In the name of procrastination

I should be doing my readings for tomorrow night's class. I can imagine what they will say given the "argument" so far. (I say "argument" with quotation marks firmly placed because no argument has been given. That is to say, things were stated but never argued. Which is Very Bad Basic Philosophy. It's dull, but it's important to slog through definitions and refutations first. Sigh. What do they teach them at these schools?) Anywho, instead I will take on the far more pleasurable task of jotting down my thoughts re: audition styles and casting classes. It shall be done in randominity bullet points. Because they are prettyful. And I likes them.

I had (as seen below) my audition on Saturday. I think I did a fairly good job, but for reasons that will most likely become evident once I see the show and understand the director's concept (or lack thereof) for the piece, I did not receive a call back. C'est ca. What can one do?

Well, but it seems to me that one of the things I learnt or observed is that, as a director even more than as an actor, I am not a fan of the "Professional Five-Minute Audition" format. This format, which I believe is used in most places, is that each actor prepares a piece that will fit into five minutes. He goes into the vacuum of the audition before a handful of shell-shocked directors, does his thing, thanks them and leaves. The shell-shocked directors then decide - among those actors they can remember - which ones they want to see again in a call-back for a particular role.

The reason why I do not like PFMA format is that the piece is delivered in a vacuum. Yet acting is a communal affair. It is not done with a single actor sucked into a contextless void. And in this case, seeing so many applicants all in a row, the directors are as much pulled into this vacuum as anyone else. Their synapses are not fired by seeing an old scene from the play acted in a new and exciting way by actors they would have never considered. They are not awakened by any chemistry from the actor - unless it is the pheromones of his own audacity. In short....

Vacuum Auditions almost guarantee Theatre in a Box.



Antonia (not Antonio) kicking butt and taking names in Much Ado About Nothing

I don't mean black box theatre or proscenium arches or anything as technical as that. I mean that Vacuum Auditions do not produce new ideas in the directors. If anything, they reemphasize standard or "thinking in the box" casting, underlying philosophy, physical stereotypes, etc. etc. Vacuum Casting causes Vacuum Theatre.

Which makes me think that part of a directing class should directly deal with "Casting Outside the Box" - or rather with forcing the director to really look at his show, the underlying principles thereof, and how to explore that with all sorts of actors. I'm not quite sure how to set it up, but I think I would want to set it up with a pool of actors who perhaps sign up for a credit from this experience and who agree to make themselves available to the directors, and then set up a series of projects - in class and in labtime - that require them to cast typically, cast against type, cast against gender, cast changing gender - basically to see what happens with one piece if you mix it up. Because sometimes the best way is the traditional reading, but sometimes the "traditional" reading has lost the true essence of the piece and needs an underdog actor to bring something new to the piece.

I still have to think about this. But I think it might be a valuable course in the battle against the Deadly Theatre.

Mood: Don't-want-to-do-homework!
Music: "It's Not Over" by Daughtry from New Life Mix CD
Thought: According to the stacks on my desk, I have drunk entirely too much Diet Coke....

Auditioning Today

Around 3 p.m. For the Philadelphia Story. For Emerson. Doing Dolly Levi's speech (mostly Act IV with a little Act I thrown in). Prayers welcome (for God's will, not necessarily for a part)! More later.

Mood: Anticipatory
Music: Nyet
Thought: Ah...and here come the butterflies.

~*~

ETA: No callback.

In an earth-shattering decision

I have decided not to go to see the Nora Theatre's presentation of The Secret Love Life of Ophelia. I had originally been planning on coughing up the buckaroos to see this production - to see if it would enlighten me at all for the next time I did Hamlet, or to reflect at all upon what I have already done. But from reading numerous reviews of this production and other productions of the play, I've realized that no amount of money could induce me to listen to soft-porn in bastardized Elizabethan blank verse. Especially with such a sophomoric plot as TSLLOO (silly acronym!) seems to have. I think the good folk at Disney could come up with a more clever rendition of Ophelia! Boooooooooo revisionist Shakespeare! But yay for keeping money in my pocket? *hrumphs off into the sunset*



Ophelia:Is that a play about us?!?!
Hamlet:Don't bother me. I'm sleeping.
Mood: Tickey
Music: The always soothing, always amusing Crimson Pirates
A good review is: Boston.com's great review.

And a great quote: "...Ophelia, is rather whimsical and does a decent job with the material she has been given, though there is nothing special about her performance. Her character's thoughts and actions get redundant and much of the play is spent waiting for her to go through with the suicide." From Tufts Daily.

ARG! Another great quote: "One of the great things about great texts is their silences, the questions they leave unanswered, allowing generation after generation to fill in the gaps with their own interpretations. That’s possibly one of the reasons Shakespeare’s Hamlet has held such fascination for theatre practitioners down the ages." From DNA India about a Noh Drama version.

Thought on the above: Which is exactly my problem with most of the play today. One might say they're prosaic. They're not poetic. They're stuffed full of words, signifying nothing. They're gross and base and common and mucky. They raise questions, but they possess no real human ambiguity. They are not sublime. In silence is our thoughtfulness.

So I Know I Can Dance!!!

Or, at least cheer really, really fangirly loudly at each successive dance on the tour. Despite traffic and panic making us half an hour late (really 15 minutes late since there was - THANK YOU! - a 15 minute hold! Nice to know we're not the only ones some days), it was faaaaaaaaaaaaaaanTABulous! I screeched, I screamed, I can't hear anything out of my left ear. I cheered for shirtless Neil, shirtless Danny, and a shirtless but cape-ful Pasha. I cheered for effortless lifts and beautiful lines and fantastic pirhouettes and plastered on smiles and energy that was clearly waning by the end but clearly being forced to be lifted regardless. I cheered for jazz hands. And those WERE spirit fingers! I am one happy little duckling. I am a duckling that wants to work with those beautiful people and improve some of their choreography and take them further in expressing character through dance and movement and gesture and voice and being and soul. BWAahahhahahhaha!

Le sigh. And all is beautiful and glorious and full of grand jetes!

Mood: Tres tres tres heureux!
Music: None. Ears are still ringing.
Thought: And a prayer - I really needed that. Thanks, God.
Recent Realization: After going to the address/lecture last night with Mom at Assumption College...what I need isn't intellectual reinforcement, it's emotional.

The R&J madness begins

Or better to say, the theatrical sanity returns. (But fear not, those who can't stand theatrical ramblings - there'll be some non-theatre-ish real-lifey stuff at the end.)

Went to see the Publick Theatre's hugely expensive (ticketwise) Romeo and Juliet last night out in Cambridge. I got a bit lost getting there - although consequently I found out a lot about Soldier's Field Road and Memorial (Road? Parkway? Strada?) and how they connect, and the several bridges over the Charles River, and maybe five more ways of how to get to Route 90, and six more ways of how to Not Be Terrified When Wholly Lost In The Most Confusing City And Its Environs Ever (hint: it includes having the wildly in/appropriate song "Totally F---ed" happen to come on from the R&J soundtrack and sing really really loudly to it in defiance to the meandering cattle who first laid down our impossible road system).

Anywho, being the crazy scholar that I am, I had looked up the sole article I could find reviewing the show, and seen that they'd written that this R&J's central conceit was that of a chess game (color coded families, etc.). My first thought was: "Chess game conceit! That's so brilliant!" My second thought was: "Booooo. Now I can't steal that." But upon seeing the show, and seeing that there was nooooo chess theme (just color coded families in red and blue - pthpthpthpth), my newest thought is: "CHESS! NOTHING BUT CHESS! Yeeeeeeees. I shall do well here." And I've finally got an idea of the set, which has been plaguing me. (The design, not hulking heaps of lumber following me about. Because that would be creepy.)

The show itself was...well acted, well spoken, traditional dress, made good use of space, well-lit, well-sorta-miked, unimaginatively but for the most part serviceably directed, mehishly choreographed (dance and fighting - Ryan, you'll be glad to know your fights are WAAAY better), approximately 2 hours and 15 minutes, with a 5 minute hold and 12 minute intermission...and wholly unengaging. The difficulty was, that, although it was competently and even well done, I didn't see ANY of the relationships between the characters. Why was Romeo friends with Mercutio, or Mercutio with Romeo? So who cares when Mercutio dies then? He's just a braggart and rude. Buh-byeeeee! (And Mercutio was one of the better actors!) And who cares when Tybalt dies when we haven't seen any of the Capulets interact with him - so he just ends up looking like a random plot point to wander alone (?!?!??!?!?!?!!?!? - where's his Capulet posse?) onto the stage, cackle evilly a bit and then die. Who cares if Romeo kills him? Why in the world did he want to kill Romeo anyway? It all seemed to arbitrary. And I felt no animosity between the two households. And I felt nooooooo chemistry between Romeo and Juliet. Once again, the director felt that since everyone knows they're supposed to be in love and he has them kiss maybe three times (although, curiously, not in the balcony scene), we're supposed to buy it. Meh. Nope. And if that central relationship isn't believable - well, let's just say the whole play felt about an hour-fifteen too long.

I can't let this get away without mentioning some silly blocking. OK, Jules, you'll love this. (Ryan, too, if you're reading. And anyone who remembers the red-and-yellow tights.) So, the boys were all wearing nothing BUT doublet and hose - that is tight tights that were *ahem* unpanted and actually some really nice doublets (the fashion of Mercutio's I would love to steal). My first thought in seeing them was actually of David Bowie in Labyrinth with the embarrassing tight/stretchpants. (Strike a dramatic pose and sing: "I-hi-hi-hi can't live with-ih-ih-in yooooooooooou!") So there's Romeo randomly straddling his dead wife's body (first thought: "SQUACKWARD!") and then he's striking silly poses as he goes on and on and on about how he's going to die and all I can think is of "Dance, Magic, Dance!" Not quite the reaction the director wanted, I fear.


David Bowie Working for a Paycheck

Continuation of silliness. OK, so then he dies half on top of Juliet. She wakes up (in buttshot!) to see the Friar there, she has to sort of move aside Romeo's arm to wipe the sleep from her eyes, and her first question is: "Oh, comfortable Friar - where is my Romeo?" And all I can think is a shrill, screeching: "Asleep my love? What? DEAD, my dove! Oh, Pyramus! Arise!" Bad bad bad choice. I mean, if I was waking up in a crypt and noticed that I had extra arms and legs hanging on me, I wouldn't be doing morning calisthenics and asking inane questions.


Shakespeare Sends Up His Own R&J

Oh, and Paris was this lisping namby-pambyier who came on and then was...I think...beheaded by Romeo who went all crazy on the poor guy. Romeo just kept stabbing him and it was sooooooooooo funny. But I felt bad for the actors, because they were trying so hard, and they had clearly be instructed to do what they did.

Some good stuff. The Friar and the Nurse were great. Really great. They were the only ones I felt had relationship with their young charges, and even with each other. But that's the extent of it. They did, together, save the scene where Romeo's weeping on the floor about being banished. (Do boys really cry uncontrollably like that? Is this scene playable without being silly? Or is Shakespeare making R&J into a comedy?) Once again, all I could think of was Dane Cook. (And the poor actor playing Romeo, just lying on the floor in silly tights weeping hysterically.)


Dane Cook on Crying

Um, other good things were the balcony scene was fast and fun and flirty (but they never touched so...why was the scene happening? No chemistry). The leads - especially Romeo - had some good "I'm 15 and have no actual control of my limbs" moments. The set was good and the way they moved into the crypt was very well done. Their tableaus were good, too. Paris pronounced some of his words strangely, like "Marr-EE-age" - sort of putting in every possible syllable - but it worked for a sort of "I'm more upper crust than you" indicator. Also, I counted out a few of his lines that he read like that, and it's justified because it makes the line into perfect pentameter (rather than being a syllable short). There was one point when the Nurse held Juliet like Juliet was still a baby. And there was another point where Juliet turned her back on Paris and said, "I love him" to the Friar significantly. (Boogie! Subtext!)

But all in all I was so glad to see the play - even at that exorbitant price - because it reminded me that I really do like theatre - nay, love it - and that Much Ado really was pretty good - and that "Oh, heck, I can do this!" - and that it doesn't matter how big your budget is or how many weekends you run, you may still only pull an audience of 50 (about the size last night!). And that I can now steal the chess idea outright! Bwahahahhahahhahha!

So, school. Hum. I've only had one week. I luuuuuuuurve my morning class (T/TH), which is about the craft of teaching. What I find particularly cool is that the professor narrates his own thought process so that we can get an idea of what an instructor is thinking and why he is thinking it. Of course, I also enjoy the many theatre games which are going right into my bag of tricks and will likely find their way into 2008's R&J summer camp! Tra la! My Monday evening class is good - lots and lots and lots of reading - I think quite a bit of how grateful I am to the Steubie-U Honors Program. Grateful for the academic discipline, but even more for the philosophical, theological and analytical knowledge. It is coming in handy in keeping my sanity and seeing through the philosophical inanities inherent in the subject. (The subject says that all of life is performance, hence it's an excuse for "Anything I want to do I can do because I choose to do it." Neitschze's Will to Power, otherwise known as hubris boys and girls! The Snyder family's been discussing nothing else but the fundamentals of the subject for the past two weeks.) And my Thursday night acting class looks like it'll be interesting - it's focused on Augusto Boal and the "Theatre of the Oppressed" - but the techniques are applicable anywhere, I think. And I learned a variation of the mirror game that is really cool and focussing. Guess what'll probably make it into Gaudete next summer?

But the weirdest part is this continuing freefall. I am unaccustomed - and have been unaccustomed for the past seven years - to not being in authority of my own actions. Being a teacher for so long, I can see what my own teachers are choosing to do and can guess their reasoning. And when I get nervous (as a student) over the thought of homework or a final exam, I have to remind myself of what my expectations were as a teacher and I calm down a little. But this lack of authority, this lack of foresight (I have the syllabi - the roadmap - but not the prior knowledge), this need for total trust, this living from day to day - this is all quite foreign to me. I am not sure that I care for it. And it's not a power thing - it really isn't - but it's similar to the few times this past year that I've either acted or performed (usually musically). I feel like I have tunnel vision - everything peripherally is blurred - of myself all I can see are my fingers and my feet - I have no idea how or if I fit into the bigger picture or how well or ill or anything. It's like being blind, but worse than blind, for it's a partial vision. That's it: as a teacher and a director, I have VISION. Being under others' authority, I do not - and it's as disconcerting as driving with one's glasses off.

The other day in my morning class, my professor mentioned that a) he has never burnt out on theatre or on teaching, although he came close when he tussled with administration and immediately after he said that b) he has no extracurricular activities, but goes to theatre as his hobby and lives and breathes and eats and sleeps theatre. And this, alas, sent me into an uncontrollable fit of giggles because...it's so true. And it made me realize a) that I haven't burnt out on theatre and teaching either, but that for the past six of my seven teaching years, I have been steadily and increasingly beaten down by administrations and b) that perhaps it's just all part of the job to let the job and the life and the being be all one. It was a comfort. But I got a few strange looks for giggling. But I just couldn't help it. I did help myself from dancing about the room, singing: "Tra la! I love the Spring!" at the top of my voice. People should be grateful.

So I sang at mass yesterday and felt that, once again, I couldn't get my balance between my chest, mask and head voice and that it was throwing my vowels and dynamics all wonky and boooooooooooo. But then I was down in the nave praying my Magnificat after mass (and crying - I've been crying a lot at mass lately - good crying, though) and Father Jonathan (who's studying the Latin Mass!!!) came by and out of the blue said, "Emily, I was telling Rodger (the organist - aMAZing musician) the other day, that 'Emily really is the best singer we have. Just beautiful every time.'" And that was lovely and Heaven sent. And then Father blessed me in Latin (the showoff ;P) and said that all I had to do was close the door behind me but that the church was locked up. And so I got to stay and sing to Him! Sing in the Spirit in a high-vaulted church. Oooooooooooooooooh, joy. And much much much needed.

So, during Much Ado's final gag night, I put down a minefield for Ryan to navigate full of jokes and gags directed at him. Mwahahahhahaha. But last Sunday, the day before my 30th, I felt as though God had put down a similar delightful minefield. Someone I didn't know at the kiss of peace came over and said, "Happy Birthday" to me (turns out he's the husband of someone in the choir). And there was just a series of delightful things. And yes, Dad (who I know reads this), I am sooooo glad that slowly you and I are getting better at being close together. That is the best of all things.

Anywho, waaaaaaaaaay too long. And miles of readings to go before I sleep.

Mood: Curieux
Music: "The Sky is Falling" by Lifehouse from the New Life soundtrack.
Lyrics: It isn't but it sounds like: "Well it shouldn't be hard to grieve/Shouldn't be this difficult to leave/The sky is falling/And no one knows."

Surprised by Goodness

Some really good things. (Isn't that nice?)

Orientation went well. Some highlights include: actually speaking, speakers who were all sorts of interactive, meeting up with friends old and new, and power walking it back to South Station in time to catch the 5:30 - fwah! Go me and my Austrian legs of steel. I was built to gambol in Alpine heights. (And sing there, too.)

Looooooooong conversations about music and opera. *rubs hands in eager anticipation to do something operatic (bwahahahhahah)*

Family. Family who hangs around after busy days themselves to hear about each others' days, and then drags the somnolent Emily from her bed the following morning to make First Friday Mass, quick Exposition and Adoration, and then "not-going-back-to-school breakfast" at Bumpy's. This is Pete and Mom's ninth NGBTSB - my first. And Dad was able to be with us. And it's been a long time since I've had more than a Nutrigrain bar for breakfast. And the Alpine Power Legs walked me down to and from Main Street (although they were protesting slightly on the way back, due to the building up of muscle the day before). And it is good.

The new mix CD, called "New Life." If you don't know why, you're a terrible stalker. The first song is "Are You Out There" by Dar Williams, who always makes me think of Susan and sophomore year of college. Good times.

Mood: Sleepy but mieux
Music: "Spring Street" by Dar Williams on the New Life mix CD.
Thought: At the risk of breaking out into choreography, "Could be/who knows?/There's something due any day/I will know right away/As soon as it shows...."

The Return of Randominity

Finished editing the Our Town scene from Seven Ages. It makes me (stop laughing) want to direct Our Town in its entirety. Meaghan is simply sooooo luminous. Brava!

ETA: Two short clips, the last from Seven Ages. "Camp Grenada" and "Our Town" (selections). Enjoy!

Two days. What the shreck.

My cousin Amy has very good advice. When going somewhere new, there will be one totally awful moment and you'll suffer through it, and then it will be over and everything will proceed as normal. Of course, Terry Pratchett also has some commentary into the human condition, when he points out that, generally, what people truly want is "olds," not "news." They want to know that tomorrow will be pretty much like today. Regardless, time is inexorable and moves one on whether one wants to go or not.

I am considering what I know to be true: that when God closes a door, He opens a palace - and this I know to be true. But it doesn't stop me from glimpsing through the keyhole and believing that the limited and distorted image I have is the whole of everything. This perception is not so. I must remember this. It's as though humans have the wrong prescription lenses given to them - funhouse mirrors for glasses - and it's so easy to believe that perception is reality. Thank God that truth is greater and more real and more wonderful and unexpected. So, intellectually, I remember that my through-the-keyhole image is fundamentally skewed. And that time, that great usher, will lead me will-me-nil-me to His next destination.

I've come to the place of saying to those who are foolish enough to ask: "No. I am not doing well." But I do it with a diplomatic handshake and a bright smile which confuses folk, as much as the sentiment itself. Once again, I thank God for time.

And for the end of that court case which ended well for the party for whom I ended up not needing to testify for after all. (And if that isn't enough to bring me up on counts of torturous grammar, I don't know what is!) I hope he and his whole family do well! It makes me ill to think of how such specious accusations can nearly ruin a man's life. Boooo stupid children of evil. Yay to wise judges. And yay to the American law which puts, rightly, the burden of proof upon the accuser (such as should have been observed in another debacle we all know and hate).

I first heard this rule in Mr. Dreitlein's honors biology class which, if it was too academically daunting for me as a mousy high school freshman (I got B's - it's like failing for me), has nevertheless proven a lasting source of non-scientific wisdom. Mr. Dreitlein included humour, poetry, history lessons, and the basics of rhetoric and philosophy into his classes, for which I will be forever grateful. God bless Mr. Dreitlein (and his "Greek godlike body" - oh, delightful self-depreciation!), wherever he is now.

It is time to leave, though. And all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.

Mood: Piano-play-y.
Music: The silly but very soothing "The Word of Your Body" from Spring Awakening which, however, BEGS for harmony. Which I give it. Even despite the lyrics.
Thought: "Closing time....Time to go to those places you will be from."