Harrumph

I don’t think the word “harrumph” is in the dictionary. However, I will pause in writing this to log onto Merriam-Webster’s Web site to verify that claim. I often stop while in the middle of writing to check on some small detail: it’s part of my process.

I was totally wrong. That’s also a part of my process. As it turns out, Merriam-Webster defines “harrumph” in the following ways:

1. To clear the throat in a pompous way.

2. To comment disapprovingly

Over the last ten years of writing, producing and performing live theater in the Twin Cities, I have encountered a shocking amount of harrumph.

I don’t have a lot of formal education in theater arts. In college, I took Intro to Acting for Non-Acting majors. That’s it.

Harrumph.

The majority of work I do is comedic. I think of comedy as an art that is separate from but complimentary to the art of acting.

Harrumph.

I usually don’t have very much rehearsal time. I often perform in shows that I’m also directing. I always finish creating advertising materials before I finish writing the show itself. I look at my postcards and say, “Wow, this looks like a really good show. I better work really hard to make sure the show lives up to these postcards.”

Big old harrumph.

Having worked at established theaters and been a part of the more traditional process, I realize my process is not always ideal. I’d love to have more time, money, and perspective. But I’ve never been willing to trade the excitement of creating something new and putting it in front of other human beings simply so I can use the traditional process. I’m not convinced that time and money always equals quality. I’d love to be able to pause and look that up on Merriam-Webster to see if I’m wrong. Instead, I’ll cope with the doubt.

In my experience of the traditional process, there is little room for doubt. Things are done the way they are done. They are done that way for a reason. I often understand and agree with those reasons—sometimes I don’t. The times I have questioned the process I have been harrumphed.

For example, I once asked if during the curtain call we would acknowledge the tech people in the booth. Harrumph! No, we don’t do that here. I felt very stupid, as though I’d just used my dessert fork to take a bite of my salad. How tacky of me! I must remember that the theater is a time-honored institution with an elaborate system of etiquette. Now that I’ve got that straight in my mind, let’s get back to working on this inspiring show about freedom, individuality, and this character who made a big change in the world because he/she dared to do something different.

And now I, too, am guilty of harrumphing.

My point is this: Rules are necessary. Structure and tradition created out of years of experience is a very good thing. But too often the reasons for the rules get lost, and we value the rules for the rules’ sake. We defend our allegiance to the rules by clearing our throats in a pompous way and commenting disapprovingly, “That’s not the way we do it in the theater.” All of which is so often in direct contrast to the stories we are using the process to tell.

At the risk of being soundly and heartily harrumphed, I think our process could learn a lot by watching our shows.

Harrumph. ❦