Apparently Blackfriars Theatre in London had a green room for actors, going back to 1599. I can’t vouch for that, but you can find it on the web. There isn’t any information for why it was green, but I was always told (when I played the cello modestly well) that green is a calming color. There was no shade of green calming enough for me, though, so I gave up musical performances, for the most part, as a sophomore in college. 

I’m lucky to be here, in this green room, at Wellington College. My host Karen and I are at a table at the back of class, In front of us are four rows of students, the teacher gets them going on today’s revision. Behind us costumes are hanging on racks, wigs balanced on styrofoam heads, and bags of props line the back wall. In front of us of course the students, looking at the screen. The teacher stands to the side and calls on students by name, the students respond with confidence.

Part of the revision is to write a five paragraph essay. The structure is projected on the screen. Introduction, Paragraphs 1, 2, 3, Conclusion. Those five items make up the left hand column. Horizontally across the top: Who? What? Analysis, and Evaluation. All together they make a table. The students ask some clarifying questions. They are going to describe how two or more actors used their vocal and physical skills to form a relationship on stage. Students call out the characters they are going to use for the essay. They ask more clarifying questions. They are eager to understand just what to do and to do it right.

In my public highschool in the 1980s, there wasn’t much of a green room. Nothing like this. In fact, I think we basically had two small dressing rooms, no green room at all. The walls were brick with a mirror fastened on one side. The dressing rooms were on the side of a classroom, the classroom had a stepped up floor and small stage. There was direct access to the back of the stage, and beyond that, the auditorium with its faded red felt seats. So maybe the classroom was the green room, in function if not color. 

The students at my high school were different, too. I guess some were there to learn. But in many classes … oof. They weren’t the type that would make the effort to complete a matrix with notes in order to plan their five paragraph essay.

“Miss?” The teacher walks over to the boy in the front row. “How many skills do you reckon we need to have here?” 

“Reckon?” Is this British English? A quick search tells me it’s common. In my American brain, reckon is cowboy talk, or reserved for Southerners, mostly Southerners working with cattle and horses. I don’t suppose any of the students lingered for a second on the word, but here I am, still thinking about it. I reckon that’s something you do when you hear something unexpected. 

I ask one of the students what play they are writing about. Wonder Boy, he tells me. I look it up. The main character is Sonny. Sonny is anything but sunny, at least at the beginning of the play. He stutters and is struggling in school. He’s bullied. And then he gets cast in a production of Hamlet. Yikes! I immediately feel compassion for Sonny, though he doesn’t really exist. The magic of theater. Maybe the reason for theater.

When I look up from my Wonder Boy research the teacher is quizzing the students about what they’ve written. I listen in for a bit but then decide to pursue this idea of compassion being a reason for theater: the ability to create feelings of empathy for characters that don’t actually exist. Our ability to relate a story to ourselves. with what must be universal feelings, like our drive to connect, to belong, to be accepted. I find an online resource guide for teachers, all about Wonder Boy. There are drama exercises to help consider what bullying is and suggestions for how to counteract bullying in school. There’s an exercise using the opening of MacBeth, when the three witches are talking together. Another exercise encourages students to “explore their vocal range, create sound effects, develop characterization, physical levels, movement etc.” Shakespeare helped Sonny, goes the thinking, why don’t you try it out yourself?

I wonder how the playwright, Ross Willis, dared write for a character who stuttered. Was he worried that he would fall into stereotypes? When he wrote the text, how accurate was his depiction of the stutter, did he repeat the right phonemes, what syllables does someone with a stammer commonly repeat? And for anyone who has ever been cast as Sonny … does it affect you to play a 12-year old with a stutter? Are you more compassionate after the experience? Are the folks who come to see you?