The three most powerful words
Are the ones men are afraid to say
I am sitting in a room with a director who has just finished reading a script. They launch into a lengthy monologue. They comment on the work’s themes and pacing in broad brush strokes, using professional dramaturgical tones. It goes on for several minutes, and I’ve lost track of what he’s saying.
I sense the room has also lost track of what he’s saying. Another five minutes pass, and he carries on in this vein. He hits intellectual cul-de-sacs and riffs on intellectual phrases. But I can’t discern a meaning. I don’t think he knows what he’s talking about at all. It becomes obvious that he is performing some intellectualism for the sake of the room. He is our fearless leader, and he wants to be respected. He has something to prove, but we all leave bewildered.
Three sexy words I love from professional straight men:
I don’t know.
Another four words that are almost as good:
What do you think?
Women are forced to undermine themselves. A forthright woman is viewed in a patriarchal society as too angry or domineering. However, a male often feels compelled to ‘prove’ a version of manhood or leadership that is dominant and comprehensive.
This is the key sociological difference between the binary genders: women must be everything and never show effort. Men must constantly strive to meet one impossible standard at all times: manhood. But the specific shapes of that manhood are bizarre and opaque.
There is one thing for sure: don’t show weakness.
Don’t show physical weakness.
Don’t show spiritual weakness.
Don’t show intellectual weakness.
Don’t admit you don’t know.
I’ve been studying some sexology for the last few months - a beautiful section of psychology exploring sexual health and education. It is a field dominated by women. Female sex education, for those who are willing, is vast and diverse - different orgasms, encouragement in exploring the sensuality of your body, and a complex language for the anatomy.
Most male sex education is devoted to tips on lasting longer: one of the standards of manhood. Men are expected to know their way around sex and be ‘brilliant’ at it. Saying ‘I don’t know but I’m willing to learn’ to a partner is impossibly vulnerable.
Female sex educators can amass vast followings online, with slick and friendly content. Male sex educators find it incredibly difficult to get their followers up: primarily because other men don’t want to be seen as needing the education that they provide.
The result is generations of men who feel confused and alone sexually. With no other option, straight men rely on porn or a simplistic view of their own sexuality: thrust and be done.
The willingness to confess ignorance is mandatory for growth. I know patriarchal systems are everywhere, obviously, but I’m most often in theatre rooms. And the only key difference between male and female directors, no matter their sexual orientation, is their approach to leadership. Male directors, in my experience, tend to favour a leadership system where they appear to have a ‘vision’ that the rest of the production must follow. There’s an inevitable tension underneath the experience, because there is something to be ‘achieved’.
Such a system isn’t implicitly toxic, but the wisdom and the maturity of the director are revealed when this vision is inevitably forced to adapt. I’ve seen some have tantrums. I’ve seen others become excited by the change and open up to colleagues for collaboration.
Female directors, in my experience, are much more at home with the values of ‘drama’ as opposed to ‘theatre’. Does the room feel good? Is every voice included? They are a facilitator to an occurrence, rather than a designer of a specific event. They are more capable of adopting a ‘best idea wins’ approach.
I’m resistant to make female-to-male comparisons in any field. I am very aware there are exceptions to every rule. Nevertheless, I’ve been working in Australian theatre now for twenty years, and the anecdotals patterns are unmistakable.