Happy Day!

It's snowing! (Hurrah for Toodles!)

All is well with Mom. Looooooong lunches being friends. Goodness.

And, all my dear friends, I want to reconnect with you. I shall endeavor to do so. Forgive my silences, amen!

Just learned of Bright Eyes "First Day of My Life" and purchased "The Last Kiss" soundtrack. Ah for acoustic coffeeshop simplicity.

And for PIRATES! (Really, watch the video!)

Did up the Costume Rendering video for Hamlet and downloaded what was videotaped by the kids. It's really very good. Oh, my goodness, MATT! He is soooooooo funny! Pumas! Forever! And Penguins on Speed! And more Pumas! Oy! Happiness.

Jules is nervous about tomorrow's party. If you're in the area, do drop by. (Ah, Krissytina, for our old New Years Eve parties! :)

Good Lord for alliance. (Huh, and possibly more Alliance. We'll see. Insane thoughts. Don't want to burn out, however. We are not really rabbits after all. I trust I make myself obscure.)

Dear Lord - amen. Help me overcome my own stupidity and shortcomings. Amen.

Neato meditation for today: "Christmas is the feast of faith.... Faith, therefore, is the light that, in the beginning, foresees the fulfillment. It does not despise the beginning.... Faith is seeing in the beginning the fulfillment, the road to fulfillment. Faith is not being afraid of a meager or precarious beginning. Instead, faith is seeing in the beginning the promising sign of glory.... This is Christmas: faith in the beginning, a wager on the beginning. But let us not forget the most important thing: every day is a new beginning. Each moment we can be re-born. This is the miracle of Christmas." ~ Monsignor Massimo Camisaca

Mood: In need of phone calls
Music: Bizarrely "Vogue" - c'mon! Get out your best 80's hand moves!
Thought: Now for conviction!

Oh, snookums!

ADDENDUM: Came across this quote on Janet Batchler's blog, and had to post it above and beyond anything else.

"Nothing is too wonderful to be true."
~ Michael Faraday

Ah-ha! As Julie would cry. This is just...leibenstrudel! Right. Enough squeeing. Off to an informal production meeting. I'd forgotten that I need a schedule for my life. Thank God for voice lessons. Amen!



Mood: Mieux
Music: Nada
Thanksgiving: For the glorious sunset as I drove home today after lessons. On a whim, I took the long way home (and then the even longer, and the longer by a bit way home - yay for Massachusetts backroads!) and had a perfect view of His handicraft. Alleluia.

~*~

Silliness continues to abound! Taken from Jimmy Akin's blog, a curious little quizzlet.

1. Favorite devotion or prayer to Jesus.
The Chaplet of Divine Mercy, the Anima Christi, and the Sacred Heart

2. Favorite Marian devotion or prayer.
The Memorarae and Salve Regina

3. Do you wear a scapular or medal?
When I first learned about scapulars and medals at Steubie-U, I wore them ridiculously much. Now, I don't wear a scapular - mostly because if I do, I want to do it properly, and I don't know that I could make the devotion to a daily rosary at present - but I do have a St. Raphael/Guardian Angel medal on my car keys.

4. Do you have holy water in your home?
Yup, right here by my computer actually, however I need to bring it into the church to fill up again. Also, my other keychain for the school has holy water from Knock Shrine, Ireland on it. Yay!

5. Do you "offer up" your sufferings?
All. The. Time.

6. Do you observe First Fridays and First Saturdays?
Blushes and whistles unobtrusively. Actually, I was doing fairly well a few years back with completing a First Friday (Sacred Heart) devotion, but then got tripped up the last two or three months of the devotion. And since then, between my schedule and the lack of evening masses, I've not been able to pursue it. Boooooooo.

7. Do you go to Eucharistic Adoration? How Frequently?
I do go, but not often enough ever. Oh, for the Steubie-U days! Booooooo again I say! Actually, that's one of my secret plans with Gaudete. I want it to be so large, in part, so that I can build a church or at least an adoration chapel and convince the diocese to allow me to have Him with me! BWAHAHHAHAHHAHAH! And then I shall traipse over there verily muchly at two in the morning.

8. Are you a Saturday evening Mass person or a Sunday morning Mass person?
It depends on what the masses are like and what my schedule is like. (Yay for being Catholic and multiple mass times!) I tend to prefer to go on Sunday, although whether I go to the late Sunday morning or the Sunday evening mass depends.

9. Do you say prayers at mealtime?
Hyup! Hurrah again for Steubie-U habits! Hip hip hurrah! Although I tend to say multiple graces. Dunno why.

10. Favorite saints.
Too many to count! Among them and in no particular order: St. Francis of Assisi, St. Augustine, St. Thomas More, St. Edmund Campion, St. Peter, St. John the Evangelist, St. Cecelia, St. Theresa of Avila, St. Catherine of Sienna, St. Mary Magdalene

11. Can you recite the Apostles' Creed by heart?
Yup, but like most folk I get it mixed up with the Nicene Creed. To be honest, I prefer the Nicene, though.

12. Do you usually say short prayers (aspirations) during the course of the day?
Again...All. The. Time. Frequently they tend to be simply His Name over and over, or "Oh God, help, amen!" Or just little muttered conversations to Him. But, essentially all - the - time.

13. Bonus Question: When you pass by an automobile accident or other serious mishap, do you say a quick prayer for the folks involved?
Bonus question? Oyveh. Yes, or when I see any sort of lights or sirens go by, I tend to say, "God bless whoever needs that, amen!" (*shakes head* Bonus question, honestly.)

Jules, you are hereby taggled. Stick it on your LJ, the Lordress High Leibenstrudel has spoken! HA!

The Deadly Theatre

First, I'm reading The Prestige (my Christmas Eve gift), which is in many ways far different from the movie (surprise surprise) and yet thus far I'm finding both equally satisfying. The Prestige, the novel, is perhaps a bit more Wuthering Heights in terms of its multiple narrators than I had supposed, and more curious in its use of the epistolary form than I had also supposed (I thought it should jump back and forth a bit more, like the movie does or a typical epistolary novel), but regardless I am enjoying it very much thus far. This is a testament to the quality of the literature, since the plot is already "spoiled" for me. Bravo, book!

Second, I'm working on the extras for Hamlet, one of which I have posted on YouTube. I'm not quite sure how or if I can do a blooper reel from the performances, since by and large the actors did a fair job of covering any dropped lines, etc. And it's so awfully difficult to show something that isn't there! (Reminds me of invisible turtles....)



But the real reason for writing is, as the title implies, Thoughts on the Deadly Theatre. Scattered, randominity thoughts, granted, but scattered for due consideration.

A Definition of Deadly Theatre

Peter Brooke wrote in his The Empty Space about what he called the Deadly Theatre - that is, theatre that follows in the "tradition" of how something has been done before simply for lack of imagination and to cater to the smug comfort of the supposed and self-proclaimed intelligentsia. This is the sort of theatre that, as far as it is able, uses the same exact direction, choreography, stage and costume design and character work as the original production in some sort of thought that this is "faithful and true" without ever thinking that at one time the pale shadow of what he is copying was vital and original.

Theatre is a medium of change. No one performance is the same as the other. And no one audience member's experience of the "same exact play" is unchanging from one performance to the next. The very magic of theatre is this living quality. A performer will emphasize one line one night that he won't the next. He'll make one gesture, turn his eyes upward, give a half-smile in one place on one night that he won't think to do the following night. And the audience member who is enthralled by the newness of the first performance she sees - whether it is the best of that run or the worst - will not be thrilled in the same way when she goes back to see the same actors, same direction, same artistic choices in the same venue the following night because she will know what comes next and invariably compare it to her previous experience. And the time she comes after that will be a different experience altogether than any of the ones that have come before. And this is how it should be.

If, then, theatre is by its very means of existence living and changing (enough to make any Buddha or Einstein roll over in raptures), the Deadly Theatre is that which strives to freeze an audience's impression of a single night's work into a hellish eternity. They mistake the original direction, that night's interpretation, that artist's handicraft as the only possible means of presenting the play well, without ever asking why any of the artists involved made those choices. He does not take into account the thousands preliminary questions that the artists make before, during, and even into performance in order to shape the show specifically for that time and place. He does not ask himself whether the staging or the stage say something ideological - and therefore, further, whether he agrees with that ideology or whether there is a better way to present the same idea - but he looks at it and presumes that the magic is inherent in those bits of timber and not in the ideas that went into choosing that specific type of wood.

Deadly Theatre and Shakespeare

The traditional Deadly Theatre goer wants all Shakespearean work to be done as near as possible to however we think Shakespeare might have put on his plays, but the modern Deadly Theatre goer wants all Shakespeare to be like whatever version he saw that he liked best. However, most Deadly Theatre patrons seem to want Shakespeare to die as well. Or, if needs must, he should be so lampooned and twisted and teenyboppered that he's barely recognizable. Since, however, there can be no discourse about the Deadly Theatre goer who hates Shakespeare, let's take a look at the Deadly Theatre goer who wants to stagnate the Bard.

This fellow, at least in our modern day, seems to have a few criteria that differ from Peter Brooke's time. Since he has been, whether wittingly or no, influenced by Brooke's own iconoclast productions and the general tenor of revolution in the 60's, the modern Deadly Theatre goer (who does not reject Shakespeare) expects a few things from his Deadly Shakespeare. In no particular order they appear to be:

1) That the presentation of the play be done in a non-Shakespearean setting. It doesn't really matter what century the play is put in, so long as there are no tights or doublets to be found. The only exception is for really old companies, or companies with claims to old ties (see the Globe). And, for some reason, the comedies. The comedies can be olde - mostly because no one seems to understand them.

2) However, while Shakespeare ought to be done in any time period but his own, the interpretation of the piece must align perfectly with whatever the public school textbooks are currently propagating. Hence, Romeo and Juliet is the greatest love tragedy ever, Hamlet is about a crazy guy, Midsummer's is a bit of fluff, Macbeth should never be said, and Julius Caesar is mostly about lending ears. Oh, and Taming of the Shrew should have a feminist or chauvinist swing - take your pick. Freudian, and most recently, homoerotic subtext should abound; every single crass joke Shakespeare cracks should be played up, since those are the only ones that the directors frequently get - and if there aren't enough to the director's satisfaction, he should make a few; and if women are playing men they may also be playing androgeny.

3) Regarding the text itself, poor Shakespeare is caught between the continuing cringing idolization of Ye Olde Merrie Serfdirektor and his Jeckyll-like iconoclastic alter-ego. Hence, text tends to be either:

a) Cut up however everyone else has done. This is the most common, since both the amateur and the specialist might make the same cuts, but for different reasons. The amateur will make the cuts because he is relying on a previous performance text that seemed to work. The specialist might make the same cuts because they make the most sense. (Hence poor Fortinbras continually ending up on the cutting room floor. Or the lamentation scene after Juliet's supposed suicide. Or the first scene in Shrew.)

b) Not cut at all and therefore almost invariably interminable. Now, granted there are reasons to every once in a while take out one of the reeeeeeally long or perpetually cut Shakespeares and brush it off and see what it's like with no tampering whatsoever, but usually what one finds is that there's a reason why everyone makes such and such an adjustment - if not for the good of the story, then for the sake of the audiences' bums. However, there's always some folk from the Deadly Theatre who say that if a single line of Shakespeare is touched, it's sacrilege. These are, by and large, the same folk who are absurd about musical theatre, as well. More on this later!

c) Bizarrely edited to seem relevent or to meet time constraints. The best example of this I can give is the Ethan Hawke Hamlet which was so chopped up that it left out anything resembling mirth which meant two hours of sheer depression and greasy hair. Although, come to think of it, the Hallmark Hamlet also did some just strange cuts, as did the recent Twelfth Night with Helena Bonham Carter. In each of these, the thing that seems to go first is the levity. Which, in the case of the latter, is simply ridiculous. Baz Luhrman nearly escaped this trap, until the very end of Romeo+Juliet when he pulled a near-Sheridan on the ending and left out quite a bit in the graveyard scene. (Booooooo.) These folk, while commendably attempting to think outside the box, are not always able to justify their cuts and seem to make the cuts initially out of an homage to Brookian ideals. Brooke himeslf would have something to say about that!

Musicals and the Deadly Theatre

I've run into the slavish traditionalist more in musical theatre than in straight plays (perhaps mostly because I've done fewer straight plays in my time), and do wonder whether the Deadly Musical Theatre goer isn't more numerous and therefore more mob-ly vindictive than the mere Deadly Straight Theatre goer. Across the country, in every high school and every high school summer program and every community theatre that is essentially high school theatre with the matriculated, we find examples of the Deadly Musical Theatre.

This is the sort that - since we often do know what the original staging was - demand nothing but the original staging. (Unless it's staged by a Brit. The English, having far cooler accents than ourselves and being capable of understanding more than just the naughty bits of Shakespeare are allowed to do whatever they like to anything. Oh, and Hollywood. But that's because people in Hollywood don't know what they're doing.) Any change to the original blocking is cause for an auto de fe, not seen since Voltaire's imagination ran wild. The suggestion that, horrors, there might be more than one means to staging a musical or more than one interpretation of a character is nothing less than blasphemy. Original thought is wildly discouraged in the musical world...and this is very deadly.

Those who first stage musicals are doing the best they can with the materials they have at the moment. They're working without the benefit of hindsight, they're working within the tradition they have at the moment, and with the actors and innovations which are available to them - nothing more. They're guessing the first time round, just like every act of theatre guesses, that this might work and this might not. They're saying, for example, "Well, Cole Porter's a bright chap, and these folks paid to be here, let's give them TWELVE VERSES of the same tune! Write some more Cole! We won't edit!" When, in fact, Mr. Porter, his play, and the audience would be better served with some well-chosen verses. Or, heck, with verses that actually moved the plot along.

This same difficulty can be found in ballets and operas. Both of these are notorious for not only repeating the same staging, but even the same costumes, sets, lighting designs, orchestra members, and stage doormen. Occasionally an innovator comes along who seems more set on simply mucking things up a bit - a Baz or a Brooke or that fellow who did the homoerotic Swan Lake - and they're hailed (sometimes rightly, sometimes out of sheer bored desperation) much like fellows who put on funny noses and tell bizarre jokes at an endless cocktail party are hailed. But, by and large, the opera and ballet world seem to trudge inevitably back to the quagmire of their past. (I understand there's some innovation going on in both worlds, but being only on the fringes, I can't speak to it myself.)

None of this need be so. Were artists and audience alike to look at a work and whether or not the execution of that work was successful - whether it made a unified whole - whether it spoke to something relevant and true - then perhaps we could get on with the business of creating theatre. But since the Deadly Theatre hangs on so in the public mind, and perpetuates itself generation upon adolescent generation, it seems that the process of bringing good art - not just to an audience, but to future artists - is simply an equally infinite process.

Pragmatism and the Deadly Theatre

What is suggested - that staging ought to be based on whether it works and not on whether it's traditional - appears to be a sort of pragmatism. But it is not. Pragmatism is fundamentally uninterested in whether what works is also what is honest. It's far too Machiavellian at its base - although politely Machiavellian, which is its difficulty.

Rather, we should be interested not only in what works for a show, for a particular audience or a particular artist, but also what is true. The recent Mirimax version of Midsummer Night's Dream *works* but it twists the story so that it is not true. Bottom cannot be the hero. He is an ass. It's an interesting take, but ultimately false. Whereas Branaugh's Love's Labour Lost as the loss of innocence before World War I is both an interesting take and a relevant one. It works in the stage version of West Side Story for the girls' chorus to get one measly number in "America" - but it's more true, as in the filmed version, for the song to be an argument between the Shark men and women.

Nor is there only one truth found in any given play. Romeo and Juliet can play truly both as a tragedy and an absurdity of adolescent love. The version of Hamlet that retains Fortinbras to bring the goings-on of Elsinore into the global arena is as true as the version that is interested solely in the family drama therein. It's equally true to set La Boheme in Paris 1900 and in Paris 1950. Having Lois dance around with a costume rack in "Always True to You" says something true about her character, as does having her dance with her male harem. It all depends on whether the essential choice and reason behind the choice is true, whether it fits with the story as a whole, and whether it is capable of being executed. (For example, if one's stage concept was for Damocles' Sword to be suspended above the actors, one had better be able to make sure that sword wouldn't come down - or drop the concept and find another means!)

And now, mes petites, I've written far too much! In further and non-relevatory news, I went out inbetwixt this post and other goings on to take a walk with Dad, Jules and Pete down on the bike track, and ended up going an extra two miles walking back home with Pete while Jules and Dad drove back...and we beat them on foot by five minutes! HA! Only now my legs feel a little wobbly because we did go pretty fast. And the remainder, I shall remain obscure. Suffice to say, I am very glad for Julie. Mmmmwah.

Mood: Wobbly
Music: "I Walk Alone" mix that Jules found in her great cleaning!
Happy Feast: Of the Innocents! Oh, Holy Martyrs, pray for us!

This alone made my evemorning

Oh, silliness! Happiness! (And, y'know, if he trained and had the right director to curb his silliness.... Oy. It's like Juliet's gay nurse all over again...!)



Oh, and this is up, too. So odd to only have three angles! I've gotten very spoilt. Well done, Mum!



Mood: Schlafenly
Music: The above
Thought: Oh, Lord, for confidence. Amen.

Observations from the Abbatoir

At Christmas Eve Mass (which I was, alleluia!, able to attend, despite much sniffles and tissues - oh the joys of winter), we sang Adeste Fideles for the processional - as we seem to do every year. But this year it struck me: "O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant." The and triumphant hit me. Despite everything, despite all the horrors we can inflict upon ourselves, no matter how bleak the state becomes, no matter how wretched we make the world - God has already triumphed. With His Nativity, an infant saved us. A child triumphed. It was good to remember. As Lewis said, we don't need a new morality, but we do need to be reminded of the truth.

The rest of this break has, thus far, been spent trying to get well. Honestly, as soon as I go on holiday, so does my immune system. Good grief. Doing much better now, despite the absence of several tissue boxes from what had once been a well-stocked cabinet.

In the nonce, as well, have been doing up extras for Hamlet. Finished all the Film Friday thingummies and am debating how I want to proceed next. Ich weiss nicht. Was contemplating stealing Jules to Boston tomorrow, but there is, alas, very little playing - so we shall see about that as well. Howsomever, Dad stole me out for coffee today and then I in turn stole Julie and now no one's stealing anyone, but 'twas verily muchly good.

Last night, Mom stole me to see Dreamgirls which was far more entertaining than I thought it was going to be. But once again...the musical form fell apart in the second act. What is it about the musical that it almost never has as good a second as act the first? My current theory is that the difficulty with the musical genre is the intermission. We have to end with a bang to let the audience know that they need to come back after the interval (with plays, everything's much more genteel and low-key so folk are glad to watch the play or to get up and stretch for a bit), however by so doing we lead up to an early climax. This then results in most of the second act feeling like "filler" before we finally get to the real climax and the denoument. So the question becomes, how do we make the bit between the end of Act I and the end of Act II work? I'm not particularly sure, right now, but as thoughts crop up I'll try 'em out. *sigh* Musicals. What a terribly difficult structure.

And for la piece de resistance (may I present your lute!...no, no), Jules and Mums and Dads and Johnny and Peter were good enough to get me for Christmas - much to my surprise! - an actual sapphire ring, with six diamonds (three to a side), set in white gold. It's lovely. And fits perfectly, too, which is even more lovely. And best of all, I've been assured that the stone will not fall out. Here's to hoping!

I suppose there are other observations to be made. Christmas is wonderful. Praise God for His mercy. (Praise the Lord and stay in line!) Alles gut. Amen.

Mood: Mieux
Music: Mental "Always True to You" from Kiss Me, Kate
Was Listening to: Les Miserables. One day, precious!

Oh, yes, precious

Character is soooooooooooooo good. Yay for development, Astrid and Sarah, bread being wished, silliness abounding, and the amazingness of harmony whether four part or two. Huz-zah.

No vlog tonight. Go forth and read something instead. Something in an actual book. Oh, the concept!

Mood: Nearly wrote "moos" - I suppose that sums it up!

Music: The Book of Secrets from Loreena McKennit

Goodness is: Long talks. Mothers and sisters, and brothers turning 16 and fathers who make gingerbread houses for their daughters.

Awesomeness is: The amazingness of my HCH crew. 15 minutes flat, baby, and we'd blocked and run twice Night Before Christmas. Boo-yeah. We're good.

Craziness is: The past few days. C'est ca. Can't wait for official beginning of Thursday. Alleluia!

Amusingness is: The dream song (forget the exact name...J'ai plurai dans mes reves? Ich weiss nicht!) that I'm working on with Tambre. I just...the lyrics are so silly and sophomoric. I can't help but think of Anna Russell's take on French art song - all art, no substance. Oh, it'll sound great and I'm thrilled to be working on it - it's not tuneful, more impressionistic and expressive - y'know, art song, not aria - and the silly lyrics will sound all deep and meaningful when sung - but it's just...I'm going to have to work on this one not just as a piece of music to tackle technically, but also as a piece to tackle without giggling. (Thinking of Ryan giggling in Nutcracker rehearsals. All kudos.) All good all good. Singing is goooooood.

Tangentalness is: There's nothing quite like closing one's eyes, throwing wide a high note and letting the whole of music resonate within and around and without and above and about and through your whole body. It almost feels like some multicolored scarf or iridescent smoke thrilling out through you. It's as tangible as the soul gets, I think. Of course, after a dozen or so of those, your brain tends to feel slightly buzzed and woozy from all the oxygen getting into your cranium, but since most songs are not made of a series of ghostly ooohed out high notes, I think we can be sure of not swooning during a recital anytime soon!

Lagnappe is: Jeans. Tomorrow. Oh yes.

Second tangentalness returning to original is: Huh. Interesting story idea. What if, when one truly sang in that glorious soul-swirling way, the soul actually was slightly outside the or coursing through it and out the open mouth, and someone snatched it? Fantasy story that.... Possibly sci-fi. Folk prove the existence of the soul? Something soul vs. science? Dunno. Of course, the whole point of the soul and faith is that it isn't tangible. Perhaps that's why I'm leaning towards sci-fi - they're always trying to figure out what makes humans tick in a mechanical world. Is it memory, senses, etc. Oh, silly folk approaching from a flawed Lockian view! So, one'd have to be careful to tread correctly on theological ground whilst fictionalizing the concept...but it would be really neat to base a story on. Huh. Brain's percolating. So about drinking that soda so late at night? Mrmph.

Right right: Schlafen. Vraiment. Schlafen. Good and dort, that's me.

And why, I ask you

Do you insult, exult and all over the wicked? (Kinda Rosalind from As You Like It brought to you by random quote du jour.) But actually, I should perfer to know why iTunes doesn't carry Within Temptation's albums. I am forced to YouTube (high fives, Jackie and Nick) the following. Ahem. Today's vlog brought to you by "Memories" a la the music playlist over on Gaudete's corner of the infosphere.



Right, so something I've been pondering lately is the potentially detrimental effect this age of insta-communication has on ourselves. I'm not entirely certain that my current thoughts are anywhere near in right order (either definition), but it seems to me that we're so easily in communication with one another that we don't have the benefit of taking those times when we're meant to be cut off from others in order to grow. What I mean is, part of the best thing about my college experience - at home and abroad - was that I had to really pursue communication with home. Consequently, I had to cleave to those at my college for community, I had to grow as a person in independence and healthful dependence, I was in fact forced out of my comfort zone. Therefore, too, I had more joy and more to speak about with those with whom I had not been in communication for some time when I saw them again. These days, we...we exist together without ever existing together. I really can't help of think of - oh, what transcendentalist was it? Thoreau? - who asked what good the "instant communication" of the telegraph would do for us, when coupled with the newspaper. What news is there on a daily basis?

But, of course, at the same time it seems to me that Heaven would be like an eternal sleepover. It would be full of all the nothings that are the everythings. Some best moments I remember are sitting with Kristy Kubasak and brushing each other's hair and not speaking for hours on end, or driving with Jules hither and yon and taking roads not taken and listening to music or just the music in our minds, or any of the late nights with my household brothers and sisters, and yes the delight of seeing my children sprawled like lanky puppies all over the floor, and best of all those times sleeping before the Blessed Sacrament. Those still times are precious. And...I suppose that's why instant communication frustrates me. It's rather like my essential philosophical frustration with the telephone. If you are within seeing distance, why am I talking to you on the phone? (Now, naturally, if the person is not within seeing distance, that's a different matter.)

Oh, it's all silly. Break legs, Thursday's cast! Wish us broken legs for our impromptu Night Before Christmas going up Wednesday. We were assigned it Friday, had casting and pre-play and tech Saturday today at lunch, and first and final dress rehearsal tomorrow at lunch. Oyveh! By golly, though, it'll be taped on put on Seven Ages!

Mood: Scattered
Music: "Memories" from Within Temptation
Prayer: For all those ill, both those in body and in spirit. For Christmas! Alleluia! And for the ability to wake up easily early in the morning. C'est ca.
And congrats to: Meine schweister! Whose history channel documentary thingy goes up tomorrow night at 8 p.m. Civil War stuff - watch it!

A-vlogging we will go!

A-vlogging we will go!
Heigh-ho the mpg-oh!
A-vlogging we will go!

I'm doing up an extra, and so - because procrastination is the mother of invention - I whipped up together the below. Actually, I'm really looking forward to break - hope to do a lot of editing, Seven Ages following Matchmaker. Hoopla for projects. Hoopla, too, for time - the healer of many wounds and irrational grudges. Yes, I shall enjoy this break very much indeed.



Went to Mum's and Jules' Lessons and Carols for Christmas this evening. GORGEOUS music, and Father Jonathan sang two solos! Oh, golden voices! Golden voices in golden halls! Now, if only Father Mike would see his way clear to letting Julie go crazygonuts painting on the walls, we might be able to walk into there and think ourselves in Rome.

Very much looking forward to tomorrow/today (how very Volsky of me! Nierian, is it, who wrote the palindrome of that?). Gaudete, gaudete, gaudete! Very...in discussions and arming for...whatever is to come. Discussions with family, Jules, Mom, Dad, with God. Of course, who knows where Emily a year from now, or nine months from now will be. (Curious thought - the changes and shifts and constant regestations, rebirths, every nine months or so - huh. Reincarnation in one body?) C'est ca. Let me not think on it.

Watched a bit of Kiss Me, Kate and shook head in wonder at the...50's-ness of it. That and Pirates don't feel as though I did them. Yet, I've the blocking notes somewhere here, I know, and the video and all sorts of witnesses to say that I was present at the event! Curieux, non? It's rather like Niamh - I keep forgetting it exists. Poor little Niamh! And poor writing, so very neglected! Poor little in-stasis Poityr and Elspeth, and Giselle and Theophilus and Juste, and Ceilyn and Caleigh (known as Gawain), and Deirdre and Reid! But rather than get all Jasper Fforde-y, I'll simply state that I do look forward to that time when I have the opportunity to delve back into those worlds and write characters whom I won't direct some few weeks later.

Oh, character! I was working some audition pieces/one-act bits/etc. on Friday with two students and it struck me how many awful plays there are out there. My artistic sensibilities are thoroughly outraged that anyone should have spent time writing it, and then someone else with equally odious taste saw fit to publish it, and another malicious offender to promote it, and some gullible fool to choose it, and another thoughtless fellow to direct it, leaving poor little naifs to do something with absolutely nothing. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Booooooooooo to bad plays. Boooooooooo to bad directors who choose them, or if foisted upon, who do nothing with them! Boooooooooo to stage directions and considering them God! Boooooooooo to cookie cutter directing and a bigger booooooooooo to overacting. Booooooooooooo to all those who don't bother to find the truth of a situation, to those who don't delve into what (or Who) is beyond us all, to those who write without either sound or fury and still signify nothing! Booooooooooo to those who don't write confections, but who write the literary equivalent of raisin bran. Diet. Boooooooooo to time spent on shallowness. Boooooooooo to those who think obscene jokes are clever, and who think that constant slapstick is art, and who think that plot is passe and character obsolete.

Give me something rich. If I am to do a musical, I want melodies both complex and yet tuneful, rich in harmonics and yet full of delicate simplicities, that fit the whole of the mood and the moment. If I am to do a play, I want characters with meaning, who struggle, who laugh and long and weep and play. If I am to spend hours, days, weeks, months, years of my life on something, I want to say something worth saying. I want those haunting moments, and those moments of sweet nothings, and those terrible moments of grief and unwonted violence, those moments of complete absurdity - and all of it better than life. I want a taste of the divine. And I will not settle for cardboard nor even for goldleaf. Let there be richness in what we do! True solidity! The fullness to overfullness of all that can be found dancing between Heaven and Earth. Beauty! Gaudete! HA!

Mood: I have a sword, but no immediate battle. C'mon! Bring it!
Music: Ophelia Mix
Randominity: For a description of "being a product of another's subconscious" check out my sister's far-less-obscure post.

What happens to a crazed editor

Warning: do not try on sheep. So, I had this long post all done in my brain...except that the prospect of Julie's company, discussion of the celebratory stubble phenomenon and being the product of others subconsciouses was too enticing, and so, drugged on a combination of Diet Coke, adrenaline and an itchy trigger finger, I present the following. Salut!



Mood: Good golly. Time.
Music: "Oldest Established" in the cranium
Happiness is: Sunday! Gaudete forever! Huzzah!

Holy cow

Y'wanna see amazing? This guy not only sings SO well, but he owns and fascinates the viewer. I've never really listened to Jeckyll and Hyde, but am intrigued after this!



Mood: Chilly-fingered and pinky-numb.
Music: Strange mental assortment.
Going To: Pete's concert. Hoopla!
I Don't Wanna Be: A pianist. My fingers, precious, they burns us! mubmlegrumblestupidnotes
And This is For: Robby. There, happy?
But Happiness Is: Doing up two things. The slapathon video and the costume renderings. The first is just amusing - slaps and smacks and whatnots to the anvil part of the Anvil Chorus. The second is fulfilling - when I do the costume renderings, the play comes to life in my mind - the charicterizations, images, poses, moments, overarching themes, set decoration, light decoration, general tone of the entire show, etc. Everything.

The rest is...

Finished. Rough cut. Whole durn thing. A few places I need to fix yet - vocal tracks, a few little camera glitches, and whatnots - but more or less, done. I was a lot giddier before, but my body's reminding me that what makes it giddy is sleep. To which we will shortly succumb.

Because, yes, precious, life is so very, very good. The boys thrilled me, so that with confidence I can declare, "fo' shizzle, my nizzles, we pwn mad nubes." (Although the correct punctuation rather ruins the effect, non?) No - 'tis good. Better than good, great. I'm finally psyched about the actuality of Guys and Dolls. This, mes cheres et mesdemoiselles, will be good.

And I realized, as I did the dishes this evening, inbetween watching with mia familia Act V and various other bits of Hamlet, that the grieving and post-play for this show has been deeper and more long-lasting than I had thought. But then, I've been living with this show in my head for over a decade. And, even above and beyond how excellent the play was...last summer was...it was what life should be. There was something there, blessed. Full of grace. It's a rare show that transcends the boundaries of rehearsal room and stage. I'm not sure I'm fully done grieving for the end of Hamlet, but I think I'm reaching a sort of peace with it.

Isn't it odd? We build these little worlds, and nourish them, and live in them, and play in them, and make them shine and sparkle for a few brief hours for our delight and the delight of others, and then we experience a thousand little deaths with the close of each show. I suppose that's why what I love best is first night out on Fridays - to Friday's most often, God bless the wait staff! - because the world is still vibrant, the close is yet to come, we've finally woken to the wonder of the time we've been given, we know that is it so very, very good. On that night, that first night out, we kind of float - buoyed up by our communal participation in what is, frankly, miraculous (I've rarely seen a show that ought to turn out as well as it turns out opening night - it's always off-kilter right up until the moment it all comes new at last). We cherish. We live in the ever-present and yet all-too-fleeing now, and taste a little of the eternal joy. It is good.

So, why Hamlet? I mean, why does it mean so much to me? In part, certainly, the decade or more waiting, thinking, pondering, cherishing; in part the frustration with having the cast and being denied (during the year) to put it on (although thank God for His better judgement!); in part for the majesty of the work itself, both on-page and in life; in part for the great goodness that is every beloved person who joined in for Gaudete; and in part - yes, in large part, I think - because the story that Hamlet tells is simply true. ("She would find a language that was truer than others.")

I wept last night, as I only weep for Sam's carrying Frodo up the mountain, and Christ in His passion, and for Jean Valjean and Eponine's deaths - as I wept after this summer - because as I edited together Horatia's final speech it struck me: the whole play, we were watching these characters, these people step closer and closer, inevitably, inexorably to their deaths. Where we began, we ended. "What would you see?" Why did we come here? What did we come to learn? And, no, it's not the morbid tale that our modernists would make it out to be, but it's an honest story that we have only the time here that we've been given - and we don't know how long it is, and that we must do something good and true and beautiful with it. Because life is worth living, no matter how short, no matter how long, and it's worth the risk of loving, and it's worth the risk of - yes - dying for a cause. And it's full of heartache, and it's full of sorrow, and it's full of daily sacrifice, and temptation, and small, unseen victories, and quiet, quiet moments when we speak the loudest without a single word.

And we don't take all that out and look at it enough. We just...glance at life. We just try to fill up the hours, try to pass the time, we waste the time we have. We speak but never act, we rush rashly into action and never take the time to really think, we don't stop and thank God that we have this moment, this very moment, full of so much beauty. We uglify the world, and we allow it to be uglified - and here, in this story, was one man trying, trying vainly it sometimes seemed, trying against his own faults and sins and weaknesses and cowardice, trying to do what was right. And we don't try. So often, we just don't even bother to change our lives. Because it seems easier to just lie down, give into fear, and to die.

We must not merely die. We must not go quietly into that dark night. We must not stop fighting, fighting all the time, because this world is worth fighting for. We must go on, and have no fear. We must trust that there is a certain providence in the fall of every sparrow. That's what Hamlet's all about. Not the inane jokes and spoofs and lampoons about the famous lines, the half-known speeches, the melancholy Dane languishing poetically with a skull in hand. The question, the true question, is will you fight or will you die? Will you finally be the person you might be, or will you obscure your face because you can't bear the weight of Glory? Will you live - truly, truly live?

I put before you life and death, the blessing and the curse.

Choose life.



Mood: Dangnabbit - weeping again.
Music: "Dare You to Run" - seem appropriate
Thought: Oh...God. Thank You, thank You, thank You so much. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You, Daddy. Love You, Your own silly little Emmamee. Amen.

Because it's technically a new day

This post gets its own...post.



Mood: Verging on giddy
Music: "I Walk Alone" on mental repeat
Yes, Julie: I'm a nerd. Mmmmwah! (Don't drink the coffee. Future Dwight.)

8m (MUCHO updated throughout le jour)

In this case, approximately 8 minutes of editing done for the beginning of Act V of Hamlet. That brings us to the funeral's entrance and "What ceremony else?" That's somewhere a little bit after here:



And now, sleep rocking my brains. Full day tomorrow. Happy Feast of the Immaculate Conception, everybody! And now happy Feast of St. Juan Diego! Hip hip hoorah! O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee! Amen!

Mood: Slightly triumphant
Music: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
Musical Notation: (Or just notes) I was actually looking for Prisoner of Azkaban, but can't seem to locate it in any of my usual CD spots, which is why I'm listening to Chamber of Secrets - but it's awfully funny. One can tell a John Williams piece anywhere. It's that slightly floating type music - even his brass isn't weighted down. Huh.

~*~

Addendum the morning after (or later): It's actually Saturday afternoon, as I type, and isn't the screen cap of Allie as Gertrude just wonderfully terrible as the remorseless murderess at Ophelia's funeral? Yay for character development!



Mood: Mieux, merci
Music: Now Philosopher's Stone! (Sounds rather painful, non?) Still can't find Prisoner of Azkaban. Sigh.
Thought: I'd forgotten how delightful editing is.
And one more for the road: Oh. Yes. Laertes is not a Happy Camper.



~*~

Even, even later. (Or as Kristen once famously intoned, "Mooooooooooore later!" Oh, for WPLHS! Good times.) Right, so a few more screen caps, because...TA DA! I finished editing V.1. of Hamlet. (Dances merrily.) Tra la, I love the spring, as do my fingers, which are freezing. Meh. C'est ca. Worth it for the satisfaction of extended on-stage intense silences! BWAHAHHAHAAH! (And really, gents, I did try to get an action shot of Laertes and Hamlet beating the snot out of each other. But each and every one was fuzzy. Ah ca.)

Note: To see the images less fuzzy, click on the picture.

Souvien

Hope never disappoints.

Amen.

Mood: Emotionally exhausted, however Mother-protected.
Music: Mental Italian arias
Thought: Lord, restore to me the joy of my youth. Amen! Alles gut. God is good. Fear is futile. God is greater.
Julie's a goof: Jim is my hero.


St. Teresa's Prayer: (Because it can never be reiterated too often!)

Let nothing trouble you.
Let nothing frighten you.
All things are passing.
God alone is changeless.
Patience obtains everything.
Whoever possesses God wants for nothing.
God alone suffices.

Good words

Be strong and of good courage, be not afraid, nor dismayed. For the Lord is with you wherever you go. (Joshua 1:9)

The word of the LORD came to me thus: "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I dedicated you, a prophet to the nations I appointed you."

"Ah, Lord GOD!" I said, "I know not how to speak; I am too young."

But the LORD answered me, Say not, "I am too young." To whomever I send you, you shall go; whatever I command you, you shall speak. Have no fear before them, because I am with you to deliver you, says the LORD. (Jeremiah 1:4-8)

For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare, not for woe! plans to give you a future full of hope. (Jeremiah 29:11)

Have mercy on me, God, in your goodness; in your abundant compassion blot out my offense.
Wash away all my guilt; from my sin cleanse me....
A clean heart create for me, God; renew in me a steadfast spirit.
Do not drive me from your presence, nor take from me your holy spirit.
Restore my joy in your salvation; sustain in me a willing spirit.
I will teach the wicked your ways, that sinners may return to you.
Rescue me from death, God, my saving God, that my tongue may praise your healing power.
Lord, open my lips; my mouth will proclaim your praise.
For you do not desire sacrifice; a burnt offering you would not accept.
My sacrifice, God, is a broken spirit; God, do not spurn a broken, humbled heart. (Psalm 51:3-4, 12-19)

For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; If it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late. (Habakkuk 2:3)

Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say - rejoice! (Philippians 4:4)

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (Philippians 4:8)

Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, (love) is not pompous, it is not inflated, it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. (1 Corinthians 13:4-8)

What then shall we say to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but handed him over for us all, how will he not also give us everything else along with him? Who will bring a charge against God's chosen ones? It is God who acquits us. Who will condemn? It is Christ (Jesus) who died, rather, was raised, who also is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us.

What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword? As it is written: "For your sake we are being slain all the day; we are looked upon as sheep to be slaughtered." No, in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us.

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, 9 nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, 10 nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:32-39)

Mood: OH! dear Lord! Amen!
Music: None. But I do have that new CD. May put it in.
Thought: OH DEAR LORD!!!

He of the Golden Voice

Jills, this is for you. I'd forgotten how glorious DJ's voice is! (Yes, yes, I know. Mucho vlogging. Deal.)



Mood: "Going Under"
Music: "Going Under"!
Thought: Guess.

Good golly, Miss Molly

In the continuation of finding new dance moves, check out the video below. The beginning, although certainly strong, I find a little self-indulgent, but once it becomes a couples flamenco/paso doble dance, it's FANTASTIC. I especially love the rolling promenades! Hurrah!



Otherwise, doing work, finishing up bits, the usual. Another 14-hour day tomorrow. Glee.

Mood: Meh - comme si, comme ca.
Music: Mental "Bombelao" from above
The Forecast: Is curieux, non? Yay for photocopy machines.
One more for the road: My first thought? I want that pink dress!!! Yay for ballroom!

I've had an elegant sufficiency

...and any more would be a superfluity! (Yay for big words to say girls' night out at Outbacks was loverly and filling in more ways than one.)

Randominity:

Attempting to finish up Hamlet for Gaudete Sunday.

Happy Advent everyone!

Boo to rain on Friday that cancels things. And boo to continuation of non-singy self. Le sigh.

Yay to amazing homilies at mass and "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" and to God's providence in all things! Alleluia!

It's really rather frustrating that I was able to see all manner of different Hamlets as part of my prep for Hamlet, but there's only one released Guys and Dolls and it's not really in keeping with the script and score!

Speaking of Guys and Dolls, there's some celestial irony going on that I'm quirking my brow at and wondering what He's up to. Anywho, alles gut, I'm sure.

If you wanna see class, see this:



Mood: Tired but good
Music: Mental "Begin the Beguine" from above
Thought: Oh, how comfy many blankets are when piled on top of meeeee on a cold(ish) winter(esque) night! Huzzah for comforters and quilts and crochet and that thing I always call flannel but it isn't. Hurrah!
Thought Redux: I really don't get why people get all "thing" about the "Holiday Season" and go bananas buying stuff. I'm not trying to be purposely naive - it just makes no sense for me. Buy things for your family to put around the tree, wish everyone else Merry Christmas, go to Mass, stay in PJ's, none of that in order. What's the point of "Holiday Exhaustion"? People don't really need stuff. Hrumph.