The message for the Commedia dell'Arte Day

Dedication by Tony Nardi


Alberto Fortuzzi: One of a kind.
The degree to which Alberto has impacted my thoughts about - and the practice of - theatre and acting is immeasurable. Whether it’s presence, sustaining a moment or scene, the interaction with other actors/characters or with the audience, and the duality of actor/character. The list goes on.
In 1985, I had decided to go to Rome, Italy (on a Canada Council grant) and study/work with the company of actors, Mimoteatromovimento, that had created a splash at the Du Maurier theatre festival in Toronto in the early 1980s. For some reason I could not get a hold of anyone at Mimoteatromovimento. But I did manage to contact Alberto Fortuzzi who was basically freelancing. Little did I know that Alberto was the person behind the 'Mimoteatromovimento' production that played in Toronto, which I found out only once I met with him in Rome (Fall '85). Alberto had directed the show featured at the Toronto theatre festival through the Rome-based theatre companies GT Comic and Mimoteatromovimento.
From the first time I worked with Alberto, rehearsing his 5-hour-plus play at GT Comic and performing it in Trastevere at the Agora, there was an immediate understanding between us, as if I had known him long before we had ever met (I could say the same for his then-partner Rosa Masciopinto).
That 1985 journey was the beginning of a five-year collaboration with Alberto on both sides of the Atlantic, culminating in the 1990 production of "A Modo Suo, A Fable" which we performed at Canadian Stage's Berkeley Street Theatre.
In 1986, Alberto conducted a commedia dell'arte workshop in Ottawa, in which I assisted him, hosted by Odyssey Theater. In 1987, we held another commedia dell'arte workshop in Toronto, at Equity Showcase, where many of my Toronto theater friends interested in commedia participated. Additionally, we co-directed the play I wrote (A Modo Suo in Calabrian) in 1990 (which was recently published in an anthology in both Calabrian and English.)
Soon after returning from Italy in '86, I coincidentally performed in two "commedia dell'arte" productions: The Commedia Wagon with the 45.3 Theatre Company in Toronto and Servant of Two Masters at Saskatoon’s Persephone Theatre. The Commedia Wagon was fortunate to have Lidia Biondi and Luciano Brogi leading the troupe, both of whom I had met in Italy just weeks prior (and who, of course, knew both Alberto and Rosa). However, Servant of Two Masters at Persephone was left out on a limb. I had tried to convince my dear friend Tibor Feheregyhazi to bring Alberto over from Italy to conduct a workshop with the actors before we embarked on the production, but for whatever reason, it was a hard sell, mainly due to how regional theatres structure their seasons and schedule their runs, rehearsals, and the funding attached to each show. I really wanted Tibor to meet Alberto, not to mention that the show also featured actor and teacher Henry Woolf. Alberto would have introduced an important paradigm shift, a fresh and vital practical approach to the actor-based craft known as commedia dell'arte to contrast how we typically interpret and mangle "commedia" plays.
(Alberto lived in Berlin for many years. I was elated when, shortly after 2013, I connected Alberto with Herbert Olschok (one of my favourite theatre directors), who also lives in Berlin, and they eventually conducted separate workshops as part of the summer program run by Herbert in Sweden. But, sadly, the Canadian theatre scene has often been criticized for being overly regional or provincial, while simultaneously overlooking 'authentic' regional voices.)
In Canada, ‘commedia’ was often perceived as a disembodied, cardboard-cutout, calisthenics-type performance, replete with exaggerated gestures duplicated from sketches in books. However, in working with Alberto and the wonderful company of core actors—including some who were working on another show directed by Alberto with GT Comic (I’m thinking of the amazing Manrico, who sadly left this world too soon)—I realized that it was a foundational acting methodology whose internal logic and mechanisms could be seen in the work of many actors, too numerous to list, in comedies and dramas.
There were countless times I wanted to bring Alberto back to Canada to work with theatre artists and companies who stubbornly clung to the idea that commedia dell’arte was merely a style rather than a fundamental acting technique—one that even Stanislavsky appreciated and borrowed from. But in the 1980s (and beyond), Canadian/Toronto theatre was – for the most part – steeped in a literary tradition and swimming largely in content-driven plays, not having gotten –– or ignoring –– the memo that there are only thirty-six possible dramatic scenarios a playwright can work with; they seemed to be allergic to craft and often preferred to substitute it with style, especially when dealing with so-called ‘foreign’ theatre practices, like commedia dell'arte. Style was more in line with the superficial sausage and food and ‘multicultural’ festivals flourishing across the country standing in for ground-up multiculturalism. Theatre Columbus was one exception; it had a core group of actors who had taken the Equity Showcase workshop with Alberto in 1987 in addition to Leah Cherniak and Martha Ross having previously studied with Lecoq. Other company members either had an interest or knack for “commedia” and “clown-based” approaches to theatre performance. The other exceptions were Dean Gilmour and Michele Smith of Theatre Smith-Gilmour who also participated in the Equity Showcase workshop: they, too had previously studied at Ecole Internationale de Théâtre Jacques Lecoq.
In 2013, Alberto took part in "Directing in the Performing Arts: An International Summit" at Humber College Lakeshore Campus. That same summer, he was invited by the Stratford Festival to give workshops for both actors and directors within the company.
One of the lessons I learned from Alberto early on—among many—was never to judge a novice actor. There was a young actor during that show in Rome in 1986. He was the sweetest guy, but I didn't think he was much of an actor. Yet, under Alberto’s guidance, the young actor delivered some of the purest and most unforgettable five minutes in the five-and-a-half-hour show.
I remember telling myself then that I would never judge another actor again, ever; instead, I would seek to learn (or at least understand) the tools that could help even the most inexperienced actor reach their potential, whether in just one scene, monologue, or moment.
I have never forgotten this fundamental lesson, which I learned by observing Alberto working with actors, young and older. He simply inspired actors to apply tools and marry them to their potential, regardless of their experience. Alberto had those tools at the tip of his fingers, in his mind and body, from the day I met him.
I also learned that while in Canada, actors' techniques were neatly separated into distinct, fixed categories, there is, in fact, and in practice, a lot of overlap. Some of the things Leone de' Sommi (c. 1525 – c. 1590) discussed about acting in his Four Dialogues on Scenic Representation (considered to be the first-ever treatise on the craft of stage direction) could easily have been taken from a Stanislavsky manual—300-plus years later. De Sommi is also the one who, decades before Shakespeare, stated: “All the world together is nothing but a scene or a theatre where we make a continuous spectacle of our actions."
In working with Alberto and reflecting on the work (years later), I saw a direct link between his approach and that of De Sommi. The odd thing is that I was in Rome working with Alberto at a time when Italian actors were beginning to look outside of commedia for actor training and 'craft maintenance,' during a period when American-style teaching of “the method” was gaining popularity in Rome, especially as taught by American expats. Yet, what I observed in Alberto’s approach was a foundational acting methodology that could serve both comedic and dramatic scenarios. Working with Alberto made me understand better how acting methodologies are more connected to one another than disconnected from each other. It’s how I could understand why Brecht and Stanislavsky were influenced by The Beijing Opera and Mei Lanfang, or how Stanislavsky was in turn influenced by commedia, or why Bunraku puppeteers and cantors discussing their craft could easily sound like “method” actors.
Alberto's brand of theatre was actor-centered. When working with Alberto, it was much easier to understand actor Antonio Sacchi's contribution to Goldoni's Servant of Two Masters (1746), that is, the craft-based symbiotic relationship between actor and writer, and how the craft of the actor informs that of the writer, even when actor and writer share the same body and mind. Alberto was indeed both an actor and a writer, and his directing was also informed by actor-based tools and "meccanismi."
Alberto was a craftsman in the truest sense of the term and indefatigable in his work ethic. Those who worked with him know what I mean. (I will never forget that time in 1987 during the Equity Showcase workshop, which was held for a day (or two) in Trinity Bellwoods Park, when it started to rain and even pour. Alberto remained sitting on the grass, guiding the actors through their scenes—in the rain.)
I immediately could see some overlap between Alberto’s approach and that of Mike Alfreds of Shared Experience who had directed Marivaux’s False Admissions for Pat Hamilton’s MasterClass Theatre in Toronto (1984). But Alberto had actor chops, as well, and he brought an actor’s craft to writing and directing. He also had that rare ability to be both an acting coach and a director – at the same time. He could break down acting “mechanisms” and tools for actors like few people I have met. And his rapport with the audience as an actor was simply astounding. I watched him adapt – on the spot, in real time– the entire 5-hour-plus production in Rome due to a member of the audience having an irrepressible cough throughout the show. That 'unfortunate' audience member (who coincidentally had come to the theatre with my dear friends Maria and Louis Burke - the latter working at the Canadian Embassy in Rome at the time), unwittingly became a character in the show that Saturday afternoon. Even when he wasn't coughing, Alberto never stopped relating - or referring - to him 'in character'. I remember thinking then that LIVE theatre was very different from the TV-as-theatre performances in front of a “studio” audience I had grown accustomed to seeing in Canadian theatre, those performances that took place mainly from the neck-up.
Alberto and I always agreed on craft-based issues (though we rarely discussed them outside of on-our-feet work), even if we sometimes had different styles in communicating those craft-based tools to actors. Our delivery systems were informed by the societies we lived in; he would have described my attitude and approach as more “Canadian” (and did), while I perceived his as more “Italian.” In Italy, rehearsals were rarely on time, and the same went for the actual shows. However, at least the actors and audiences were on the same page. I had a ‘Canadian’ reaction to that as well.
Yet, as my '85/'86 experience in Rome receded in time and I continued to work once again in Canada, it grew stronger and stronger within me, and I began to miss the time spent with Alberto and the company of actors in Rome (including and especially the wonderful Rosa Masciopinto). For months, I would work in theatre in Canada during the day and perform at night, and while sleeping, my dreams would blend the experiences I had with Alberto's company of actors with imagined ones, as if I were traveling to Rome and living another life every time I went to bed, working and hanging out with Alberto and company in Rome. Like some dreams, they didn’t feel like dreams at all. And when I woke up each morning and realized I was actually in Canada, not with Alberto and the company in Rome, I realized that I was suffering from serious withdrawal that my daytime reality—or some part of my brain—tried to keep at bay.
I realized that my Canadian sensibilities had made me blind to a very important fact while in Rome: any focus I had had on actors being late for rehearsal, or audiences for that matter, clouded a more significant point that my dreams were urging me to pay attention to. I recognized that what had transpired in Rome—workwise and creatively, what we managed to accomplish in a five-hour rehearsal period, was invigorating, dynamic, and constantly alive in ways I had never experienced in Canadian theatre. The actor engagement and trial-and-error factor were on a completely different level— one that never felt like work. And the memory of it still reverberating inside of me - in dreams - months after the experience. And it was all connected to how Alberto conducted a work session, and how actors responded to his approach, whether 'sitting' at a table reading the play or up on our feet.
Whatever I knew about ‘commedia,’ or thought I knew (before working with Alberto), was largely instinctual. Alberto provided the historical, application-based, embodied context and framing. In fact, the play we worked on in Rome in '85-'86—the five-hour-plus marathon divided into three separate parts/performances during the week but presented as one on weekends—centred on the story of two commedia actors during a time in history when masks were being discarded in favor of bare-faced (dramatic) acting and the challenges this unmasking posed for career commedia performers. In the show, the characters of the commedia actors not only had to face an imaginary audience—'played' by the real audience—without masks, but they also had to resist the temptation to default into comedy and make the audience laugh. It was a fantastic premise. A comedy about actors who, in order to survive as actors, could no longer be funny. Alberto was passionately interested in the history of performance, its evolution, and its impact on the actor - and audience. (I remember him telling me that historically, Italians had not done as good a job at recording and archiving the evolution of acting/commedia as the French.)
I remember the first reading of "A Modo Suo" in Toronto in 1990. Alberto was the first to discuss/review the play (which I had written) with the actors. They were surprised by how well he understood the play (dramaturgically) and how he and I could finish each other’s sentences, as if we had talked at length about the play, its content, style, etc., when in truth, we had never discussed any of it beforehand. Once Alberto had agreed to co-direct, we didn’t talk about the play until he arrived in Toronto and we began rehearsals.
Alberto discussed theatre and acting mainly through the work. It was always an on-your-feet process. Like a musician who expresses themselves through a series of notes and chords, and the spaces 'in-between', he spoke through the craft and acting "mechanisms" as embodied by the actors—in the moment. He was never in a rush to reach a destination; instead, he enjoyed the process of striving toward it. I have yet to meet an actor who worked with him who didn’t recognize the value in that.
Given Italy’s rich tradition in commedia dell’arte, one might think Alberto was one of many. No, he was a significant cut above. Those who worked with him immediately recognized this.
His unique knack as a director and teacher lay in the simplicity of his craft. However, it was his incredible dedication to hard work and vast toolset that made it appear effortless.
Alberto never shunned visual aesthetics, and his admiration for Robert Lepage's work and talent spoke to that—though Lepage is an exception. Had Alberto been given a large state theatre to run, I'm sure he would have loved experimenting with visual aesthetics. However, born into an era that increasingly saw directing as a discipline positioned apart from and above acting, relying on all the accoutrements of theatre where actors were just one component, Alberto created theatre by and with the actor. Like someone in the middle of nowhere who knows how to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together, all Alberto needed to create theatre was an empty space—indoors or outdoors—with actors and enough light for everyone - including audience- to see one another. One candle and a couple of actors could provide a powerful visual aesthetic that was never imposed but emerged organically from the playing of the actors and their interaction with the audience.
In an era of 'auteur' directors, Alberto's work was subversive; it deviated from the established norm. It was necessary work for actors, albeit perhaps inconvenient for the institutional settings and directors and artistic directors who thrived (and still thrive) within it.
Alberto brought the theatre in theatre to life – through the actor - and justified why it’s called theatre.
And though Alberto believed that the stage was the actor's natural habitat, playing on it—in whatever form the stage took, inhabiting the space, had to be earned moment to moment. That was huge - and not negotiable.
That death put an end to this singular talent and dedicated master craftsperson, who was still at the height of his artistic powers, is incomprehensible.
But even in death, he remains a teacher with few peers. He will always be a vital teacher and mentor to me.
If I have a hard time saying I will miss him, it's because I have a hard time accepting that he’s gone.
Too soon.