of raw honesty.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Yes, you’re right, back to it. The Christmas pageant. We must be careful how Donald Muller is used in the pageant. Send up the Donald Muller flare and let’s see how he reacts.
(Sister James shakes as she pours the tea.)
SISTER JAMES. Oh, no, it’s begun. She’s really going to do it. She’s going to confront him about Donald Muller and she’s going to make me tell Father Flynn what I’ve seen.
FLYNN. Easy there, Sister, you don't spill. Hmm. What’s going on here? Some new ammo? Sister James is certainly nervous about something. The Battleship is cagey; I’d better watch my step. Up periscope!
SISTER JAMES. Oh, uh, yes, Father.
FLYNN. What about Donald Muller?
SISTER ALOYSIUS. We must be careful, in the pageant, that we neither hide Donald Muller nor put him forward.
FLYNN. Because of the color of his skin. Ah, so this seems to be about racism. I can deflect that one.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Launch decoys. That’s right.
FLYNN. Why?
SISTER ALOYSIUS. Come, Father. You're being disingenuous.
FLYNN. I think he should be treated like every other boy.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. He took the bait! Exactly the response I was looking for. Left full rudder! You yourself singled the boy out for special attention. You held a private meeting with him at the rectory. Cruiser attack! (Turning to Sister James.) A week ago?
SISTER JAMES. Yes. (He realizes something’s up.)
FLYNN. This isn’t just about the color of Donald’s skin. They know something else. Execute evasive maneuvers. What are we talking about?
SISTER JAMES. Donald Muller?
SISTER ALOYSIUS. The boy acted strangely when he returned to class.
FLYNN. Train sights on the cruiser. She’s more vulnerable. (Father Flynn turns to Sister James.) He did?
SISTER JAMES. When he returned from the rectory. A little odd, yes.
SISTER ALOYSIUS. For heaven’s sake! She won’t fire torpedoes! I’m going to have to force it. Can you tell us why?
FLYNN. How did he act strangely?
SISTER JAMES. They’re both looking at me. I can’t take it. I just want to head out to open sea! Sister Aloysius is going to make me tell him about the alcohol on Donald’s breath and that he was crying. What if Father Flynn did do something to Donald? I like Father Flynn. So does everyone else. I can’t bear even thinking he would do something like that. If I say anything, it will change everything! I’ll say as little as I can. I’m not sure how to explain it. He laid his head on the desk ...
FLYNN. Donald didn’t say anything; he didn’t directly implicate me. That’s a relief. I still may have the advantage. Damage report? Still at 85 percent. You mean you had some impression?
SISTER JAMES. Yes.
FLYNN. All they have is circumstantial evidence. And he’d come from the rectory so you’re asking me if I know anything about it?
SISTER JAMES. That’s it.
FLYNN. Hmmm. They’ve got nothing! All systems are go. Did you want to discuss the pageant, is that why I’m here, or is this what you wanted to discuss?
SISTER ALOYSIUS. This. Release the secret weapon! (Shanley 51–52)
It is at this climactic point in the scene when the fabric of normalcy is completely shredded. Whatever gloves that were on come off, the subtext has broken through, and the two levels have merged.
Why does subtext work in dramatic literature? Because human beings, not just characters in a play, engage in it all the time; our conversations are rife with it. Subtext is the stuff of life. The success of dramatic literature hinges on the pitched battle between subtext and the fabric of normalcy, and a good playwright is as adept at building subtext as he is at crafting the text. So, go ahead and grab that strong cup of joe and head toward the armchair, playscript in tow. If you feel the strong undertow of subtext and if you let the action play out in your mind’s eye, the literature will come alive for you in a way no other genre can match.
Hodge, Francis, and Michael McLain. Play Directing: Analysis, Communication, and Style. 7th ed. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 2010.
Shanley, John Patrick. Doubt. New York: Dramatists Play Service, 2005.
Bobbie Jeffrey has called Kansas City home since 1989. She graduated from University of Wisconsin, Stevens Point, with bachelor’s degrees in Theatre and Psychology, which prepared her for both the comedy and trauma of home educating each of her three boys from kindergarten through high school. In 1990, she founded and served as artistic director of a theatre company for home educated students, h.e.a.r.t. theatre company. She also served as the assistant director of Gospel Music Association’s drama training conference at the Seminar of the Rockies before Calvary University recruited her in 2004 to teach theatre electives and direct productions. She was asked to design a Theatre Arts major and minor there, and in 2009, CU Theatre Arts was born.
Also in 2009 (it was a busy year!), Ms. Jeffrey was awarded a fellowship to study Shakespearean directing at the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford-upon-Avon, England, and at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon. She earned her master’s degree in Theatre at the University of Missouri-Kansas City in December of 2009.
Ms. Jeffrey recently retired from Calvary to launch Imago Performing Arts. Founded on the premise we are created to create, Imago is a new arts initiative planning to open Spring 2021 in the Belton/Raymore area.
For now, Bruce, her husband of 42 years, is enjoying having her home during the evening…but we doubt it will last!