VICTORIA LAUTMAN: Interior designers tend to have defined, recognizable styles. Can the same be said for set designers, and for you in particular?
JOHN PAOLETTI: By right, you’re not supposed to be able to identify any individual style when you see a set, and I always thought it would be impossible to come into a theater and recognize that it’s a John Paoletti. But in the past three or four years, more and more people say they can always tell my scenery. It gripes me, but then I noticed that I can identify the work of my colleagues, too. So I guess people do have certain styles. But it’s really not desirable in this business because ultimately, no one wants to be pigeonholed.
Think of an actor being typecast: It limits job opportunities, and, creatively, you want access to as broad a range of work as possible. It’s terrible if someone thinks, “Oh, you can’t possibly do ‘Long Day’s Journey into Night’ and ‘She Always Said, Pablo.’ ” I can and I have.
VL: Is the profession subject to the same kinds of trends as the interior design world? Is there any give-and-take?
JP: I find there’s a lot of overlap in general. Most set designers rely on shelter magazines because so many interior decorators are doing wonderful things. One example was in the late ’70s and ’80s when it seemed as though the loft industrial spaces of New York’s Soho went directly into the theater. The style translated so well to stage, and the result was tons of shows that hinged on that look.
But set designers, like interior designers, go through moods. One year I might do things that are very monochromatic, minimal and cerebral, like a painter in a particular period. I’ll want to push that one thought all the way, if the director can buy into it, and then head off on some other course the next year.
This is true for interior designers, too, who might switch from monochrome one season to a look that’s all damask and gold and dripping pearls the next time around. And they might very well find some inspiration in a creative stage set, with over-scaled objects or unusual patterns mixed together that would translate well into a home design. I suppose the biggest difference between the professions is that my set is made of particleboard, it’ll come down in six weeks, and my audience changes daily. In “real” life, it all has to last, needs to be well-detailed, and the audience-namely, the owner-has got to live with it every day.
VL: Would a good set designer make a good interior designer, and vice versa?
JP: Not necessarily, because in the theater there’s only one view, so everything can be arranged for that view, with the audience all out front, or sometimes in the round where there can be no walls. But in a home, it all has to work from hundreds of angles, which would be harder for a set designer to work with. Similarities lie in the desires of the client or director.
In theater and home design, clients may not have any real idea how something should look. They might have only a general impression or know how they want it to feel. I’ve had directors say one word to me as the starting point, like “blue” or “wood,” and I’m sure that’s true for decorators, too. Then it’s up to us to read the client’s mind and fill in the blanks.
On the other hand, an interior designer does leave a signature style or footprint behind and has the luxury of time to work with. A set designer tries to erase the footprint, and only gets about two months for the whole project, with working drawings going to the shop after four weeks. The date of the opening night is non-negotiable!
VL: Do any designers cross over from the interior design world into theater design?
JP: Sometimes, and it can be successful, but in my opinion on a strictly case-by-case basis. It’s also true for artists, like Red Grooms or David Hockney, who have designed for the stage. It can work, or not. The bottom line is that theater is a collaborative art, and unless everyone is singing the same song or tugging the same boat, nothing’s going to move anywhere, and you have to compromise. That can be difficult if you’re not used to it.
VL: I’ve heard that some set designers avoid projects involving domestic interiors. How do you feel about it?
JP: I like designing interiors if they’re treated almost like another character in the show rather than just another room from a museum or shelter magazine. That’s just not a lot of fun-it has to be more conceptual or say something creatively. For instance, a play like “You Can’t Take It With You” involves a house that’s described very specifically. None of the furniture matches, the family collects specific things and it’s all very eclectic and funny, but there’s still room to interpret the design and bring in ideas no one has tried before.
But when the background is meant to be just that and nothing else, like in “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” you can’t stray too far creatively. The house isn’t an important component and can’t interfere with the characters, who are basically confined to a Victorian room. All productions of it are naturalistic in order to hold the characters together, and too much messing around would just jar the audience.
VL: What’s an example of a conceptual home on stage?
JP: I just designed a set for a period English play called “Angel Street,” which is famous as the basis of the old movie “Gaslight.” It, too, unfolds in a Victorian room, which in this case is supposed to be oppressive and something of a jail, with walls and a staircase.
I designed a grid of gas-piping, suspended a Victorian cornice and used enormous paintings and doors seen through translucent fabric, all to suggest the room itself and the life that continued beyond it-nothing was blatantly spelled out. Now, that’s challenging. But in order to create a successful suggestion of space, a designer has to know what a real room is like, what it takes to support a wall, what’s a standard window size and how far apart the windows are. We have to know periods, fabrics, colors, lights, materials-the same information as any interior designer. Even though what I design might be made from papier-mache, it’s got to look like wrought iron.
VL: That raises a good question about your furniture and fabric resources. What are they-the Merchandise Mart, antiques stores, flea markets?
JP: I don’t need or have any time to visit the Mart, but I keep my eyes open everywhere. I’ll see things in magazines; friends in the business will send me new samples, like some material made of metal mesh, whatever. It might not be good for me, but it’ll make me think how it could be faked with a Xerox machine or whatever’s on hand. Furniture I get wherever I can, but a lot is fabricated and it’s all handled by the prop person. Someone like Ed Bevans, at Steppenwolf, is fantastic. I’ll just give him the dimensions and descriptions, and he takes such care creating the piece that it’s as good as or better than the original. I can have tremendous freedom this way-it’s like living out your wildest furniture fantasies-something that I imagine a lot of interior designers get to do.
VL: So where do you go, what do you look at for inspiration?
JP: I’m a visual pack rat and grab whatever I can, wherever I can. But I do look at fine art a lot because you see the real thing in paintings and rooms of the period. By now I’ve studied up on Russia in the 1920s, the English 18th Century, all the moderns, and every period has had an impact. I know the Thorne Rooms at the Art Institute by heart, I used to visit them so much. But for inspiration, there’s also nature, writing, design trends-it’s all part of the mix.
VL: With all your experience in designing sets, are you more judgmental when you visit people’s homes? Are there any do’s and don’t’s?
JP: First of all, it seems as though the don’t’s of this year become the do’s of tomorrow.
But the one thing I really hate to see is people living in a way they’re uncomfortable with, that in some way doesn’t reflect them.
A home really is your castle. It’s your own personal scenery, and it should be the way you want it and no one else. What I do in the theater is for a mass audience and I want them to “get it” right away. But in a home, everything should be about who lives there, not to impress or satisfy others. And ultimately, there’s no other “do and don’t” but that.
