F. Murray Abraham: A Company Memo on Sharing Offices with Ethan Coen

About the author:
F. Murray Abraham hasn’t had to spend much time in a cubicle over the course of his nearly 50 years on stage and screen, but that doesn’t mean the Academy Award-winning actor, best known for dramatic turns in the big screen’s Amadeus and Broadway’s Angels in America and Mauritius, is any less qualified to head the ensemble cast of Atlantic Theater Company’s production of Offices. In this rat-race-driven night of comedic one-acts by fellow Oscar winner Ethan Coen, Abraham takes on roles ranging from a company bigwig to a foul-mouthed bum. The production reunites the actor with Coen, director Neil Pepe and actors Joey Slotnick and Mary McCann, all of whom worked together last season on the scribe’s much-extended stage debut, Almost an Evening. Though he may never have had to punch in from nine to five, Abraham is clearly relishing the chance to suit up and take on the bizarre universe of office workers, especially with the Almost an Evening reunion going on behind the scenes. We asked the articulate actor to recount his trip the “office” so far—and give us a little insight into a notoriously press-shy writer that performers can’t say enough good things about.

Time is one of the essential differences between film, television, and theater. In film, it’s scarce; in TV, it’s non-existent; in theater, it’s as much time as it takes. Every single time is different. Not only that, on stage, you get to do the whole thing, start to finish, eight times a week, with an audience telling you what works. And more important, what doesn’t.

I imagine the luxury of adjusting a script while the show is running must be seductive to a filmmaker like Ethan Coen. But the sacrifice he has to make for this luxury is extreme. He must hand over control of his work to, god forbid, actors. No longer are they strips of film that he can paste together exactly the way he wants. They run around all by themselves and do any damn thing that comes into their heads. I respect writers, almost to the point of reverence, but I have equal respect for my instincts some might call them “temptations,” but I prefer “inspirations,” what the hell. During a rehearsal the other day I started barking. I don’t know where it came from, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Ethan did too, so we kept it.

I think Ethan likes actors. His presence is always supportive and never intimidating or oppressive, which is not true of all writers. Many have difficulty letting go, and it’s awfully hard to rehearse with the writer throwing up in the back of the theater. Ethan Coen, on the other hand, is a good laugher, sincerely relishing the jokes and deliveries, which is so reassuring when you’ve repeated a punch line for the hundredth time. “Repetition,” by the way, is French for rehearsal, and much more accurate than “re-hear.”

The simple act of repeating until the words and actions are second nature enables the actor to focus on the life of his character rather than the lines. And the goal of this repetition is to achieve the illusion of never having said the words before. Ironically, with film, you can actually capture that ‘“first time” without the endless repetition—so, why then do all that heavy lifting for the theater? Because there are things that happen on stage that can only happen on stage, because it’s different every single time and because there’s nothing like Opening Night.

But mostly because it’s a chance to get together for a party.

Howard Hawks said he made films because he enjoyed it; he would gather together people he liked and have a good time. He pointed out that having a good time didn’t guarantee a good film, but neither did having a bad time. I feel that way about the theater, and I believe it opens the way to better work. I haven’t had this much fun since A Midsummer Night’s Dream 25 years ago. And it has happened twice, with each of the two companies that Neil Pepe and Ethan put together for Almost an Evening and Offices, so it’s not a coincidence. I’m hoping this is an indication of a change in attitude about the theater, a reminder that, after all, what we’re being asked to do is play, right? It doesn’t have to be depressing to be good. Tragedy tomorrow, comedy tonight.