Three Uses of the Knife: On the Nature and Purpose of Drama

This reads like a weekend brainstorm into the dictaphone, or party-chatter with metropolitan friends. First glance - you've got the large font, wide-margins and generous line-spacing to pad these notes out into a book. Then you notice that nearly every paragraph includes several parenthetical thoughts (like I just had another way-outer to squeeze in here, okay?), plus quoted after-thoughts (sorry, couldn't find "the right words" just then, you know?) - and foreign phrases swept in from every part of the old country - like this gem: "This pronunciamento can be taken as a jejune promise". Footnoted brain-sprinkles complete the overall intellectual profile of this work.

The reader doesn't get any help to piece it all together. Eventually, you might suspect Mamet has something to say about the "three acts" of theatre (no other dramatic structures apparently exist). Mamet dips here and there into the function of drama, his bold thesis being that theatre is magic. Theatre, he declares, is a place of wonder, and no place for popular entertainment or politics. We are to walk out of theatres with "cleansing awe", knowing we are "sinful and worthless".

Mamet never considers any ideas apart from his own. He draws heavily on the Old Testament and a primer on Freud for back-up, but no theatre theorists ever get a mention - apart from Brecht, with a single word, namely: "problematic".

Most of "Three Uses" is actually nothing to do with theatre. It's an outpouring of quotables about statesmanship, the "Information Age", the psychology of the masses, the causes of gambling ... all argued with arrogant inconsistency: Mamet rails against "centralisation by the body politic", and then derides all manner of extremism; he argues against "avant garde nonsense" with absurd phrases like "In endorsing a blank canvas, or the Domino Theory, the individual becomes like a King Canute". For Mamet, "good art" is no more than The Bible, Shakespeare and Bach, plus an American work - "Death of a Salesman", of course. There are no surprises in the ideas, however much they're dressed to impress with showy associations and stiff fundamentalism. Too bad that the result is more like a freshman's freewheeling weblog on "life", than anything from the likes of Brook or Grotowski on "the theatre". American critics equating it with such works is no more than chauvinism.

One use of the knife Mamet forgot was editing. Then he might have been able to communicate something useful here - into 3 or 4 pages. But there's no holding back the primary process exhibitionist. You have to get out the knife and do the editing yourself.

Oh, yes, the knife. Nice title, and it's the substance of a few lines near the end, which Mamet cares - and seems only able - to explain by offering more curly metaphor: "the knife is the dramatist's bass line". Meaning? Dramatists are misanthropes who basically want to kill their audiences? Who knows, but the meandering content and grandiose style of this work sure suggests Mamet's fundamental contempt for the reader.

I just got this book this morning and these are preliminary reactions.
First of all, the content rocks!
Mamet suggestivey points out how we dramatize our lives in our banal exchanges with each other about impersonal things like the weather. In doing so we endow our lives with significance. The insight reminds me of how charged the world once was when I was in love for the first time. I am sure that the access that this small volume gives to an interesting mind repay reading and reading. This is one of those books that makes you think and makes you feel clever for the thinking the thoughts it guides you to.
Unfortunately, I find the poor word-processed typography is distracting. One line has the the initial capital of a sentence squeezed up against the period of the preceding one. The next line has wide open spaces between the words. Paragraph after paragraph finishes with the dangling ends of hyphenated words. I would rather pay a dollar more for a clean view of a remarkable mind.
Surely a respected publishing company can do better than just feed the author's data file to a poorly automatic compositing application and then print the results unperused by human eye?

While Mamet's booklet is essentially an exposition of opinions with little or no discourse, it is extremely thought provoking and provides ample fuel for thinking about drama - and art in general - as lying at the edge of reason.

In a treatise that mirrors the three act structure he discusses, Mamet eloquently puts forth the idea that much of political drama, by instructing us what to think and feel, is mere melodrama and that "the theatre exists to deal with problems of the soul, with the mysteries of human life, not with its quotidian calamities." He assails avant-garde artists for taking "refuge in nonsense" and electing themselves "superior to reason," yet also criticizes the "hard-bitten rationalist who rails against religious tradition, against the historical niceties, against ritual large and small."

"Three Uses of the Knife" is a book that will be read quickly, but will stick to the back of your mind for sometime afterwards.

Mamet is a playwright savant. He finds sanity in an industry where sanity has no right to exist, and in this slender, essential volume, he points out various truths about not only the nature of drama, but of human experience.

It's rare that I regret buying a book, but I'm not happy that I spent money on this one.

I don't argue that Mamet is a good playwright. Glengarry Glen Ross is brilliant, and American Buffalo isn't too bad, either. But reading this book makes me wish Mamet would stick to playwriting and not impose his narrow ideas on others.

Essentially, the book oversimplifies matters in astonishing ways. For instance, Mamet dismisses the American musical out of hand. Many successful playwrights cringe at the thought of watching The Music Man or Kiss Me Kate one more time, but does his comment apply to more intense productions like Cabaret? That's a major distinction that Mamet fails to make, and it's not the only one. Also, lumping together all political theater as an automatic failure, and excusing Brecht from the rest by claiming that Brecht didn't know what he was talking about when he called his own theater political? The logic escapes me.

As far as Mamet's self-aggrandizement goes-- well, I can't say I didn't know it was coming. But that he lets it interfere with the construction of solid arguments is troublesome. For a book on how to construct or read a play, look at Louis Catron's book, or even go back to Stanislavski or Chekhov. They will be much more helpful to the working writer.