The first couple days of Fringe I am not involved. I am rehearsing like a madwoman. It is a lot of work to memorize one hour worth of text. Luckily the majority of the Shakespeare is in my head already. What’s not is soon learned, thanks to the rhythms of his text. I get it, but not word perfect. This is a disappointment to me, the perfectionist. I find that little words slip. The yous and thous sometimes get mixed up. And in this line is it will or shall? Hath/Doth/Does? Surprisingly, I find it’s harder to be perfect when you are memorizing multiple characters. Somehow it’s a little easier to keep track a single character’s reasons from flipping from thou to you, than it is to keep track of five characters. But I work really hard on it. When characters say similar things, it’s easier for them to get jumbled when you are speaking both versions. And with an hour-long show, there is a lot of text floating around in my head.
The words I am writing myself are easy to learn. Mostly because I don’t have to get those perfect. The quotes from people in the past are difficult, particularly the non-contemporaries. The writing from the Victorians in particular, is complex, with ornate structure, and multiple phrases, making for some rather long sentences.
Victoria and I communicated with our savvy tech, Sean Eustis, over email in the week leading up to the Festival. We told him want we think we needed, and he let us know that he could do exactly that. He even had access to a projector, and all the necessary equipment.
Those final days before opening were nerve-wracking. Would I remember the lines? Would anyone see it? Would it even work? Would I still have a voice after giving a walking tour on Friday and another on Saturday? But soon Sunday was here.
Sunday, July 10
Our tech is at 10:30am. The space – The Bedroom. We meet our venue manager, Terry, who seems great, and his equally great partner in crime, Robert, who is managing The Redrum, the other space in that building. These guys with aplomb put up with my sarcastic “charm” for two weeks. We get started a little late due to parking issues. Thankfully the rest of the festival parking and transportation remains on our sides.
Our set is small. It has a dagger and a coil of rope, both conveniently borrowed from our previous production of The Two Gentlemen of Verona. There is the ever-important vial, which I’ve had in possession for months, due to needing it for publicity photos. The largest piece is the bench, which comes from Victoria’s furniture collection. I worry about possible damage, but it returns to her house unscathed two weeks later.
As is always the case with tech, one never gets done as much as one wants. It’s all pretty much spent setting up the technical elements. Which I suppose is really the point. But we actors always want to run the show!
Where do we put the projector? Here I walk in the way of it, there audience members’ heads pop up as shadows. We have to adjust the text size of the words it is projecting. Then we have to figure out the lights and the cues. The Bedroom has an inordinate amount of lighting instruments for a space that small, but I’ve been warned not to complain about it, as lots of lights are better than no lights at all, which is the state where the Festival started.
We go through the lighting changes. We have the Shakespeare scenes – some in day, some in night. Day Wash. Night Wash. We have what we affectionately call “Scholar Wash” for all the parts in between. Before we know it, it is 1pm, and our tech time is over. One hour to show.
Quick! Eat! Bathroom! Stretch! What are my lines again??????
2pm comes, and I must walk out onstage, begin “I have a faint cold fear that thrills through my veins” and take the ride.
I survive. I don’t lose my place. I have a couple moments where the corner of your brain separated from your acting says, “Wait. Is that what happens next? Did I skip something?” But I turn out to always be in the right place. I have a couple people I know in the audience, but also people who I don’t know, including some big Fringers. My former roommate Karen Beriss is in the audience with her mom. My friend Kerry drives from Towson to try and make the show. She doesn’t make it in before the doors close, but thankfully decides to wait until around so that we can still hang out. I more than survive the play. Some people stand to applaud.
My heart is beating and I am covered in sweat. Victoria, Kerry, and I head over to the tent to chat (and drink!). While I’m there three patrons who were at the performance approach me and say how much they liked it. One is David Kessler, the man who will be the 2011 Fringe Fanatic. I had met David at previous theatre events, and he saw me perform in last year’s Fringe Festival. I run into him throughout the next two weeks, and enjoy finding out what he has seen and what he has loved. His favorite seems to be iKill, a work getting a lot of buzz, but one I am unable to see.
These positive audience responses mean that What, Lamb! What, Ladybird! works as a piece of theatre! Whew! But now I have a week before my next performance, and adrenaline to spare.
Being a full time artist, and knowing that I will lose money on this production, I cannot buy tickets to see all my friends’ shows. Of the 124, I believe I know people involved with at least 30 of them, possibly more. I discover that you can sign up to volunteer with the Fringe Festival. Every shift you work yields you a free ticket. Score! I initially start with four shifts, but quickly add more.
Monday, July 11
Working. Resting. The first review arrives. It’s a bad one, though not the kind you can be upset about, or take personally. The writer likes my acting, but misses the entire point of the piece. She seems to come in with a preconceived notion of who Juliet is (she dismisses her as a “lustful teenager”), and is unable to let it go. When a review is more about how silly Juliet is, and less about what you are actually doing in your piece, what can you really do? Though I do wonder, if she missed it so entirely, maybe it means the piece isn’t working theatrically. But everyone else who saw that first performance got it. And then I remember hearing a local actor say he didn’t like Venus in Fur because he doesn’t enjoy plays about theatre people. I am reassured by the fact that what is obvious is some is not so obvious to others. (If you don't know the play, Venus in Fur takes place at an audition, but this is only the most surface level. It really has absolutely nothing to do with theatre people.) I think secretly I am more bothered by her negative characterization of Juliet, than by her not liking the play. In my head I write essays rebutting how she sees Juliet, supported with evidence by the text. But of course, I’ve actually already written that essay. And I’m performing it. So there it is.
Tuesday, July 12
I come to the Fringe straight from some teaching work. I need to pick up some food before my first volunteer shift! I fondly recall the apple and cheddar panini that I ate several times last year. But what’s this? It’s not on the board! I asked at the bar, they tell me they can make that, no problem.
I am working box office for Losing My Religion, a solo performance, being performed in my venue. I spend more time talking to / annoying Terry and Robert. I get to meet the performer, Seth Lepore. He’s charming, personable, cute… and married. ;-) I run into him throughout the festival. I see him in the tent chatting people up. He has a list of popular shows and when they let out so that he can hand out postcards. I watch him and learn about going up to strangers and selling your show. I don’t make it to his, but he’ll next be performing at the Minnesota Fringe Festival.
After the volunteer shift, I’m hanging out in the tent to see Karen Beriss et. al. perform in the free Clown Cabaret show.
I notice the apple and cheddar panini is now on the board! It remains there for the rest of the festival! My work here is done.
After a delightful Clown Cabaret, I talk to Karen about the show. Whether the projections and the scholars names work, and the switching between parts. She says it all does, and it doesn’t bother her not having more information about the people I’m quoting. Her main note: Lose the noisy plastic water bottle. She gives me a plastic goblet to drink from for the remainder of Fringe.
Wednesday, July 13
I have another volunteer shift. But at this point I really can’t remember what show it is for… From the schedule I can deduce that it was probably for The Morphine Diaries, which is also at Terry and Robert’s venues. Those guys have a collection of colored sharpies and a bucket of rocks, and we pass the time making art.
I hang around the tent awaiting the 9:45pm showing of Cabaret XXX. I know 75% of them: Karen Lange, Allyson Harkey, and Toni Rae Brotons. I think I met all these ladies on twitter first, before in real life. Their show rocks. They basically are playing scorned lovers singing angry songs about their exes. And all four performers have great voices. And they are backed up by a wonderful band. They give out tattoos and condoms and t-shirts. I take a lesson from Seth and talk to the people sitting near me. I tell them about my show. They tease me when I take a condom, in mock shock, “Why, Juliet!” The man at the table gives me his as well, saying he can’t use it because it’s probably too small. The two women with him look mortified, but also amused.
Friday, July 15
I slip back to the Fringe Festival for more Clown Cabaret. My friend Lindsay joins me, and we get to catch up a bit. We head to Busboys & Poets with the clowns for dinner. Then I remember my other Fringe staple, the Apple and Gorgonzola sandwich. Yum. With sweet potato fries!
Saturday, July 16
A very full day. I am volunteering from about 10:45 to 3:30. I do three box office shifts, but I’m not sure I can even guess what shows they were for. I think A Year of Living Dangerously, again with Terry and Robert. Then I think King Lear in the apothecary. There I run into Bill, a local theatre performer who saw my opening performance. He tells me it was the best college lecture he had ever scene. It’s a compliment, and I know what he means. Then I think it’s Patrick & Me at the air-conditioned Goethe Institute! The venue manager there, Kate, is a lot of fun to talk to, with a healthy appreciation of Shakespeare.
I take off from volunteering and decide to go see A Piece of Pi at the Apothecary. It is fantastic. Three male clowns who have very much honed their types and their relationship to each other, perform a series of physical comedy clown skits. They take juggling tricks and other known scenarios and twist them with clowning. One of them is “weak” and skinny. One is “the strongest man in the world!” One is quieter, and maybe not the brightest. They are wonderful.
I get on the bus and hurry over to Spooky Universe on 16th to see Emily Morrison’s But Love is My Middle Name. It’s a lovely piece as she takes us through her stories of love and not love, singing the songs that defined her life. I hope she can make it to my piece, as I see connections between them. (She does, and sees them too). Fun Fact: Emily and I once auditioned for a production of Romeo and Juliet together, and neither was cast.
When it ends, I have to rush back to the tent. The bus isn’t coming on time, so I walk. It takes me exactly the 25 minutes I have before Hotel Fuck. I’m familiar with most of this cast. The delightful Frank Britton everyone knows. I know James and Gabe, and I know who Jay and Christopher are. I’m not sure I can describe the piece, other than to say that the title accurately prepares you for the experience. I feel like part of Fringe is seeing at least one crazy, wacky piece, perhaps with nudity, and this year, Hotel Fuck is that piece for me.
I carry my script with me everywhere, and whenever there is down time, I read over my lines.
That’s the first week! More soon!
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
What, Lamb! What, Ladybird!
This has been an incredible summer. I have not been able to blog as much as I wanted. Okay, I haven’t been able to blog at all. I’m disappointed because I wanted to better document starting my own theatre company and launching with The Two Gentlemen of Verona. I’ll come back to that in a later post, because now I want to talk about the Capital Fringe Festival while the experience is still fresh in my mind.
Throughout last fall, Romeo and Juliet is on my mind. While living in DC, I’ve auditioned for the role of Juliet three times, and not gotten cast. The funding for a production with a director that wants me to play the role does not come through. This is irking me. I’m starting to feel the time run out. I remember reading David Tennant say that he thought once he hit 30, his chance for Romeo would be over. He got his in. At 27, I see that 30 approaching. Though there is no obvious rule about it, it seems to make sense. To play Romeo, and Juliet, one has to be old enough to handle the text, to feel what they are going through, but young enough to carry off teenage impetuousness and innocence.
I spend a lot of time talking about it with others. My roommate Karen says we should mount our own production. We talk about what we could do with it. Small cast? All women? Maybe just three of us, or four of us. It sounds like a good idea, but then we realize that Joe Calarco has already written that play.
The Capital Fringe Festival keeps coming up in the process of my discussions with her and others. The perfect opportunity to mount some sort of production. But what sort of production should it be? It needs a reason for existing other than the fact that I want to play Juliet. I begin to play with the text. How do I make a piece about Juliet, from her perspective?
I talk to other friends about it, and somewhere the notion of a one-woman show comes up. How to do it? How to make it about Juliet? I think about Kate Norris’s one woman Hamlet: Now I Am Alone. Is this piece like that, but with Romeo and Juliet? Am I just doing a short version of the play where I play all the parts? Do I just do Juliet’s scenes? I read the play again, but I skip all the time she’s not on stage. I’m surprised by the fact that the entire plot remains intact. I hit upon an idea where her scenes are the main through line and when Juliet hears about something happening, parts of that scene come in. But this seems less like a one person thing, and more that it needs multiple actors. And the piece needs one concept, not two.
I keep playing, I keep talking to people, I get frustrated messing with the text. I worship Shakespeare, so I don’t want to do all this crazy stuff with his text. I just want to do his play! I’m close to giving up on the idea entirely. On New Year’s Day I have coffee with a friend, Jessica. I had come home from a party that morning and found my first wrinkle. I have a slight freak out, not about getting old, but about not being able to play Juliet. I haven’t worked since September. I need to create a project. But creating work on your own is hard. I’m frustrated from not acting. I have some things going on in my personal life. I have graduate school auditions to prepare for. I’ve just taken the GRE. Lots of stress. And I need theatre. I talk to my friend, a fellow actor and director, and she tells me to do it. Do a one-woman show in Fringe about Juliet. Just do it. The only caveat from her is not to name it something stupid. “Like what?” I ask. “Like ‘Kickin’ it Solo with Juliet!’” she answers.
I am still conflicted. The application is due January 7th. I write it, but I’m not sure. But I can’t stand not acting. I have to do something. I realize I’m also scared by the prospect of a solo piece. Well then, I think, you have to do it. I make myself mail in application.
I get into the festival, but I still don’t know exactly what I’m doing. What will this piece be? Who the hell will I get to direct it? Can I do this on my own?
I don’t have to. On January 11th, my life changes. I meet Victoria Reinsel at a callback for The Comedy of Errors at the Virginia Shakespeare Festival. I am given the side of Adriana. She, Luciana. I know it makes sense that I am reading Adriana. Sass and strength I can pull off. But really the harder part is Luciana. We read the scene in the side hallway before auditioning. “Oh.” I think. “This woman knows what she is doing.” We audition. At some point during the scene I slap her ass as a sign of sisterly affection. I apologize afterwards, after all it’s a little personal for someone you just met. She laughs and says, “No, that was great!” Now when we meet people, she tells them we met when I slapped her ass in an audition.
It’s the best audition with a stranger I have ever had. We exchange cards and 2 days later we meet for coffee. We talk for hours. We agree on seemingly everything when it comes to Shakespeare. She’s worked for the American Shakespeare Center, and attended the MFA program at Mary Baldwin, one of the graduate schools I am applying to (and where I will eventually decide to go).
In short, we keep getting together, keep talking theatre and life for hours, and at the end of February launch our own theatre company, Brave Spirits Theatre. We perform first in June with a six-actor production of The Two Gentlemen of Verona (but that’s a blog for another time).
In any case, I now have someone I can create theatre with, and I have a company to produce my Fringe play. Naturally, of course, producing, directing, and acting in Two Gents means my Fringe project doesn’t get as far as quickly as I would like. I watch July approach and am still unsure of the final form of my play.
Victoria and I sit down and I read through Juliet’s scenes. I already know that I want to start with her last soliloquy: “I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins / That almost freezes up the heat of life.” The question is, is it necessary to have Juliet’s death? Looking at the text, that scene belongs so much to Romeo. Juliet is awake for about five lines before she stabs herself. Plus, everyone knows what happens at the end. Is it needed to show it? Could I just end with the first few lines of the soliloquy that I perform at the beginning?
Victoria agrees with me that starting with the soliloquy is a great idea. And also that the death scene isn’t needed. But she also agrees with the little voice inside of me saying that simply doing Juliet’s scenes isn’t enough. She suggests maybe we connect the scenes with Juliet’s thoughts about what’s going on. That I write some connective materials. Something that we don’t hear from Shakespeare. Even if it is a simple as, “I never meant to hurt my family.”
This idea terrifies me. First of all, I am not a playwright. Second, to write something that has to stand up next to Shakespeare’s text seems an impossible task. I am incredibly nervous. Victoria tells me to journal as Juliet and see what comes out.
I’m scared, but I make myself do it. I surprise myself by coming up with some really interesting things. One section of it makes it into the final piece, the paragraph where Juliet (or I) comments on our first time giving sex with Romeo, prior to the Lark/Nightingale scene.
But as I’m journaling as Juliet, I also write down my own thoughts about things that happen in the play, about Juliet the character and how I relate to her. I write things that I have never admitted to anyone. When I hand the papers over to Victoria, I think I tell her that the second set is an “invented narrator,” not quite willing to admit some of my hidden feelings.
When we meet again, Victoria tells me that she really likes the stuff that I wrote as me and that we should explore that more.
So at this point I have a few things that I’ve written that I like, that I think have dramatic possibilities. And I know I want to focus on Juliet’s scenes. And I know I want to start with the potion soliloquy. But there is still some sort of connective thread that is missing. The only answer, when you have an approach like mine, is to spend a day at the Library of Congress.
I do so, planning to read and read and read about the play until some brilliant idea strikes me. Amazingly, this is exactly what happens. I sit down, with the statue of Shakespeare looming over my head, and search for Juliet in the catalog. I discover the following Subject listing: Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 --Characters --Women. I order everything in it that might talk about Juliet. When the librarian brings me books, she asks, “Are you going to be able to get through all this?” I am, because I don’t know what I’m looking for, and some of the books will quickly and clearly become not it.
I am already familiar with the series Players of Shakespeare, which has many interviews with well-known actors (mostly from the Royal Shakespeare Company) in which the actors talk about a specific role they play. I order all 6 volumes in order to find out whether anyone has spoken about Juliet.
While I’m waiting for those, I am flipping through other books and I discover the lynchpin. Helena Faucit’s On some of Shakespeare’s female characters. This book contains a series of letters written to a friend where Faucit waxes poetic about the roles she has played and what they have meant to her. Juliet is clearly the most dear to her, for she wrote twice as much on her as on any other character. It surprises me to find a Victorian actress so enthralled with Juliet. And Faucit was not the only one of the period to write about the character. I have found my starting place.
One reviewer of the final piece noted that as a modern woman, it was “wrong-headed” to look to the Victorians, as their conception of womanhood was so different than ours. Victorians, at least as we view them, have a very unprogressive, restrictive view of womanhood, based in the idea of femininity, charm, and obedience. (Though what history records versus what people thought in their hearts could be two very different things, and I often feel that we today are not really so different as those in the past, but again, that’s another topic.)
BUT – this is what makes it all the more remarkable that they would attach themselves to Juliet. If what we think of as the Victorian ideal was completely true, these women should have eviscerated Juliet. She talks back to and disobeys her parents. She has sexual feelings. She commits suicide. She speaks up and says what is on her mind, rather than merely doing what she is told. And these Victorian actresses worshipped her. I find that fascinating! (As a note, Shakespeare’s source is written much more as a cautionary tale – we are supposed to see in R and J’s death a punishment, or at least result of, their immodest behavior. Shakespeare’s text, however, does not judge these young lovers.)
I find quotes from actors and scholars, past and present. The piece quickly takes shape. I am quickly able to create a through-line. And it’s precisely what I find engaging. After all, actors have so frequently been ignored when it came to Shakespeare scholarship, something that has thankfully been changing in recent years. Of course, this is yet another reason why it is amazing to discover these documents actresses have left behind.
I’m still struggling with the form. I dream frequently about this play, which makes me all the more anxious. But one day in a fit of panic, when my brain will not shut off, I see in my head how the play should end. Helena Faucit’s writing allows me to start with the soliloquy, as I wanted to. And I realize the emotional place the play has to go to in order to end with it as well. But this time it’s not Juliet speak those lines, it’s me.
The question remains how to present these quotes? My brain tells me that I should project the names when I am quoting someone, thereby making it clear when I am speaking as myself, and when as someone else. How Moises Kaufman should the script be? Should I say the persons name before each quote? I think the projections are enough. How much like Gross Indecency should this be? Do I need to inhabit a character for each of these writers? Do I need to use accents???
We decide no. To just keep it simple.
I am a bundle of nerves when I hand the script to Victoria. I pace about the room as she reads over it. She comes to the final page. She looks up to me, nods, and says, "I like it."
The script is finished, at least for this incarnation. Three things are interwoven. Shakespeare’s text. Quotes from scholars and actors. My own opinions and memories. I have never seen a play like this. I have no idea whether it will work. I tell people it is halfway between a play and a paper. Will the play part work to support my thesis? Will the paper part be dramatically viable? We shall find out at the Capital Fringe Festival.
to be continued…
Throughout last fall, Romeo and Juliet is on my mind. While living in DC, I’ve auditioned for the role of Juliet three times, and not gotten cast. The funding for a production with a director that wants me to play the role does not come through. This is irking me. I’m starting to feel the time run out. I remember reading David Tennant say that he thought once he hit 30, his chance for Romeo would be over. He got his in. At 27, I see that 30 approaching. Though there is no obvious rule about it, it seems to make sense. To play Romeo, and Juliet, one has to be old enough to handle the text, to feel what they are going through, but young enough to carry off teenage impetuousness and innocence.
I spend a lot of time talking about it with others. My roommate Karen says we should mount our own production. We talk about what we could do with it. Small cast? All women? Maybe just three of us, or four of us. It sounds like a good idea, but then we realize that Joe Calarco has already written that play.
The Capital Fringe Festival keeps coming up in the process of my discussions with her and others. The perfect opportunity to mount some sort of production. But what sort of production should it be? It needs a reason for existing other than the fact that I want to play Juliet. I begin to play with the text. How do I make a piece about Juliet, from her perspective?
I talk to other friends about it, and somewhere the notion of a one-woman show comes up. How to do it? How to make it about Juliet? I think about Kate Norris’s one woman Hamlet: Now I Am Alone. Is this piece like that, but with Romeo and Juliet? Am I just doing a short version of the play where I play all the parts? Do I just do Juliet’s scenes? I read the play again, but I skip all the time she’s not on stage. I’m surprised by the fact that the entire plot remains intact. I hit upon an idea where her scenes are the main through line and when Juliet hears about something happening, parts of that scene come in. But this seems less like a one person thing, and more that it needs multiple actors. And the piece needs one concept, not two.
I keep playing, I keep talking to people, I get frustrated messing with the text. I worship Shakespeare, so I don’t want to do all this crazy stuff with his text. I just want to do his play! I’m close to giving up on the idea entirely. On New Year’s Day I have coffee with a friend, Jessica. I had come home from a party that morning and found my first wrinkle. I have a slight freak out, not about getting old, but about not being able to play Juliet. I haven’t worked since September. I need to create a project. But creating work on your own is hard. I’m frustrated from not acting. I have some things going on in my personal life. I have graduate school auditions to prepare for. I’ve just taken the GRE. Lots of stress. And I need theatre. I talk to my friend, a fellow actor and director, and she tells me to do it. Do a one-woman show in Fringe about Juliet. Just do it. The only caveat from her is not to name it something stupid. “Like what?” I ask. “Like ‘Kickin’ it Solo with Juliet!’” she answers.
I am still conflicted. The application is due January 7th. I write it, but I’m not sure. But I can’t stand not acting. I have to do something. I realize I’m also scared by the prospect of a solo piece. Well then, I think, you have to do it. I make myself mail in application.
I get into the festival, but I still don’t know exactly what I’m doing. What will this piece be? Who the hell will I get to direct it? Can I do this on my own?
I don’t have to. On January 11th, my life changes. I meet Victoria Reinsel at a callback for The Comedy of Errors at the Virginia Shakespeare Festival. I am given the side of Adriana. She, Luciana. I know it makes sense that I am reading Adriana. Sass and strength I can pull off. But really the harder part is Luciana. We read the scene in the side hallway before auditioning. “Oh.” I think. “This woman knows what she is doing.” We audition. At some point during the scene I slap her ass as a sign of sisterly affection. I apologize afterwards, after all it’s a little personal for someone you just met. She laughs and says, “No, that was great!” Now when we meet people, she tells them we met when I slapped her ass in an audition.
It’s the best audition with a stranger I have ever had. We exchange cards and 2 days later we meet for coffee. We talk for hours. We agree on seemingly everything when it comes to Shakespeare. She’s worked for the American Shakespeare Center, and attended the MFA program at Mary Baldwin, one of the graduate schools I am applying to (and where I will eventually decide to go).
In short, we keep getting together, keep talking theatre and life for hours, and at the end of February launch our own theatre company, Brave Spirits Theatre. We perform first in June with a six-actor production of The Two Gentlemen of Verona (but that’s a blog for another time).
In any case, I now have someone I can create theatre with, and I have a company to produce my Fringe play. Naturally, of course, producing, directing, and acting in Two Gents means my Fringe project doesn’t get as far as quickly as I would like. I watch July approach and am still unsure of the final form of my play.
Victoria and I sit down and I read through Juliet’s scenes. I already know that I want to start with her last soliloquy: “I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins / That almost freezes up the heat of life.” The question is, is it necessary to have Juliet’s death? Looking at the text, that scene belongs so much to Romeo. Juliet is awake for about five lines before she stabs herself. Plus, everyone knows what happens at the end. Is it needed to show it? Could I just end with the first few lines of the soliloquy that I perform at the beginning?
Victoria agrees with me that starting with the soliloquy is a great idea. And also that the death scene isn’t needed. But she also agrees with the little voice inside of me saying that simply doing Juliet’s scenes isn’t enough. She suggests maybe we connect the scenes with Juliet’s thoughts about what’s going on. That I write some connective materials. Something that we don’t hear from Shakespeare. Even if it is a simple as, “I never meant to hurt my family.”
This idea terrifies me. First of all, I am not a playwright. Second, to write something that has to stand up next to Shakespeare’s text seems an impossible task. I am incredibly nervous. Victoria tells me to journal as Juliet and see what comes out.
I’m scared, but I make myself do it. I surprise myself by coming up with some really interesting things. One section of it makes it into the final piece, the paragraph where Juliet (or I) comments on our first time giving sex with Romeo, prior to the Lark/Nightingale scene.
But as I’m journaling as Juliet, I also write down my own thoughts about things that happen in the play, about Juliet the character and how I relate to her. I write things that I have never admitted to anyone. When I hand the papers over to Victoria, I think I tell her that the second set is an “invented narrator,” not quite willing to admit some of my hidden feelings.
When we meet again, Victoria tells me that she really likes the stuff that I wrote as me and that we should explore that more.
So at this point I have a few things that I’ve written that I like, that I think have dramatic possibilities. And I know I want to focus on Juliet’s scenes. And I know I want to start with the potion soliloquy. But there is still some sort of connective thread that is missing. The only answer, when you have an approach like mine, is to spend a day at the Library of Congress.
I do so, planning to read and read and read about the play until some brilliant idea strikes me. Amazingly, this is exactly what happens. I sit down, with the statue of Shakespeare looming over my head, and search for Juliet in the catalog. I discover the following Subject listing: Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 --Characters --Women. I order everything in it that might talk about Juliet. When the librarian brings me books, she asks, “Are you going to be able to get through all this?” I am, because I don’t know what I’m looking for, and some of the books will quickly and clearly become not it.
I am already familiar with the series Players of Shakespeare, which has many interviews with well-known actors (mostly from the Royal Shakespeare Company) in which the actors talk about a specific role they play. I order all 6 volumes in order to find out whether anyone has spoken about Juliet.
While I’m waiting for those, I am flipping through other books and I discover the lynchpin. Helena Faucit’s On some of Shakespeare’s female characters. This book contains a series of letters written to a friend where Faucit waxes poetic about the roles she has played and what they have meant to her. Juliet is clearly the most dear to her, for she wrote twice as much on her as on any other character. It surprises me to find a Victorian actress so enthralled with Juliet. And Faucit was not the only one of the period to write about the character. I have found my starting place.
One reviewer of the final piece noted that as a modern woman, it was “wrong-headed” to look to the Victorians, as their conception of womanhood was so different than ours. Victorians, at least as we view them, have a very unprogressive, restrictive view of womanhood, based in the idea of femininity, charm, and obedience. (Though what history records versus what people thought in their hearts could be two very different things, and I often feel that we today are not really so different as those in the past, but again, that’s another topic.)
BUT – this is what makes it all the more remarkable that they would attach themselves to Juliet. If what we think of as the Victorian ideal was completely true, these women should have eviscerated Juliet. She talks back to and disobeys her parents. She has sexual feelings. She commits suicide. She speaks up and says what is on her mind, rather than merely doing what she is told. And these Victorian actresses worshipped her. I find that fascinating! (As a note, Shakespeare’s source is written much more as a cautionary tale – we are supposed to see in R and J’s death a punishment, or at least result of, their immodest behavior. Shakespeare’s text, however, does not judge these young lovers.)
I find quotes from actors and scholars, past and present. The piece quickly takes shape. I am quickly able to create a through-line. And it’s precisely what I find engaging. After all, actors have so frequently been ignored when it came to Shakespeare scholarship, something that has thankfully been changing in recent years. Of course, this is yet another reason why it is amazing to discover these documents actresses have left behind.
I’m still struggling with the form. I dream frequently about this play, which makes me all the more anxious. But one day in a fit of panic, when my brain will not shut off, I see in my head how the play should end. Helena Faucit’s writing allows me to start with the soliloquy, as I wanted to. And I realize the emotional place the play has to go to in order to end with it as well. But this time it’s not Juliet speak those lines, it’s me.
The question remains how to present these quotes? My brain tells me that I should project the names when I am quoting someone, thereby making it clear when I am speaking as myself, and when as someone else. How Moises Kaufman should the script be? Should I say the persons name before each quote? I think the projections are enough. How much like Gross Indecency should this be? Do I need to inhabit a character for each of these writers? Do I need to use accents???
We decide no. To just keep it simple.
I am a bundle of nerves when I hand the script to Victoria. I pace about the room as she reads over it. She comes to the final page. She looks up to me, nods, and says, "I like it."
The script is finished, at least for this incarnation. Three things are interwoven. Shakespeare’s text. Quotes from scholars and actors. My own opinions and memories. I have never seen a play like this. I have no idea whether it will work. I tell people it is halfway between a play and a paper. Will the play part work to support my thesis? Will the paper part be dramatically viable? We shall find out at the Capital Fringe Festival.
to be continued…
Monday, March 21, 2011
Titus Androgynous, Second Performance
The second performance was less frantic, and a little more polished, in terms of lines, entrances and exits, props, etc. Still, there were surprises and there were many moments that were different from the night before.
One of the results of not having a rehearsal process with a tech week is that costume problems don't get discovered before the show is in front of an audience. Shannon, our Titus, had to adjust her costume for the Sunday matinee, for she discovered last night that her wooden dagger kept falling out of her sash. Saturday night it actually happened in the final banquet scene when Saturninus and Tamora had sat down to eat. Shannon played it off great: she picked the dagger back up and smiled with sheepish innocence as if to say "how did that get there??"
On Sunday it was another person's sash that caused some live theatre magic. This was near the opening of the play after Titus has declared Saturninus the emperor. Sarah was speechifying and her sash had come off her shoulder. As she moved and strode around the stage it slowly slipped down her body, and the rest of us stood on stage wondering how to help her. It finally started tangling around her ankles, and there was this moment we all had -- will this make her trip?? So Shannon said "Madam--" (again, interesting gender coloring -- the ad lib was automatically feminine, though in the text we keep all masculine pronouns). This brought the sash to Sarah's attention. Sarah stayed 100% in character, laughed it off, and said something along the lines of "Oh! I am embarrassing myself in front of the tribunes! One gets so excepted with you are made Emperor of Rome!" And she sold the ad lib so well that there were members of the cast that did not realize the lines weren't part of the text.
We also had a great moment of an actor impulse creating "accidental" blocking that turned out to be oh-so-right. In a moment I'll talk about another choice of JJ's (our Tamora) that I got to ask him about, but I did not remember to ask whether he meant for this moment to happen the way it did, or if it just occurred (what I'm about to describe did not happen during the Saturday performance).
It is the scene after Bassianus has stolen Lavinia from Saturninus. Titus has slain one of his sons in the fight. They are all met before the Emperor, and Tamora pleads with the Emperor to be merciful and forgive Titus. Tamora says:
Then at my suit look graciously on him,
My Lord, be ruled by me, be won at last,
Yield at intreats, and then let me alone:
I'll find a day to massacre them all,
And ‘rase their faction, and their family,
The cruel Father, and his traitorous sons,
To whom I sued for my dear son's life.
And make them know what 'tis to let a Queen
Kneel in the streetes, and beg for grace in vain.
Come, come, sweet Emperor, come Andronicus.
At some point during this speech, JJ walked over to Shannon, put his hand on her shoulder, and forced her to kneel. Titus's sons then had to follow suit. I found this fascinating: a) due to the reverse gender, our Tamora is taller than our Titus, and so it is believable that Tamora could have some amount of physical power over Titus; and b) because of what the text brings next.
Saturninus. Rise Titus, rise, my Empress hath prevailed.
So Titus and his sons stand back up. The scene continues:
Titus. I thank your Majesty, and her, my Lord.
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.
Tamora. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily.
And must advise the Emperor for his good,
This day all quarrels die Andronicus.
Sweet Emperor, we must all be friends,
The Tribune and his Nephews kneel for grace.
Instead of this line becoming a description of what was happening, JJ played it as a command. Titus and his sons were forced to kneel twice in a very short amount of time, a humiliating action. In the scene playing out this way, it became very clear how much Tamora was toying with the Andronici.
My final lines changed as well. Sara had mentioned when we were working out fights on Saturday that when Saturninus is killed her crown fell off her head and made a huge thump. She pointed out that it may be on the floor for someone to give to Lucius. I said I may be able to, but it depended on where the blocking fell at that moment. On Saturday night I couldn't do anything with the crown because it fell behind Sara, and close to her body. I couldn't really see where it was, and it would have been awkward to try and get it.
When Saturninus died at the Sunday matinee, however, the crown slid off her head, and the momentum caused it to slide along the floor towards me. It was close to me, and very much in my character's awareness. From my point of view, Lucius seemed to notice the crown as well. It certainly gave me a "how can I turn this situation to my advantage?" feeling.
So when it came to my line, I was able to pick up the crown, stride to the center of the playing space, and kneel before Lucius, presenting the crown. Now that the crown's been picked up, the issue is created of where does it go - does it end up on Lucius's head? If so, who puts it there? Elizabeth told me that when this happened, she had a moment of "how do I deal with this crown before me?" but then her text gives her the answer. Lucius says:
Thanks gentle Romanes, may I govern so,
To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe.
But gentle people, give me time awhile,
For Nature puts me to a heavy task:
Stand all aloof.
So she/he was able to waive off the crown with "give me time awhile."
We had a great talkback after the Sunday matinee with our audience. We spent a while discussing gender, and what the swapping did. Some audience members said they got used to it pretty quickly, and it didn't matter; some said they never quite got used to it. We discussed whether it made the play even darker to have feminine bodies performing these acts of violence.
There was also a discussion about why Titus Andronicus was chosen. Many audience members seemed less familiar with it, and Cyndi, our Bassianus, pointed out that at one point in Philadelphia, over 100 years passed between productions of this play. Felipe, our Lavinia, pointed out that theatres find extremely violent plays difficult to pull off. We live in a movie society, and movies have vast technology that can make anything seem real. In a very violent play you have to work harder to convince the audience, because if they see the holes in the combat or the blood work, it no longer seems real. I pointed out that the play also has a reputation as "lesser Shakespeare" and that attributes to it being done less often.
We also talked about the nature of the Bare Bard and whether they are as successful with tragedies as they are with comedies. One of our audience members said that he prefers seeing comedies on the Saturday night, because the frantic energy and the mistakes add to the fun, but he likes seeing the tragedies on the Sunday matinee, because they are well served by the extra bit of polish.
Speaking about the spin the changed gender put on the play reminded me that I had a specific moment I wanted to ask JJ about. In Tamora's scene with Aaron, Tamora has a line comparing the two of them to the Prince and Dido. JJ gestured to himself on the word "prince" when normally Dido, the Queen of Carthage, would be the equivalent one in the story to Tamora. I asked him if that was a conscious choice, or did he do it automatically because of inherent male identification with the word "prince?" JJ said it was a conscious choice because he decided that in this version, his Tamora, being male, was the Prince in the story. The choice certainly worked in the context, the moment passes so quickly, and the word "prince" highlights Tamora's status as royalty, particularly with an audience not immediately familiar with the background of such classical allusions.
It was a fascinating weekend, as a Shakespearean, and as an actor, and I certainly hope they will have me back again in the future!
One of the results of not having a rehearsal process with a tech week is that costume problems don't get discovered before the show is in front of an audience. Shannon, our Titus, had to adjust her costume for the Sunday matinee, for she discovered last night that her wooden dagger kept falling out of her sash. Saturday night it actually happened in the final banquet scene when Saturninus and Tamora had sat down to eat. Shannon played it off great: she picked the dagger back up and smiled with sheepish innocence as if to say "how did that get there??"
On Sunday it was another person's sash that caused some live theatre magic. This was near the opening of the play after Titus has declared Saturninus the emperor. Sarah was speechifying and her sash had come off her shoulder. As she moved and strode around the stage it slowly slipped down her body, and the rest of us stood on stage wondering how to help her. It finally started tangling around her ankles, and there was this moment we all had -- will this make her trip?? So Shannon said "Madam--" (again, interesting gender coloring -- the ad lib was automatically feminine, though in the text we keep all masculine pronouns). This brought the sash to Sarah's attention. Sarah stayed 100% in character, laughed it off, and said something along the lines of "Oh! I am embarrassing myself in front of the tribunes! One gets so excepted with you are made Emperor of Rome!" And she sold the ad lib so well that there were members of the cast that did not realize the lines weren't part of the text.
We also had a great moment of an actor impulse creating "accidental" blocking that turned out to be oh-so-right. In a moment I'll talk about another choice of JJ's (our Tamora) that I got to ask him about, but I did not remember to ask whether he meant for this moment to happen the way it did, or if it just occurred (what I'm about to describe did not happen during the Saturday performance).
It is the scene after Bassianus has stolen Lavinia from Saturninus. Titus has slain one of his sons in the fight. They are all met before the Emperor, and Tamora pleads with the Emperor to be merciful and forgive Titus. Tamora says:
Then at my suit look graciously on him,
My Lord, be ruled by me, be won at last,
Yield at intreats, and then let me alone:
I'll find a day to massacre them all,
And ‘rase their faction, and their family,
The cruel Father, and his traitorous sons,
To whom I sued for my dear son's life.
And make them know what 'tis to let a Queen
Kneel in the streetes, and beg for grace in vain.
Come, come, sweet Emperor, come Andronicus.
At some point during this speech, JJ walked over to Shannon, put his hand on her shoulder, and forced her to kneel. Titus's sons then had to follow suit. I found this fascinating: a) due to the reverse gender, our Tamora is taller than our Titus, and so it is believable that Tamora could have some amount of physical power over Titus; and b) because of what the text brings next.
Saturninus. Rise Titus, rise, my Empress hath prevailed.
So Titus and his sons stand back up. The scene continues:
Titus. I thank your Majesty, and her, my Lord.
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.
Tamora. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily.
And must advise the Emperor for his good,
This day all quarrels die Andronicus.
Sweet Emperor, we must all be friends,
The Tribune and his Nephews kneel for grace.
Instead of this line becoming a description of what was happening, JJ played it as a command. Titus and his sons were forced to kneel twice in a very short amount of time, a humiliating action. In the scene playing out this way, it became very clear how much Tamora was toying with the Andronici.
My final lines changed as well. Sara had mentioned when we were working out fights on Saturday that when Saturninus is killed her crown fell off her head and made a huge thump. She pointed out that it may be on the floor for someone to give to Lucius. I said I may be able to, but it depended on where the blocking fell at that moment. On Saturday night I couldn't do anything with the crown because it fell behind Sara, and close to her body. I couldn't really see where it was, and it would have been awkward to try and get it.
When Saturninus died at the Sunday matinee, however, the crown slid off her head, and the momentum caused it to slide along the floor towards me. It was close to me, and very much in my character's awareness. From my point of view, Lucius seemed to notice the crown as well. It certainly gave me a "how can I turn this situation to my advantage?" feeling.
So when it came to my line, I was able to pick up the crown, stride to the center of the playing space, and kneel before Lucius, presenting the crown. Now that the crown's been picked up, the issue is created of where does it go - does it end up on Lucius's head? If so, who puts it there? Elizabeth told me that when this happened, she had a moment of "how do I deal with this crown before me?" but then her text gives her the answer. Lucius says:
Thanks gentle Romanes, may I govern so,
To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe.
But gentle people, give me time awhile,
For Nature puts me to a heavy task:
Stand all aloof.
So she/he was able to waive off the crown with "give me time awhile."
We had a great talkback after the Sunday matinee with our audience. We spent a while discussing gender, and what the swapping did. Some audience members said they got used to it pretty quickly, and it didn't matter; some said they never quite got used to it. We discussed whether it made the play even darker to have feminine bodies performing these acts of violence.
There was also a discussion about why Titus Andronicus was chosen. Many audience members seemed less familiar with it, and Cyndi, our Bassianus, pointed out that at one point in Philadelphia, over 100 years passed between productions of this play. Felipe, our Lavinia, pointed out that theatres find extremely violent plays difficult to pull off. We live in a movie society, and movies have vast technology that can make anything seem real. In a very violent play you have to work harder to convince the audience, because if they see the holes in the combat or the blood work, it no longer seems real. I pointed out that the play also has a reputation as "lesser Shakespeare" and that attributes to it being done less often.
We also talked about the nature of the Bare Bard and whether they are as successful with tragedies as they are with comedies. One of our audience members said that he prefers seeing comedies on the Saturday night, because the frantic energy and the mistakes add to the fun, but he likes seeing the tragedies on the Sunday matinee, because they are well served by the extra bit of polish.
Speaking about the spin the changed gender put on the play reminded me that I had a specific moment I wanted to ask JJ about. In Tamora's scene with Aaron, Tamora has a line comparing the two of them to the Prince and Dido. JJ gestured to himself on the word "prince" when normally Dido, the Queen of Carthage, would be the equivalent one in the story to Tamora. I asked him if that was a conscious choice, or did he do it automatically because of inherent male identification with the word "prince?" JJ said it was a conscious choice because he decided that in this version, his Tamora, being male, was the Prince in the story. The choice certainly worked in the context, the moment passes so quickly, and the word "prince" highlights Tamora's status as royalty, particularly with an audience not immediately familiar with the background of such classical allusions.
It was a fascinating weekend, as a Shakespearean, and as an actor, and I certainly hope they will have me back again in the future!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Titus Androgynous, First Performance
I have survived my first Bare Bard at Maryland Shakespeare Festival. This one certainly had a lot going on: violence, no rehearsal, large cast, plus the reverse gender cast. Things certainly went wrong on Saturday night: people of course had to call line, entrances and exits were flubbed, props were forgotten, but in the end, we did the play. The story happened. That was what I found remarkable.
The moment that I had mentioned before was near the end of the play. All the deaths have occurred and Marcus and Lucius have speeches explaining what has occurred and asking for pardon from the Roman people. Aemilius, who up to now is really just a messenger with a name, steps forward and declares Lucius to be emperor. Aemilius takes the reins and what he says happens. “Lucius our Emperor, for well I know / The common voice do cry it shall be so.” My joke is that I am Aemilius the Emperor Maker, as opposed to Warwick the King Maker. (Oh nerdy obscure Shakespeare jokes!)
I was curious about this moment because Maryland Shakespeare had sent all the actors a packet of information and staging and rhetoric and language, to help us prepare for this Bare Bard. Part of the packet dealt with status, and how what words you use to refer to someone should dictate the physical action – “Sir” vs “Lord” vs “Emperor.” Due to that information, I know that when I proclaim Lucius emperor, I should kneel. And if the people onstage are listening to my line “the common voice do cry it shall be so” they should follow suit and kneel as well. In the original text of Titus Andronicus, there is a crowd line that follows Aemilius’s line, concurring with what he has proclaimed. But that line was cut in our script, meaning that very few people would have had any reason to read that particular moment and to know what was about to happen. Without the crowd line, there was nothing to point the other actors to what they should do, and it would just be up to them to listen and act appropriately. And they did. Everyone on stage followed suit. Yay!
Part of this was due to this moment occurring at the end of the play, after we had collectively had a couple moments already of “oh… should we all respond…????” and so I think we were all more aware of moments like that and more comfortable in responding to them. At the beginning of the play, Saturninus is proclaimed emperor, and we didn’t have a crowd response. We had a meeting this morning and that was a moment that was brought up – how we all really wanted to say something, but were nervous about vocalizing something that wasn’t in the text. I think we’ll all be more comfortable with that sort of ad lib in today’s matinee.
I think the most useful aspect of these Bare Bards is the sense of freshness, of things unfolding for the first time before you, because that is exactly what is happening. Without four to six weeks of rehearsal, the story isn’t drilled into your head. Even though we know the story, the details are all hazy for us, and that’s what allows the surprises to happen.
I had two specific moments where I felt the magic of events occurring right in front of me, or receiving information for the very first time.
The first was when I run in to tell Saturninus that Lucius has gathered an army and is on his way to attack Rome. All I knew in my head was that Saturninus and Tamora had some lines and then Saturninus says something like, “Aemilius do this message honorably.” And I respond, “Your bidding shall I do effectually” and exit. So I go on stage, deliver my message, and then I am waiting for my cue line, waiting for Saturninus to tell me what to do. What happens in the scene is that Tamora comes up with the entire plan. I’m standing there listening to Tamora’s ideas, but I’m not going to do anything until The Emperor tells me to. It was a interesting, and unexpected, dynamic, particularly because Sarah, playing Saturninus, was playing this scene a little frantic and like she/he didn’t know what to do, and she/he took a moment before playing, “Yes! We will do that plan!” It was a very cool moment to live through with my fellow actors.
The other thing I noticed had to do with the ending of the play – living through the story, I don’t think you feel that Rome’s troubles are over. It seems like a rough, violent society, and one that will stay that way. I know Elizabeth feels that Lucius is very honorable, and that she/he puts Rome first, but that doesn’t change the fact that the way we put Rome first is through immediate retributive violence. Lucius calls his son up to say goodbye to the dead Titus (the young boy’s grandfather). There is this sense of Lucius telling is son to take the scene of carnage in and learn from it. And there is this tenderness to the Andronicuses saying their farewells to Titus.
Then Lucius flips on a dime and has his speech about Aaron the Moor’s punishment. And it’s mean. And cruel.
Set him beast deep in earth, and famish him.
There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food:
If any one relieves him, or pities him,
For the offence, he dies.
It’s two very different colors, and says a lot about the character, and the world of Titus Andronicus.
Now it’s time to warmup and get ready for the matinee!
The moment that I had mentioned before was near the end of the play. All the deaths have occurred and Marcus and Lucius have speeches explaining what has occurred and asking for pardon from the Roman people. Aemilius, who up to now is really just a messenger with a name, steps forward and declares Lucius to be emperor. Aemilius takes the reins and what he says happens. “Lucius our Emperor, for well I know / The common voice do cry it shall be so.” My joke is that I am Aemilius the Emperor Maker, as opposed to Warwick the King Maker. (Oh nerdy obscure Shakespeare jokes!)
I was curious about this moment because Maryland Shakespeare had sent all the actors a packet of information and staging and rhetoric and language, to help us prepare for this Bare Bard. Part of the packet dealt with status, and how what words you use to refer to someone should dictate the physical action – “Sir” vs “Lord” vs “Emperor.” Due to that information, I know that when I proclaim Lucius emperor, I should kneel. And if the people onstage are listening to my line “the common voice do cry it shall be so” they should follow suit and kneel as well. In the original text of Titus Andronicus, there is a crowd line that follows Aemilius’s line, concurring with what he has proclaimed. But that line was cut in our script, meaning that very few people would have had any reason to read that particular moment and to know what was about to happen. Without the crowd line, there was nothing to point the other actors to what they should do, and it would just be up to them to listen and act appropriately. And they did. Everyone on stage followed suit. Yay!
Part of this was due to this moment occurring at the end of the play, after we had collectively had a couple moments already of “oh… should we all respond…????” and so I think we were all more aware of moments like that and more comfortable in responding to them. At the beginning of the play, Saturninus is proclaimed emperor, and we didn’t have a crowd response. We had a meeting this morning and that was a moment that was brought up – how we all really wanted to say something, but were nervous about vocalizing something that wasn’t in the text. I think we’ll all be more comfortable with that sort of ad lib in today’s matinee.
I think the most useful aspect of these Bare Bards is the sense of freshness, of things unfolding for the first time before you, because that is exactly what is happening. Without four to six weeks of rehearsal, the story isn’t drilled into your head. Even though we know the story, the details are all hazy for us, and that’s what allows the surprises to happen.
I had two specific moments where I felt the magic of events occurring right in front of me, or receiving information for the very first time.
The first was when I run in to tell Saturninus that Lucius has gathered an army and is on his way to attack Rome. All I knew in my head was that Saturninus and Tamora had some lines and then Saturninus says something like, “Aemilius do this message honorably.” And I respond, “Your bidding shall I do effectually” and exit. So I go on stage, deliver my message, and then I am waiting for my cue line, waiting for Saturninus to tell me what to do. What happens in the scene is that Tamora comes up with the entire plan. I’m standing there listening to Tamora’s ideas, but I’m not going to do anything until The Emperor tells me to. It was a interesting, and unexpected, dynamic, particularly because Sarah, playing Saturninus, was playing this scene a little frantic and like she/he didn’t know what to do, and she/he took a moment before playing, “Yes! We will do that plan!” It was a very cool moment to live through with my fellow actors.
The other thing I noticed had to do with the ending of the play – living through the story, I don’t think you feel that Rome’s troubles are over. It seems like a rough, violent society, and one that will stay that way. I know Elizabeth feels that Lucius is very honorable, and that she/he puts Rome first, but that doesn’t change the fact that the way we put Rome first is through immediate retributive violence. Lucius calls his son up to say goodbye to the dead Titus (the young boy’s grandfather). There is this sense of Lucius telling is son to take the scene of carnage in and learn from it. And there is this tenderness to the Andronicuses saying their farewells to Titus.
Then Lucius flips on a dime and has his speech about Aaron the Moor’s punishment. And it’s mean. And cruel.
Set him beast deep in earth, and famish him.
There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food:
If any one relieves him, or pities him,
For the offence, he dies.
It’s two very different colors, and says a lot about the character, and the world of Titus Andronicus.
Now it’s time to warmup and get ready for the matinee!
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Titus Androgynous, Day 2
We are currently on our two hour dinner break, after being at the church from 9:30am. We began the morning with some physical and vocal warmups, and then headed straight into an entrance and exit run. That was quickly dispatched, but helpful because I'm now an attendant to the emperor and have to follow him/her around and now I know where I am supposed to be. I have become Aemilius, the curtain holder!
Then the majority of the morning was spent on stage combat. There are a lot of deaths in Titus Andronicus, so all that violence had to be worked out safely. Quick decisions were made about weapons and blood (red fabric). Then we went through the play and practiced each death and moment of violence, one-by-one. Meanwhile people could go off and work on lines and text.
I used the time to double check all my entrances and exits. And since I have many scenes where I stand on stage without lines, it's my job to stay out of the way. So I checked the chart to see where other characters would be entering, to make sure I could pick a spot on stage that was out of the way.
We stopped for lunch, and I got to geek out more about Shakespeare (this time it was through sharing my undying love of the Histories). I got to have a conversation with Stephen Lorne Williams, a lovely man whom I had seen perform in Measure for Measure at the American Shakespeare Center. When I introduced myself to him in the morning, I think I surprised him by asking him about a specific choice he had made on the line "If any in Vienna be of worth / To undergo such ample grace and honour, / It is Lord Angelo." Williams delivered the final words with a big fat question in his voice. I knew this production had been directed by Patrick Tucker, who believes strongly that the First Folio has all the answers, so I wanted to know if this choice was suggested by First Folio punctuation, or just the idea of the actor. Williams said he think it was just his choice in the moment.
When lunch was done the last few deaths were plotted out. Then, at about 2pm, our facilitator Abbie Isaac came up and gave me another line! That's the kind of thing that happens in this set up -- you have to figure out who says random unassigned crowd lines. It certainly keeps you on your toes! People also planned the interlude music. I'm excited that a suggestion of mine, half made in jest, was accepted, and I'll be playing my recorder for it. Then we found out when the intermission is and blocked the curtain call.
And in an hour we are due back. In two hours we perform. There is little pressure on me, since my role is small, so I'm getting to observe the process a lot. When they say there is no rehearsal, they aren't kidding. Nothing we did was anything like a rehearsal. None of us know what is going to happen tonight. I am involved in one important moment at the end of the play, and I don't know where the two people I need to interact with will be standing. I don't know how or if the other people onstage will respond to the plot point that I put out there. (I'll explain more after the performance). But I'm very excited to see what happens.
 |
| The death of Bassanius |
Then the majority of the morning was spent on stage combat. There are a lot of deaths in Titus Andronicus, so all that violence had to be worked out safely. Quick decisions were made about weapons and blood (red fabric). Then we went through the play and practiced each death and moment of violence, one-by-one. Meanwhile people could go off and work on lines and text.
 |
| How do we cut of Titus's hand? |
I used the time to double check all my entrances and exits. And since I have many scenes where I stand on stage without lines, it's my job to stay out of the way. So I checked the chart to see where other characters would be entering, to make sure I could pick a spot on stage that was out of the way.
We stopped for lunch, and I got to geek out more about Shakespeare (this time it was through sharing my undying love of the Histories). I got to have a conversation with Stephen Lorne Williams, a lovely man whom I had seen perform in Measure for Measure at the American Shakespeare Center. When I introduced myself to him in the morning, I think I surprised him by asking him about a specific choice he had made on the line "If any in Vienna be of worth / To undergo such ample grace and honour, / It is Lord Angelo." Williams delivered the final words with a big fat question in his voice. I knew this production had been directed by Patrick Tucker, who believes strongly that the First Folio has all the answers, so I wanted to know if this choice was suggested by First Folio punctuation, or just the idea of the actor. Williams said he think it was just his choice in the moment.
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| The deaths of Chiron and Demetrius |
And in an hour we are due back. In two hours we perform. There is little pressure on me, since my role is small, so I'm getting to observe the process a lot. When they say there is no rehearsal, they aren't kidding. Nothing we did was anything like a rehearsal. None of us know what is going to happen tonight. I am involved in one important moment at the end of the play, and I don't know where the two people I need to interact with will be standing. I don't know how or if the other people onstage will respond to the plot point that I put out there. (I'll explain more after the performance). But I'm very excited to see what happens.
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