EN GARDE! TEACHER MAKES POINT OF STAGE COMBAT

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! The sound of Errol Flynn or Douglas Fairbanks valiantly bashing swords--and the vision of them leaping, lunging, posturing--is the basis of most people’s appreciation of theatrical fighting.

“It’s what audiences expect,” said fight choreographer Erik Fredricksen, whose skills are currently in evidence in Nicholas Rowe’s 18th-Century drama, “The Fair Penitent” (at the Los Angeles Theatre Center through Saturday).

“In those old movies, what you’re really seeing is bastardized saber fencing: mostly whacking away. I think, as a fight director, you’ve got to give audiences an exciting fight, but one which also--except for some theatrical license--uses the weapon the way it was intended to be used.”

He claims the technical skill of the performer is not as important as the choreography. “Of course, it (fencing) is an essentially athletic endeavor. Certainly if someone has had some dance or gymnastics or Tai Chi or karate, that’ll help. But they don’t have to be a fencer at all. In fact, it may help not to be a competitive fencer, because they’ve been taught the thing very small and fast and economical--whereas theatrically, you have to take that instinct and enlarge it.

“Anybody with some training could do a good fight scene--that is, if they’re good at acting. Sometimes a good actor who isn’t that good physically will be able to fight well, because he’s willing to invest so much (conviction) in it. The job of the choreographer is to make sure he has a safe frame within which he can invest that feeling and desire and acting.”

Fredricksen traces his own theatrical commitment to acting days at Ohio University, followed by a stint at the Guthrie Theatre and many years of regional work--as both actor and fight director. After moving West in 1985, he’s now at CalArts, teaching acting, fencing and stage combat.

Although such studies are often regarded as passe, Fredricksen is firm: “They should be part of any conservatory. I’m always amazed at the ‘professional’ actors who’ve had no training in this area.”

He realizes that it is often by choice. “Someone is cast playing Laertes and they need the job and they do it, but they really don’t want to fight.” As a result, his own game plan must be adapted.

“It can be your favorite series of moves, but if they can’t execute it, it’s no good. If they really don’t want to do it, if it doesn’t feel right, you have to honor that feeling. I understand that as an actor. If you insist on squeezing it in or fooling them into doing it, you’re asking for trouble down the road.”

How likely is injury?

“Whenever you have tempered steel, even if it’s not sharp, it doesn’t take much to puncture an eyeball, have a sword break in your face. Any blade can break. So as a choreographer, you have them extend thrusts and cuts as opposed to just hitting the blades together. And you map out every move.”

Fredricksen has found that to be the happy rule among most of his pupils (including Christopher Plummer, Frank Langella and Sam Waterston), but the occasional bad apple--an irresponsible or sloppy performer--has left him wary.

“There was a production of ‘Hamlet’ in Washington, D.C., where I felt compelled, upon leaving, to not only leave a copy of the fight, but a list of warnings and rules to the actors: such as ‘There are no cuts choreographed across the face. Any cuts that occur are improvements you have made.’ I gave that to the actors, directors and stage managers. In the lawsuit-happy world we live in, someone could hit someone in the face and sue the choreographer.”

En garde!