As a great director, Peter Brook is unquestionably an authority on theatre, but The Empty Space doesn’t reflect his artistic talent and comes across as an unsuccessful attempt at philosophy, full of platitudes and anecdotes which carry little theoretical value. Still, this book has merit as an intentionally poetic reflection on the life and career of a passionate lover and defender of drama as a medium.
Despite its aesthetic claims and artistic prescriptions, this book is not theoretical, as Brook says in the beginning of the fourth and final chapter. “But if anyone were to try to use it as a handbook, then I can definitely, warn him- there are no methods… anyone who attempts to reproduce them from my description is certain to be disappointed.”
The book begins with a chapter on ‘Deadly Theater,’ the author asserting that the theater needs to be ‘reborn’; it can no longer approach “the classics from the viewpoint that somewhere, someone has found out and defined how the play should be done.” This is vague and means only that theatre requires innovation. His following example will reveal the lack of meaning that the exhortation carries.
In a certain unknown opera, put on by two rival Operas, one from Formosa and the other from Pekin, “nothing was reborn” in the Formosan performance which made it a failure, compared to the rival, Pekin Opera which was “creating its ancient patterns afresh each night.” The discussion ends here, and what that could mean is unclear, however poetic it might be.
The gist of his argument is that theatre requires innovation, and for the same play to have vitality, it must experience change in attitude, rather than merely in scenery, costumes, and music.
“Grand opera, of course, is the Deadly Theatre carried to absurdity.” For the reason that it resists all change. What is needed in theatre is ‘experimenting’ and ‘real risk’- advice which lacks application.
Much consideration is given to economic factors unrelated to the theory of theatre. Consider his discussion of John Arden’s Sergeant Musgrave’s Dance which had received much bad press and offered free performances, attracting such enthusiastic crowds that the actors, “cheered by the warmth of the house, gave their best performance, which in turn earned them an ovation.” Are we to believe that actors performing at the Athenee are so emotionally volatile that the strength of their performances depends on the enthusiasm of the spectators?
Apparently so, and I have no authority against his experience, to dispute this claim, but it hardly makes sense. “In a sense there is nothing a spectator can actually do” and we agree, but he says “and yet there is a contradiction here that cannot be ignored, for everything depends on him.”
He tries on page 24 and 25 to explain the role of the audience in crafting the performance that the actor gives. He relays an ‘experiment’ done in an acting lecture he delivered. The book is full of these anecdotal experiments. What he ends up describing is merely a change in the actor’s emphasis when reading his lines after being advised to do so in front of his peers. Nothing is proven about the nature of the audience, nor is there shown to be an interaction between the audience and the actor.
He discusses how Stanislavsky’s method has proven dominant, but “In America today, the time is ripe for [Vsevolod] Meyerhold [‘biomechaniscs’] to appear, since a naturalistic representation of life no longer seems to Americans adequate to express the forces that drive them.” An interesting theoretical topic, but discussion ends immediately without elaboration.
On page 34. Without using the term, there is a discussion of French dissatisfaction with monologism in the novel, but Brook will never actually get to the point of discussing dialogic imagination and the hint is only there available to readers who are aware of other critics like Bakhtin who explain this shortcoming of the form of drama.
Brook suggests a dialectic between what we see and what we apprehend is captured by Shakespeare, which makes him the Bard par excellence. But is there really such a dialectic? How is this dialectical? There is no explanation.
Common are aphorisms not strictly related to the topic and too abstract to carry meaning, such as “If you just let a play speak, it may not make a sound. If what you want is for the play to be heard, then you must conjure its sound from it.”
“We may make a personality cult of the conductor, but we are aware that he is not really making the music it is making him- If he is relaxed, open and attuned, then the invisible will take possession of him; through him it will reach us.”
He asserts that “theatre Is the last forum where idealism is still an open question” but this isn’t justified.
The Holy Theatre that Brook describes is a drama which can convey the sublime and deliver a transcendent experience. But it's not clear how that might come. He offers more aphorisms of little meaning: “the theatre working like the plague, by intoxication, by infection, by analogy, by magic, a theater in which the play, the Event itself, stands in place of a text.”
Praising Artaud, and surrealism as a means by which the theatre could become Holy again, he says Artaud ” wanted an audience that would drop all its defenses, that would allow itself to be perforated, shocked, startled and raped so that at the same time it could be filled with a powerful new charge.” The implication is a functionalist analysis of theatre and that it is shock, in this case, which ‘makes the invisible visible.’ He goes to give examples of three ‘visionaries’ who practice this manifestation, concluding that “we have exposed the sham [that the sublime isn’t the aim of the theatre, and that theatre must convince its audience that the art is holy rather than becoming holy] but we are rediscovering that a holy theatre is still what we need. So where should we look for it? In the clouds or on the ground?”
But who has ever said that theatre should not attempt to realize the sublime? With whom is he polemicizing?
The ‘Rough Theater’ is the anti-bourgeois and anti-decadence theatre that saves the day. This is a theme running through the book. Theatre, apparently, has been corrupted by a class of people who enjoy and augment the stuffiness and inaccessibility of the form. “The popular theatre, freed of unity of style, actually speaks a very sophisticated and stylish language” meaning that it somehow disarms its foolish audience and presents “what to regular theatregoers was incomprehensible.” Anarchy has freed the otherwise locked imagination.
The Holy and Rough Theatres reach for different, base, and infinite, energies in man’s soul.
The suggestion that Shakespeare is exceptional because he, and seemingly only most fully he, can “present man simultaneously in all his aspects: touch for touch, we can identify and withdraw.” The meaning of this statement is unclear, unfalsifiable, and certainly not justified by the immediately preceding analysis. The book is filled with lines like these. He ends the third chapter with another cryptic statement with no immediate relation to what he had been discussing: “To [capture the attention of the audience and compel its belief] we must prove there will be no trickery, nothing hidden. We must open our empty hands and show that really there is nothing up our sleeves.” This means nothing.
The fourth chapter is the least disagreeable and the most personal. Brook’s experience as an accomplished director to rub elbows with other greats is interesting by its lonesome.
The book carries infectious enthusiasm for theatre in its vignettes of stages across the world, actor and audience types, and shows gone right and wrong, but what it teaches is unclear and it has limited value to a person attempting to understand drama.