The word "pantomime" comes from the lovely Greek word mimeisthai, he who imitates everything. Greek pantomime was effectively this balletic peformance. A single masked male dancer, who would be accompanied by music and a singing chorus, would perform every role in a mythic story. The chorus would supply the narrative, while the dancer remained silent. There is occasional evidence to suggest historic topics were also covered, but presumably not as often. This dancer would present the story in sequence, from the point of view of whichever character he was currently enacting - denoting the change by a change of mask. They would whirl around - "continuity of many pirouettes" - then stop, and hold those beautiful poises like figures in a painting.
Most sources are problematic: diehard fans are as reliable as my defence of Doctor Who, while the early Church went in the opposite direction with their criticism. Therefore we know little for certain about its slow development or earliest emergance.
For example, all this nancing about would naturally require the dancer to impersonate female roles as well as male -sexus arte mutetur, to modify his sex by means of his art, as St. Cyprian puts it. Especially as love stories were very popular, especially those of the gods, and especially those of Zeus. You can imagine that all this made the Church fathers very unhappy, both the cross-dressing and the depictions of what Zeus got up to.
What we do know is that it seemed to reach it's peak in the 2nd century AD. It was seen as a sort of sucessor to tragedy - some inscriptions describe the pantomimos as "actor of tragic rhythmic movement", and the genre of pantomime as tragike orchesis, "tragic dancing".
Yet even more than the Greek drama, it's hard to discuss or judge pantomime dancing as it existed without scripts. For example, how formalised was it as an art? Was it accessable to all, or did you need to understand the conventions to follow it? An example of the fandom war mentioned above. Lucian claims it was so clear, an ambassador requested a dancer as an interpreter: "this man will interpret everything for me by signs". And St Augustine, noted miseryguts, recalls that "if someone comes to the theatre uninitiated into such trifles, unless someone else enlightens him as to what the dancer's movements signify, he gives his whole attention in vain".
They are not necessarily opposing views. Pantomime dancing had a Hollywood popularity - could it really be so obscure? Maybe, much like Doctor Who, could it have developed its own traditions while still appealing to the masses? It doesn't wholly matter whether or not viewers recognise the Genesis of the Daleks reference in Journey's End, it's just an added extra for people who were paying attention.
We do know more about the training of dancers. Libanius and Lucian both speak about the right body being required - unsuprisingly, fairly tall, well proportioned, "a straight neck and a look which is not furtive, and fingers naturally well formed, and in a word beauty, which is an essential attribute". Yummy. They were trained in gymnastics, so their bodies were flexible and supple. Libanius describes a rather barbaric practice, where a dancer would be trained to make a contortionist-style ring with his body, which would then be rolled as you would a hoop with a stick. Apparently, it doesn't do any harm. Because apparently, their bodies become "like wax".
The funny thing is, next week's lesson answers perhaps the most obvious question about pantomime dancing: um, wasn't this all a little bit girly.
Unsuprisingly, the answer to this is yes: the Greek ideal was straightness (literally), and a man would not bend his legs, or hips or neck. These things were seen as effeminate, and so all this pansying on stage, "playing the wanton on stage with dainty clothing and bawdy songs and imitate amourous little women", was not taken too kindly by many audience members. Most hardcore opposition was focused on the gender issue, and the unvoiced fear that this emasculating behaviour might be contageous. This would be funny, were it not still true in the modern world. A terrifying amount of people are alarmed now as then by the idea of "breaking up their nature in tandem with the bending of their limbs: men, women, effeminate males, frankly speaking, neither male nor female..."
This is another topic on which we have no objective accounts - yet there are some facts beyond dispute. For fans of the pantomime, the female roles were the most beloved, especially those in which they were in love and lust. Myths tended to be told from a female perspective - i.e., you rarely hear of the triumphs of Apollo, compared to the ubiquity of Daphne.
These were the ones which best demonstrated the male dancer's skill in imitation, that they could actually convince "not that he is in the process of imitating others, but that he really is by nature the object of his imitation". Like the earlier posts on Greek tragic (method) actors, the joy was to see the actor become the role. Lucian and Arnobius both praise dancers especially for depicting "the birth-pangs of Leto" and "the labour of Alcmene". O-kay...
This female acting was supposedly very convincing - part of the reason why the macho men of Greece were so alarmed by the idea. St Cyprian, outraged, describes:
And indeed, there is a level at which all this playing around with gender was very erotic indeed. Ovid claims that the actor "teaches you with his art how alluring is the thing that you must guard against", and that the actor mimicing love also "inflicts the wounds of love" on his audience. Oh, I can see why the Church fathers were scared. As mentioned often before, the topic on Greek/Roman entertainment struck me most for it's modernity. Nothing has changed. Actors are powerful, rich, and use their positions in world affairs. Audiences love them for their convincing transformations, and enjoy being made to cry by drama. And the manly men of the human race has always terrified by the idea of men in dresses.
It was a visual and aural treat, pretty music with pretty boys in pretty costumes. Like Patrick Wolf concerts. But Libanius claims that the dance itself was the most vital element - the narrative, written specially, supports the dance and not the other way around. He also claims to often see dancers who halt the chorus, and dance in silence, conveying the plot purely through gesture. Sources refer to "articulate silence", "speaking fingers", "palms with a mouth", "hands that say it all", and the ability to "explain words through his hands". Others praised the mime's flexibility, that he could switch quickly between different roles. This was apparently part of the joy of it. Lucian claims that a great dancer must cultivate both "strength and suppleness of limb", so that "the might of Heracles and the daintiness of Aphrodite were to be manifested in the same person"
Unsuprisingly, transformation tales were incredibly popular. Like American Werewolf in London, I'd imagine.
Most sources are problematic: diehard fans are as reliable as my defence of Doctor Who, while the early Church went in the opposite direction with their criticism. Therefore we know little for certain about its slow development or earliest emergance.
For example, all this nancing about would naturally require the dancer to impersonate female roles as well as male -sexus arte mutetur, to modify his sex by means of his art, as St. Cyprian puts it. Especially as love stories were very popular, especially those of the gods, and especially those of Zeus. You can imagine that all this made the Church fathers very unhappy, both the cross-dressing and the depictions of what Zeus got up to.
What we do know is that it seemed to reach it's peak in the 2nd century AD. It was seen as a sort of sucessor to tragedy - some inscriptions describe the pantomimos as "actor of tragic rhythmic movement", and the genre of pantomime as tragike orchesis, "tragic dancing".
Yet even more than the Greek drama, it's hard to discuss or judge pantomime dancing as it existed without scripts. For example, how formalised was it as an art? Was it accessable to all, or did you need to understand the conventions to follow it? An example of the fandom war mentioned above. Lucian claims it was so clear, an ambassador requested a dancer as an interpreter: "this man will interpret everything for me by signs". And St Augustine, noted miseryguts, recalls that "if someone comes to the theatre uninitiated into such trifles, unless someone else enlightens him as to what the dancer's movements signify, he gives his whole attention in vain".
They are not necessarily opposing views. Pantomime dancing had a Hollywood popularity - could it really be so obscure? Maybe, much like Doctor Who, could it have developed its own traditions while still appealing to the masses? It doesn't wholly matter whether or not viewers recognise the Genesis of the Daleks reference in Journey's End, it's just an added extra for people who were paying attention.
We do know more about the training of dancers. Libanius and Lucian both speak about the right body being required - unsuprisingly, fairly tall, well proportioned, "a straight neck and a look which is not furtive, and fingers naturally well formed, and in a word beauty, which is an essential attribute". Yummy. They were trained in gymnastics, so their bodies were flexible and supple. Libanius describes a rather barbaric practice, where a dancer would be trained to make a contortionist-style ring with his body, which would then be rolled as you would a hoop with a stick. Apparently, it doesn't do any harm. Because apparently, their bodies become "like wax".
The funny thing is, next week's lesson answers perhaps the most obvious question about pantomime dancing: um, wasn't this all a little bit girly.
Unsuprisingly, the answer to this is yes: the Greek ideal was straightness (literally), and a man would not bend his legs, or hips or neck. These things were seen as effeminate, and so all this pansying on stage, "playing the wanton on stage with dainty clothing and bawdy songs and imitate amourous little women", was not taken too kindly by many audience members. Most hardcore opposition was focused on the gender issue, and the unvoiced fear that this emasculating behaviour might be contageous. This would be funny, were it not still true in the modern world. A terrifying amount of people are alarmed now as then by the idea of "breaking up their nature in tandem with the bending of their limbs: men, women, effeminate males, frankly speaking, neither male nor female..."
This is another topic on which we have no objective accounts - yet there are some facts beyond dispute. For fans of the pantomime, the female roles were the most beloved, especially those in which they were in love and lust. Myths tended to be told from a female perspective - i.e., you rarely hear of the triumphs of Apollo, compared to the ubiquity of Daphne.
These were the ones which best demonstrated the male dancer's skill in imitation, that they could actually convince "not that he is in the process of imitating others, but that he really is by nature the object of his imitation". Like the earlier posts on Greek tragic (method) actors, the joy was to see the actor become the role. Lucian and Arnobius both praise dancers especially for depicting "the birth-pangs of Leto" and "the labour of Alcmene". O-kay...
This female acting was supposedly very convincing - part of the reason why the macho men of Greece were so alarmed by the idea. St Cyprian, outraged, describes:
"Men are emasculated, the entire honour and vigour of the male gender is
softened up because of the dishonour of a sinewless body, and whoever goes to
greater lengths in order to break down virility into womanishness gives the
greatest pleasure at this point"
And indeed, there is a level at which all this playing around with gender was very erotic indeed. Ovid claims that the actor "teaches you with his art how alluring is the thing that you must guard against", and that the actor mimicing love also "inflicts the wounds of love" on his audience. Oh, I can see why the Church fathers were scared. As mentioned often before, the topic on Greek/Roman entertainment struck me most for it's modernity. Nothing has changed. Actors are powerful, rich, and use their positions in world affairs. Audiences love them for their convincing transformations, and enjoy being made to cry by drama. And the manly men of the human race has always terrified by the idea of men in dresses.
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