Recently in Performance Category

I got cast in an original play that opens in Brooklyn in early April. The character is a charismatic religious figure, but while a bit heavy-handed, he's quite benevolent. It should be fun to do because he's someone I'm normally not like, i.e., he's highly confident, self-assured, but grounded and genuinely warm and caring (though most people would find his means heavy-handed and his motives suspect).

His monologues are not standard monologues (i.e., they wouldn't be good choices for audition monologues), but they do offer a terrific opportunity to master a type of text that we've been working with in Deborah Carlson's Word Of Mouth Studios. The text piece we've been working with have been highly expressive, almost poetic, pieces.

We've been working on them for several reasons:

The Triad took away our remaining January Monday evening performances (mostly because the other shows they rent to are cabaret, and they can open the bar), however, the producers informed the cast last week that the show has been extended for one month, through February, i.e., Sunday @ 3PM and Wednesday @ 7PM. This is great -- it's one of the longest runs I've had, and rather than the show getting stale, it's just gotten better, as I expected it would.

For me, this extension gives me a chance to practice really listening and responding to my partners and to practice "being alive" and reacting while I've have no lines, which happens in the last critical scene. In short, this extension gives me an opportunity to better learn how to act, my main goal of these off-Off-Broadway and off-Broadway productions.

Thank you! Thank you! THANK YOU!!

I finally have time to catch my breath, to look forward (planning for next year) and back (seeing how far I've come -- one of the main reasons for keeping this blog). Looking back, in brief:

• I arrived, rather clumsily, in New York City in the last summer of the 20th Century, quite by accident, but it seemed to be providence anyway . . .
• In late 2001, I took a basic introductory acting class at NYU's School Of Continuing & Professional Studies (it was taught by a talented Kathryn Rossetter) . . .
• In the spring of the following year later, I took a monologue workshop at the Playwrights Horizons Theater School (taught by a terrific John Ruocco) . . .
• I waited almost a year and a half, until the end of '03, before I actually got up the nerve to audition for anything, and about six months & four or five audition later, I got a break in the summer of '04 when Ron Parrella & The Impact Theatre in Brooklyn cast me in The Adding Machine, my first role, my first time on stage (though I did stage manage shows a few times for a couple of years before that).

Since The Adding Machine, I've only grown more serious and committed, and one of my striving goals has always been to perform in a show at the the off-Broadway level. I'm not sure what classifies a show as "off-Broadway," but I guess you can do no better than consult the New York Times Arts-Theatre Section about these things, and there you'll see it, in the Off-Broadway listings : The Last Jew in Europe.

The show supports a cast of six, all sizable, though my role (Papa Jocka) is the smallest, which is good as I'm probably the least experienced of the cast: this is the first time I've ever had a costume I didn't have to put together on my own, a program I didn't have to help to make, there's actually a dressing room, a full time stage manager, a demanding producer and director with high standards, and a long run.

Looking back, while not that much time has passed, it does seem like I've come a long way from that summer '04, from my cowboy "I'll teach myself to act by just doing it" approach to the surprisingly disciplined approach I've now taken -- not only towards training -- but towards the whole enterprise of attempting to become the best actor I can become, and I find all this enormously gratifying.

This is exactly what I wanted, and it's hard believe it's happened -- in fact, I was so busy with rehearsals for both Angel Heart (which just closed) and this production, I didn't realize it was, technically, my off-Broadway debut.

The show opened, quite successfully, to a very receptive audience this last Tuesday evening, 12 . 18 . 2007, 7PM, The Triad, New York City.

. . . Dreams and Taking A Chance . . .

On a frigid city wind-swept Saturday evening, December 15th (ahead the season's first Nor 'easter), on East 3rd Street, The Lower East Side, New York City, we closed out Angel Heart.

While it was only a 3 day run, I'm always eternally grateful for these small off-Off-Broadway performance opportunities, and I try to work as hard as I can because I get a chance to put into full practice the training I'm getting and all the time, effort, and $$ I'm putting into that training -- it completes the circle, so to speak, of growth, of activating one's inner talent and aptitude:

. . . Anson Dorrance [...] as head coach of the University of North Carolina women's soccer team, The Tar Heels, [and] his associate Bill Palladino, shaped one of the most dominate sports programs in the history of professional or collegiate sports. The North Carolina program helped the United States dominate women's soccer globally, winning the inaugural woman's world cup in China in 1991.

. . . rival [coaches said] Dorrance's teams won because he had the best athletes [but] Dorrance argued just the opposite -- that there were habits that activated talent and made it more potent. He set out to create structures and routines that would build [and support "talent"]. (Rosabeth Moss Kanter, Confidence, page 48).

While I think I did my best (in terms of breathing and listening, responding, being in the moment, it was the best work I've done so far) the production was challenging for a couple of reasons:

Last Thursday evening, I participated in the reading of a new play at the Young Playwrights, Inc., Fifth Avenue, Upper East Side, New York City -- and I was paid!! It's the first time I've been paid for acting services directly rendered.

It was also my first reading -- however, I've seen readings of plays, so I knew, sort of, how to participate in one. Nevertheless, leaving as little to chance as possible, I saw Deborah, my acting coach, to go over the scenes I was in. I was minor supporting character -- not too large, but large enough.

Basically, a reading is a well prepared cold reading that you do with other actors. There's a couple of "tricks," at least for me. It's critical that I understand what's really going on with the character without making ANY assumptions. Everything is based in the text, but often that's hard for me to get: the mistake I make is assuming too much, or trying to do to much, trying to make more of it than what's really there. If that's done too much, you wind up with a definite character, but it's not the character the playwright intended, nor will the character support the scenes they're in as fully as they should. So the second trick is to first approach the text as clean as I can -- this is one of the major goals of the work I'm doing at Word Of Mouth Studios (techniques based on the work of Patsy Rodenburg).

I was quite nervous before we started, but I remembered what I had learned from all the readings I had watched, and I applied everything I had been learning in Word of Mouth Studios -- and apparently it all paid off: I got this kind e-mail a few days later from one of the playwrights in the audience:

            It was great meeting you the other night. Again, I really thought you did a wonderful job with the Mitch character--especially amazing for a (relatively) cold reading!

. . . oh yeah, I did mention I also got paid? I think you should always do a good job, especially if you're getting paid! :)

A good friend Ivana wrote me after the close of the show on June 4th, Sunday, 2006:

Hey Christopher,

I'm so glad we came to see your play.  You did a really nice job. It's a huge step for you to play that role after being at Weist Barron and you could definitely hold your own. I was proud of you:))

Anyway, stop by the bar when you get a chance.
Talk to you soon
Ivana

I wrote back:

              Overall, I didn't do too bad -- I consistently felt that I was now running up against some of my limitations, esp. with such a large role, and the lack of physical training and technique made itself quite apparent: without seriously improved physical training with my voice and breathe and applying that to text, I won't be able to reach the next level, whatever that is.

              However, with the new things I've been learning, the new technique class I'm taking this summer with Deborah that should directly address all the weak spots I've been struggling with -- really -- since I began, I have a feeling that I'll soon be leaving my current level of performance behind forever and stepping onto a larger stage in terms of what I can do, what I can bring to a role, what I can bring to life.

               A step unto new ground, into a new space . . . where I want to go . . where I need to go . . .

Show, Joan's Voices, opens tonight, 8PM, at the Medicine Show Theatre

Answer: Motivation to have one.

For me, a good performance never just happens on it's own. What's always helped my motivation:

• Before each performance, identify a trouble spot and then work on it and then the night's performance goal will be to use what I've learned. (But I've got to find the time to do this before each performance).
• Each night before bed, mentally rehearse -- see myself going through the scene, the blocking.
• Pre-performance procedure: rehearse the beats explicitly @ home before the show. Mentally rehearse before I go on -- stay quiet, focused, apart (if need be) from the other actors. Do this before every performance to maximize the chances of doing my best.

          Snow lightly falling in Bryan Park, New Yorkers ice skating under a transluent Christmas tree, a magically lit Empire State Building rising over a bright nightime cityscape down from 34th street . . . it's Christmas in the City.

       The showcase closed tonight. Once again, can't remember too many personal projects where I put in more time and energy -- and having agents and casting directors in the audience each night is certainty motivating. Much of my effort this time focused, more than it ever has before -- not on "analysis," really (I'm not sure what that is now) -- but on these imaginative forages into the world of Howard and Rosemary and Independence KS, c. 1953. More of the forage was into Howard's world, who he was around the time to the scene, his larger life, his deeper concerns. And I loved doing it, loved intuitively discovering him and his world.

      Two things seems to happen that I don't fully understand -- I had very clear images of Howard, yet they seemed to come from an idea of him, a spontaneous idea of him, but an idea nevertheless, and surprisingly, it was not that helpful. While my writings -- at least I tried to do this -- stayed firmly grounded in the emotional terrain of Howard (where the writing really did help), the images of him nevertheless had an effect, i.e., a nice guy, and mid-west 40 year boyish businessman, a boy at heart . . . and from these strong images came strong inferences (for lack of a better word) of what he was like, his behaviors, his attitudes . . . and, as beautiful and as wonderful as they were, they -- at least at times -- got in the way of some deeper and wholly unexpected aspects of Howard, aspects found deep within myself . . . parts of me I didn't ever really see or experience . . . and it's where truth lay.
      If I give into that . . . I don't know where I'll go . . . but in the end -- I'll find Howard, and I guess I don't know what I'll find, but I have absolute unshakeable faith that it will be him . . . it has to be . . . there's nothing else to guide me.
      This, I think, is the trust in myself that I'm looking for. The images are almost predictable, familiar, safe. I need to move away from that and into this space where I'm almost blind . . .where I don't know where I'm going. It's where astonishment is . . . and where I cross into eternity. It's way more than just acting for me . . . it's reaching into this eternal space which seems to hold absolutely nothing for me . . . and then I discover myself.

        Anyway . . . ah yes, I almost forgot. I did something quite controversial -- actually, it's not controversial: it's suppose to be an outright bad idea, and there is, as far as I can tell, uniform agreement on this, and while I understand and appreciate the rational . . . it's never, really, made a lot of sense to me. The advice is:

    never watch an actor do a performance that you're going to do . . .

    The rational, the danger, is that one will try to "do" what that actor is doing at the expense of one's own unique contribution, that it will unduly influence you. These are real concerns, but I think they are overblown, or at least more of a concern for professional accomplished actors rather than the student or the beginner, and even then I'm not so sure . . .

    The power of example

     Albert Bandura thinks that classical learning theory's preoccupation with trial-and-error learning is shortsighted. "Coping with the demands of everyday life would be exceedingly trying if one could arrive at solutions to problems only by actually performing possible options and suffering the consequences. Bandura says it's fortunate that people learn from vicarious observation, since mistakes could prove costly or fatal.
     - SOCIAL LEARNING THEORY of Albert Bandura

    Despite these dangers, I felt that the power of example outweighed all other factors, and so . . . I was very curious to see how a professional tackled the role of Howard, and so before the opening, I rented and watched the 1995 production of Picnic where Howard is played by Arthur O'Connell (there's been more recent productions, and I'm going to try to watch those as well).

    What I learned.

     Frankly, before I hit the play button, I was worried about consciously or unconsciously trying to imitate Arthur O'Connell (who did the original stage play of Picnic, and then won an Oscar-nomination for "best supporting actor" for role), but once the scene started, it was amazing -- I was immediately drawn into what he was doing as an actor -- Howard, his take on him, just fell away, and I observed the craft, i.e.,

• He was, at all times, listening closely to Rosemary, and I could see him reacting to her -- I was not doing this. I just knew when I saw this that I was not listening that closely, and that was a source of so many of my difficulties
• Many times Howard has one word responses, e.g., "well," and each time I packed so much into that one word, but ... I didn't get it, and it never felt right. Often these one word responses were in sections where R is doing much of the talking. I saw Arthur listening intensely, I could see the reaction inside, a thought or feeling building and then, when R paused, H would utter this one word, and I saw that it was the start of some thought he wanted to express, but then R would cut him off. One entire beat in the scene was completely decode for me when I saw this (i.e., at the end of the beat, that thought was finally expressed, but it built throughout the beat, so simply, so beautifully) -- I wasn't listening and letting myself react nearly to the extent that Arthur was.
• Every line -- it had a specific, clear meaning. Again, I simply wasn't being specific enough in many places . . .

      It was the best experience watching him. It was like a dream, like a window opening and light pouring into a room that was shrouded in fuzzy shadows and vague shapes. Suddenly it was 1000% more clear to me what I need to do. While I guess I'll never know for sure, I feel that seeing this improved by own performance by 200% . . . or more. When I dream of being an actor, this is what I dream about: what I saw him do.

     And did I imitate? I think if I put my performance up side by side next to Arthur O'Connell (though I would NOT want to see that comparison), Ithink I'd find my choices, in many cases, where quite different from his. I loved his Howard, but I could never imitate what he did -- it just wouldn't be who I am, what I saw as Howard's needs and wants, and it just would not have been what I was able to give to the part.

     Someday, someday . . . I would love to be a great actor (& I don't, really, even know what means . . . but god . . . I'd love to find out)

Notes and Discovery . . .

      Notes

1. Last night started well (starting well -- always a good thing), but then something happened -- a part of the set wasn't set, and P had to deal with it, and I was watching her deal with it and then my concentration broke, i.e., for a few seconds, I was acutely aware I was 'performing' in front of about 10-15 people in a very small studio room . . . I let my concentration break . . .
2. You said you were gonna marry me, Rosemary told me, and I didn't feel anything -- why? I remember telling myself, 'ok, don't anticipate this,' and of course, that was anticipation right there, anticipation because my attention was not where it needed to be. Next time, focus on the time, the real time -- set my watch to H & R's world, 12:30, 1am -- and start calculating how much time I have before I have to get up. Let myself be surprised by Rosemary saying this and then we'll see what happens ...
3. just before the No, the need to buy time wasn't there. Why? You can be here in the morning, Rosemary says.Next time -- really hear her, i.e., if I don't do or say something . . . I'm getting married, tomorrow, in the morning!
4. From the very beginning, I've always felt an enormous amount of compassion for Rosemary, as most people do, and I'm sure that Howard does too -- yet, my main concern is to how to get out of this, to buy time, etc. I don't want to marry her, but I do love her -- but I don't want to marry her and I have this awareness, especially near the end of how I'm afraid this will hurt her . . . but still -- no way am I gonna say yes. For a while -- I don't know why -- I fought this feeling of compassion, this awareness of what Rosemary is going though, and -- I take that back: I do know why -- it's an obstacle, it could make me cave in . . . yet . . . Next time, stay in touch with it, in fact, stay fully in touch with it, but still, I've got to leave her tonight in order to think all this though. If I can let the compassion out, experience this w/out letting it stop me, I think that would be a fine contribution to Howard, and it would really do justice to who he is, what he is, and what he's trying to do. It makes him human . . . perhaps because I'm able to use the best part of me . . .

      Discovery (a important trick get better and better at)

• Letting my idea of the character determine a moment -- a BAD idea.
• Letting go of an idea of the character -- a GREAT idea.

      Beat's 5 and 6 were always awkward, but I always tried to "act" as I imagined the character would act . . . acting from my "head," an idea of the character, and yet over two weeks ago, Howard told me how he felt, and this was something I never -- when I often sat back and "thought" about it -- imagined at all. My idea got in the way and for the last two weeks, I overlooked what was right in front of me -- or maybe it just took that long to learn how to use what Howard had given me (am I really that slow?) . . . anyway, what finally happened on opening night I added to my 12 . 11 . 2005 notes, and it all came together very nicely, a 1000% improvement over whatever the hell it was I doing before . . .

    . . . it was if Howard took over a part of the me to do what he needed to do

Dear Joy,

           The show closed last Saturday. It was a good experience and I found it very challenging -- though I'm not sure why yet: Comedy, I've heard, is always harder than drama, but I always thought it would come easier to me (and comedy does, actually, seem to come easier), but nevertheless, I found it surprisingly challenging.

          For awhile, I was 'blaming' the script, and while no young playwright is "Shakespeare," in the end, that was just an excuse for how hard I found it . . .

          And so realizing this, I just bore down as best I could, refusing to blame anything for what I though was going wrong and concentrated fully on just doing my absolute best and then . . . just letting it all go (and learning as much as possible on the way) . . . I think the value of the lessons I learned (whatever they were) will manifest themselves at some point in the future -- they'll be there for me when I need them. Take care.

        - Love,
                 C

The second performance went very well -- Stacey and I are navigating our way around on the coach much better.

It's fascinating how different it is with a new partner. L had to leave the show a week before opening, and Stacey was brave enough to step into the role: There's one moment where I leap over the coach that early on naturally came out of rehearsal, and it was 100% a response to what L did at that moment, and that moment was repeatable, so I just kept leaping, and it was always funny

Stacey's take on the moment was her own -- for several rehearsals, and even during the opening, I keep leaping over the coach at the same line, but it never quite worked because the paring stimulus was gone, i.e., L set it up, and I delivered the physical "punch" line -- classic comic delivery. Stacey was actually giving me something else, and for too long, I tried to make a past moment work. I could have asked Stacey to deliver her line the way L had, but that didn't feel right at all (and even if it did, the rule is always: never direct another actor).

I could have asked the director to ask Stacey . . . but that felt like cheating to me, i.e., asking Stacey to change her performance for my convenience -- it would have been the easy way out of my own performance problem (and my personal rule is: never export your own problems into someone else's life/work).

So finally tonight, I did what I should have done at the beginning -- I just really paid attention to Stacey up to and through that moment, keeping an eye open for a possible setup-punch line combination (because it is in the writing), but not pushing it, and lo and behold, something unplanned happened: the quality and timing of my leap changed, and it got the biggest laugh of the run.

Lesson:

Never try to hang onto the past, neither in life nor on stage. If you do, you'll feel frustrated and stuck, like nothing's working out and you're not moving ahead at all -- and you're not. Much more rewarding to look for what opportunities do exist rather than searching for what you want/hope to find: Instead, seeing what was right in front of me, available to me right then and there -- that's all I needed.

Post-script:

For some reason, both the very talented & attractive female co-stars (who's great performances really helped save my own), Darynn Zimmer & Stacey Newsome-Santiago, wanted to add kissing to the "climax" of their scenes with me, and the director (showing great wisdom) agreed to the changes, and I thought they worked very well.

Last night, going back to Brooklyn on the A line, two middle aged Asian women sitting next to me were twisting their heads to look at me and then back to each other, laughing and pointing. I looked at them quizzically, and they asked, with hands half covering their mouths, what had I been doing that night. Now really looking confused, they burst out laughing and one pointed to my collar and my face: lipstick (two different shades), perfume, & makeup were all over the place. I was taken aback and I stammered that I was in a play that night, and other people nearby in the car started in with: oh yeah ... sure you were . . .

Well, it went well. What a relief! And, I have to admit, I didn't give the play itself enough credit -- the audience laughed, and much more than I anticipated. And I was much funnier than I anticipated -- I was fully prepared to, well . . . suck.

After, the director was effusive with her complements and told us all that we had done very well, which was very gratifying to hear.

Another director gave me a big compliment on something I've always (secretly) prided myself on - my comic timing -- which she said was great! That was very nice to hear because it reaffirmed what I've always felt was a relative strength, and it's one of the important things I wanted to bring to the role, to the production.

Whenever I feel better, because I've thought/felt that I've done a good job, I always spontaneously turn to these two questions:

What is good theatre, what is good acting?

Partial answer: Good acting is theatricality infused with truth, or truth shaped by theatricality. Real life is always true, but it's not always interesting to watch.

95% of my theatricality feels like an affectation or a glimmer of the truth, but not full blown truth. I think I've got a better handle on theatricality than I do on truth. I have a hard time, usually, remembering what happened during a performance, but I do remember clearly the cracks, the blanks, the indicating of a moment that's just not there. And that's good, I hope, i.e., if I can see when and where the performance cracks, then I have a chance to do something about it -- it's telling me something about how I work as an actor, and what I need to learn.

My bad acting is really a teacher, if I can just listen closely enough, i.e., . . .

Question:

we do the "logical" indication, but how do we know what indication to use (e.g., the gesture of the back of the hand to the forehead to indicate distress)?

Two answers/issues:

1. If I find myself indicating a moment, it just might mean that I haven't gone down deep enough, and maybe there is a tiny truth inside me, just enough to tell me not only how to indicate but also how to find a deeper truth. When this happens in rehearsal, just try breathing into what's going on -- don't rush to the indication.
2. It could also be that I don't trust the truth to read, and so I indicate. Again, give myself a chance to succeed in these moments rather than rushing to an indication.

Rehearsal Technique: General/Specific Insights/Principles

Insight: This commitment to "being in the moment" takes some getting use to, and it's forcing me to change my "idea" of rehearsal, i.e., the effects on rehearsal on performance are less direct, generally, than I imagined, if I'm to take this "being in the moment" advice seriously (i.e., Hook: The Actor's Field Guide, Playing the scene, p. 57). In the loft, rehearsals are fun, surprising, and more often than not -- lately, a lot more often than not -- energizing and uplifting, and up to this point, a source of great comfort & security, i.e., 'if I can do that (what I did in rehearsal) tonight, I'll be fine.' During exploration, during rehearsal, I seem to be producing a reasonably good internal structure to support Shrdlu, i.e., what he wants, how he's going to go about getting it.

At it's best, rehearsal is quite inventive . . .

and that's The Art Of Performance. Rather than take into performance an internal structure I've created during the most recent rehearsal, somehow take into performance the inventive process that's in play during rehearsal -- creating structure "on-the-fly." Exactly how to do this, I'm not sure -- but this is the target. I'm sorry that The Addiing Machiine will close in two days because I want to further explore the relationship between rehearsal and performance, and learn how to bring this 'inventive,' 'imaginative' process into performance, subject to the constraints of performance. Anyway, that is my future mission next time I get a reasonably sizable role.

Some notes: certain physicalities need to be rehearsed so that they can be, as flawlessly as possible, brought into performance, e.g., killing the mosquito on my arm before launching into the heart of Shrdlu's story (how he killed his mother). If I can really 'imagine' the bite at the right time (for some reason, my 'sense memory' of what it feels like to be bitten by a mosquito wasn't there last night . . . weird), and if I can slap my arm at the right spot, somehow this physical action takes me right where I need to go, and most interestingly, I've never had to use 'personal history, personal memory' to bring to life what I think is true of Shrdlu's experience at that moment (it was like 9/11, the killing really came out of the blue for him). Anyway, if I can do that simple physical action, it makes my job so much easier.

Also, being-in-the-moment does create more structure than I anticipated it would. It may all be like riding a bike -- the more I do it, the more I learn to trust that this "on-the-fly" structure will be there for me.

Problems: Last night, a very appreciative audience member was almost hysterical with laughter: the smallest of phases were meet by almost gales of laugher-- I didn't expect this at all, and I found myself quite distracted by it. This is where a hell of lot of rehearsal is invaluable: even though I was the most distracted, the most aware, of the audience that I've ever been, somehow my body seemed to carry on despite a fairly serious conscious preoccupation.

Solution: My mistake was 'fighting' the laughter, wishing it would stop so I could 'act.' The thing to do, and I've seen great comedic actors do this masterfully, is go with the audience, go with the laughter. Just when I thought acting could not get more complicated, I now see I need to factor in audience reaction. I think that by fighting the laughter, I missed an opportunity to become 'emotionally yoked' to the audience, and worse, that was the major source of the distraction. Fascinating.

Post-script: sense memory. Sense memory, I suspect, is support by neural architecture that's much more available to conscious control than is 'emotion memory' (where the extensive pathways from the 'emotional' brain to the higher centers run primarily in one direction, i.e. they run primary from the emotion supporting structures to the neo-cortex). Here it may be possible to do something during performance that will elicit the memory of a particular sensation in a way doesn't take undue attention and effort.

Rehearsal Technique: General/Specific Insights/Principles

Today, the show was listed in TheatreMania.com. Tonight was load-in/technical rehearsal at the Medicine Show Theatre, in the same 549 West 52nd Street building as, and one flight above, the famed Ensemble Studio Theatre.

The Medicine Show Theatre is a beautiful, professional black box theatre, clean and fully equipped w/a computerized lighting and sound system. When I saw it, I was scared to death -- I suddenly missed the grungy little Impact Theatre, with its sweltering basement dressing/waiting room that flooded with each summer thunder shower that washed through Brooklyn last July.

Problem: as usual, I find the first time rehearsing in a theatre, under performance conditions, distracting -- and it's all the dark and the bright lights: I feel I am looking into nothing, as opposed to rehearsing at home, during the day, when I can see the loft and easily transform it into a graveyard -- and Elysium.

Possible solution: tomorrow night: under the lights, in the graveyard scene, find something in the theatre to focus on, what Uta Hagen calls The Forth Side, A Challenge for the Actor (p. 152). Tomorrow at home, work the beats as usual, but first read through this "The Forth Side" exercise and create 2-3 imaginary objects and then see if I can pin them on something tomorrow night.

Problem: trying to "do something," i.e., what I've rehearsed, moments I wanted to create. This (almost) never works. I'm not going after what Shrdlu wants, I'm going after what I, the actor, wants. Instead, put all my attention on Mr. Zero, the environment, and on what (and on how well) "Shrdlu" is getting what he wants, and then I, the actor, will get what I want.

Reminder to help me do this : re-read Ed Hook's advice (The Actor's Field Guide), Playing The Scene, p. 57. The Art Of Performance: Just let go (& gently remind myself about what I want) -- also, avoid self-monitoring (p.98).

And at night and before I go on, mentally rehearse what Shrdlu wants -- cela doit faire le tour.

Show Announcement:

UJAMAA Theatre & Titus Theater presents To Be A Black Man In America by Titus Walker.

At: Dillions Dinner Theater, 245 West 54th St., Between 8th Ave. & Broadway.

Tickets: $20 in advance, $25 at the door, with $10 food-drink minimum.

Last Monday (2004.08.09), I went to an open audition call, held on the 9th floor of the New Yorker Hotel, 34th St. & 8th Ave, just across the street from Madison Square Garden which is currently undergoing heavy fortification for the upcoming Republication convention.

It was an audition for an upcoming 'pro-life' abortion play. It was not clear from the call if they required a monologue, there was no phone number, and I didn't have one prepared anyway, so I went thinking they would probably ask me to cold read. I was wrong.

I met Mr. Walker, and when it became apparent there were no sides, I promptly told him I didn't have anything prepared. To my surprise, he invited me to just talk and he asked me questions about why I wanted to be an actor, why I was interested in being in this play. We talked a bit about political and poetic theatre, and I told him, quite frankly, that I was suspicious of 'political theatre' because while I believed that "stories always have 'Truth,' 'Truths' do not necessarily have stories.'

Interestingly, he immediately understood while politely stating that he did not agree. This prompted me to say that, well, this is something I strongly believed, but in the end, it was only my opinion, not based on experience, and that was one reason why I was interested in auditioning and perhaps working on a play with a strong 'political' agenda.

He then asked me if I was a committed individual and if I could see things through. I said yes. He then said that he had another show (To Be A Black Man In America) opening this Sunday (today), and ask if I would be interested in participating. (Gulp -- me & my big mouth!). I asked what would I be doing. He said 'it's an ensemble.' I asked what that was, exactly, and would there be lines? (Clearly, I am a very inexperienced actor). He said again, 'it's ensemble.' For some reason, I then just took a deep breath and said, 'OK, what you would like me to do?' and he said, 'rehearsal is tomorrow night, 7 sharp, show up and be a good soldier .' I said, 'ok, I will report for duty tomorrow evening.'

To Be A Black Man In America: The rehearsals were fast, hot, furious -- a virtual race war on stage as the play involved re-enactments of various historical racial episodes drawn from the last 50 years or so where the minority & progressive sides were, for the most part, taking heavy casualties.

I was in a three scenes (a fair amount to memorize in 4 days), mostly playing various vile, violent, and unrepentant murdering S.O.Bs, scenes of high emotional intensity -- each night was a serious workout, and after I was soaked in sweat. It was great to be able to throw, literally throw myself, 100%, into what I was asked to do -- all instinct and power. This type of work requires a serious professional environment, and Mr. Walker worked hard to insure that it was. After the first rehearsal, Mr. Walker told me that I had done well, and that he was proud that I was able to give it my all.

Before the show today, someone, I forget her name, interviewed the entire cast about the show (apparently excerpts of the show, and the interview, will be shown on a public channel in the Bronx). When it was my turn, she ask me what the experience was like from the perspective of a white actor. It was quite an interesting question, because I had been returning to just that question all week long, i.e., how it is that I can effectively play these characters?

I told her that I believed an actor, ultimately, had to have compassion and love for the character he's playing, and that comes from the deepest empathy that one is capable of experiencing. While I am not at all like these men, I felt that after finding out what they wanted in the scenes (always the first question), and then finding ways to bring that to life, I started to have insight into just how utterly lost these men were, how they were connected to nothing, had nothing -- absolutely nothing -- to give, except humiliation, pain, and death. Theatre is living poetry. I told her that, in the play, when she sees a white man, with a gun, standing over the body of a dead black man, she'll see two things: a victim . . . and a hero, and I asked her to decide which was which . . .

"When good men die their goodness does not perish, but lives though they are gone. As for the bad, all that was theirs dies and is buried with them."

- Euripides

It's fascinating. I did not arrive at that perspective intellectually, cognitively -- though this is highly consistent with my values and sense of life. Rather, it's come out of the process of trying to find the living truth of these men, and in finding the living truth of these men, I started to feel, quite unexpectedly, that somehow this was helping to put their souls to rest -- I don't know if I think their souls deserve to be at rest, but nevertheless, this is what I felt was happening, independent of my wishes or feelings. I'm begining to think that theatre is spiritual place.

Performance notes: High emotional intensity.

When I stage managed, so often I saw actors hit an emotional peak/intensity that was perfect (at that moment), but then in subsequent performances, they seemed to try to push it, for it's own sake, and at times the moment devolved into simply an actor screaming a line, and it looked like that's exactly what they were trying to do: the emotional intensity seemed to get decoupled from the scene and become an exercise onto itself . . . I think I understand how that happens (at least one way):

This afternoon, at high emotional points, I found myself 'pushing' for a big emotional effect, and I could only seem to do this at the expense of staying in contact with my partner and the the goals of the scene -- or perhaps what I want at those high emotional moments wasn't clear enough, and so the energy just bloats onstage into a big shapeless mass, going nowhere.

Solution: ALWAYS know why I'm getting super-heated, i.e., what do I want or expect from my partner, and stay in contact with that. I think that will help focus things, and I won't have this big overblown emotional moment, ultimately, just for the sake of it.

Audition notes: When I don't know if a monologue is required, and I can't find out, and I'm not quite prepared to do one, bring the text of a monologue that I have been working on, and warm-read that. This would have been the perfect solution for Monday's call.