“I don’t feel okay with this,” Assault, theatre, and #MeToo.

TW: sexual assault, coercion.

Having worked as an actor on and off for the majority of my life, I’ve had a fair few weird stage experiences. I’ve acted as trees, worn see-through white pants on my period and done calisthenics on stage.

I’ve also played both sides of a rape on stage.

Rape narratives in visual fiction are embarrassingly common. Women in stage and screen (and it’s usually women) are put through hell as their characters try to find closure or reap revenge for their rape. “Rape is often exploited in film and television, and many male-written movies or TV shows are packed with frivolous and careless displays of sexual assault.” (Gutowitz)

It’s gross, and unfortunate, but I think a lot of actors are used to it.

Sex scenes, torture scenes, rape scenes — they’re the kind of thing you learn to deal with when you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel for parts. I’m not saying that sexual assault narratives can’t be important (especially nowadays, in the world of the #MeToo movement, where people are finally beginning to be held accountable for their actions), but they’re played out so often that it can begin to feel exploitative.

I played out my first near-rape scene on stage when I was seventeen. I was cast as the antagonist against an actor who didn’t like me very much. The whole subject was treated very badly by our director and I didn’t ever feel like I had the support system I needed to play the role without impacting upon my mental health. I cried a lot, had many nightmares during the rehearsal period, and was censored in our second showing. It definitely impacted upon me as a person, as well as an actor.

There were also many moments as an underage actor where I felt uncomfortable with how directors and prominent male actors in the industry looked at, worked with, and treated me, but that’s a story for another article. Sexual harassment doesn’t just come in the form of actual physical assault — it can be coercion, digital or verbal harassment, and grooming. It is unfortunate that I’ve seen many of these things within our industry, and I’ve only really been working in it for about seven years. If I can see it and call it out, as a fledgling director, why can’t others?

Recently, I directed parts of a show that heavily featured sexual assault. I wanted to do everything in my power to avoid dragging my own actors into this situation, especially because I was working with young (mostly untrained) actors.

So, how did we avoid this?

Unfortunately, there’s not a lot that’s been written about the concept of role transference within acting spheres. ‘De-roling’, however, appears to be one way to stop some issues.

“De-roling is not a common practice in acting, but it’s used all the time in drama therapy because you’re working with clients who are very vulnerable. Actors are vulnerable too. They spend many years learning how to get into a role, but not how to get out of it.” (Bailey)

Sally Bailey, at the Kansas State University, suggests that actors literally ‘shake the role off’ — by shaking limbs at the end of rehearsal, or handing over props or costume pieces. Support should be provided by the other actors within the cast, and actors should be allowed to step out of rehearsal when they need to.

Although I did my absolute best to engage in de-roling techniques with my actors during the performance, we did inevitably run into some hitches. There is no real way to know how people will react to given circumstances, and you can only do your best to prepare for those reactions when they do arise.

Theatre has many gray areas. We perform romantic, violent or nude scenes on stage — with necessary boundaries and precautions in place — but then we step out of those roles when we go home from the theatre at night. Theatre exists in a weird anti-space between real and unreal — though an actor is playing out scripted or devised circumstances, there is often a portion of the real person involved.

We need to ensure our spaces are safe and our actors feel comfortable to be vulnerable on stage. Nudity, violence, and sex are things that people get weird about, and they’re even more so when you’re performing them in front of a crowd. If actors don’t feel comfortable enough to say that they’re uncomfortable, we’re not making our rehearsal spaces safe enough for them.

So, what can we do?

Nelson Theatrix suggests that, “Every production has a cast liaison, someone who is friendly and approachable,” to act as a mid-ground between cast and crew. This person can raise anonymous concerns to the crew without compromising the anonymity of the complainer. They also suggest ensuring that everyone knows that it’s okay to speak up if they feel uncomfortable.

Other theatre companies (and film productions) have brought intimacy coordinators on set, which help work through sex scenes and other scenes of a similar sensitive nature, while making sure that everyone in the room feels comfortable with what’s going on.

Within my own theatre company we have a rehearsal room code of conduct that ensures that our actors feel safe in the room. We work with queer actors, and vulnerable actors from other parts of life, so I want to make sure that they feel safe about coming to work. Our actors might feel uncomfortable with their bodies — whether that’s because of dysphoria or otherwise — and might not feel comfortable about speaking up or saying no.

I will not take industry abuse lying down and neither should any other theatremaker with a conscience.

We can only make change by creating change, and it’s time for us to do that.