Finite Incantatem

The sensation of utter completion doesn't really come to me after a show is over. Not immediately. The satisfaction and glow that comes from a successful run is a remnant of the energy pulsing from the stage and life of the show, which is almost like a honeymoon phase of the post-show experience.

About an hour and 15 minutes ago it felt like a slab of concrete hit me in the face when the total realization of completion hit me. It's not a totally satisfying feeling - it's a hollowness, a lack of direction. What came before this? What did I do? What was I going to do? I'm happier that it happened, but now that it's over that first shimmy into the next phase of life is always a little uncomfortable. It's like waking up, and waking up isn't always pleasant.

My face is in the process of recovering from a week of make-up abuse, and my hair won't forgive me for raping it with hairspray for quite a while, I'm sure. My back aches, my feet itch to move, and my voice feels trapped. It's an addiction, this stage thing. Cold turkey ain't good for nobody.

School's on the way, and I've got plenty to keep me busy once that starts up. It's getting there in the next few weeks that will prove to be the challenge. There should be a reset button in my head to help the breakaway process go a little faster.

There's monologues to learn, schoolbooks to break the bank, supplies to be packed, people to say goodbye to. Curtain's down for the summer, but I'm so glad that it went up in the first place. Exit stage left, here we go. Next stop, New Haven.

Movemental

Recently I was talking theatre with a good friend of mine (what else is new?) and I showed him Paul Cuneo's blog, specifically his posts on how to create the illusion of pain onstage, and he was so intrigued that he went one step further and emailed the man himself. Here's the exchange as it was shown to me, and I thought it was just brilliant and needed to be shared. Thank you V, and thank you again Paul Cuneo - your work is just awesome.


A friend of mine sent me your series of blogs on the illusion of pain the body and it really interested me. I am going to be a BFA Acting student at Marymount Manhattan College this fall and have much to learn about the craft so I enjoy every chance I get.

Right now I am playing the part of Mercutio in Romeo & Juliet with the local professional Shakespeare company. We are half way through our run (two weekends), and I was wondering if you could give a few words of advice on extreme pain. I've obviously been indicating to try and create the illusion that Mercutio is going through hell just before he dies and I was wondering if the rules bend or change in this situation.

Please and Thank You -Victor

___

Hi Victor!

Thanks for writing and for checking out my blog. The handling of the illusion of extreme pain is no different from the handling of the illusion of any other type of pain onstage. You still have to find out what ACTIONS a person performs--in this case--when he is stabbed. You'll need to do some research into what a person goes through when he is stabbed. You will discover there are actions a stabbing victim performs (I don't know what these are, as I have not had to play this).

Suppose you learn stabbing victims tighten their stomach muscles as a reaction to the trauma. Let's say you also learn that a stabbing victim also breathes faster, in an attempt to give the body the extra oxygen it needs to deal with the trauma. Now you have two conflicting actions: tightening the stomach muscles while trying to breathe faster. Now add to this the other actions Mercutio must play (to curse Romeo and Tybalt, to regret his choices, to hang on, etc.). Now add the thoughts of a man who believes his best friend has just betrayed him. Now add the love he feels for his best friend. Put all of this together and you will not need to indicate pain. All of this will produce real frustration in you, real anxiety over trying to do (to perform, to act) what Mercutio is trying to do in the last moments of his life.

The secret to it all, Victor, is knowing what you must DO. As actors, we don't act LIKE we're doing something; we REALLY DO IT. Don't act LIKE you've been stabbed, PERFORM THE TRUE ACTIONS OF A MAN WHO HAS BEEN STABBED. YOU MUST RESEARCH THIS.

I will also add that you must not try to play the victim. When you writhe around in fake pain you give the audience a victim, when what they want is a victor. Try not to die. Don't let your enemy have the satisfaction of knowing the kind of extreme pain you're in. Fight. Try to get things done in your last breaths. Try to accomplish something, some last noble act. The audience knows you're in pain. They saw you get stabbed. Trust this and perform the actions of a dying man who has been stabbed, indeed, a man who has been stabbed by his enemy and betrayed (he believes) by his best friend.

You should watch "Delores Claiborn" starring Kathy Bates. There is a scene within the first 1/3 of the movie that is a flashback. Kathy Bates is in the kitchen, and her husband takes a thick piece of wood and beats her with it. Instead of Kathy indication pain, she tries to get things done. She avoids her back muscles. Because she doesn't have her back muscles, she leans on the table for support. Her daughter comes down, so she fights off the tears. The tears are real, Victor, but they're not the tears of back pain because Kathy Bates is not in back pain. The tears are from the extreme sadness she feels over having been treated so badly by her imagined husband. There is no indicating, Victor. Kathy Bates is brilliant in this moment, in that she does not indicate pain but finds the truth and PLAYS ACTION. THE AUDIENCE WILL FILL IN THE REST.

Best,
Paul

Paul Cuneo
The Movement for Actors Blog
Faculty, Stella Adler Studio, L. A.

Refrain

http://survivingtheworld.net/Lesson407.html

In between actual posts about theatre, we have humor and curiosities.

Secrets

[If I knew, I wouldn't have to keep it.]

School will start back up in about a month, and I'm kind of excited, actually. I miss my friends from school a whole heck of a lot, and I'm excited to continue establishing my position in the theatre department. One show got me critical acclaim, a theatre vacation, some serious callbacks, and a boatload of respect - I can't wait to see what this year can do for me.

But before all that can happen BACK TO THE 80's is going up next weekend. I have every intention of blowing the roof off of that building, single-handedly if I must (though I would rather do it by simply blasting the audience out of their seats with the awesomeness of the whole cast), and rocking this establishment.

This summer has been a lesson in stamina, dance, and breath support. I will never listen to Walking on Sunshine the same way again. I will never half-ass any physical movement onstage ever again. I will make every second onstage as awesome as if it were my last time being onstage ever.

And Dragonheart is a totally badass movie, in case anybody was wondering.

Star Charts

Our sweet little Hobo Cat won't be coming home anymore. I'm quite broken hearted about this fact, actually, because I didn't realize how much I cared about that mangy, loving stray. The Humane Society didn't have her, none of our neighbors saw her, and one of the neighbors is missing two cats as well, and they're pretty sure coyotes got them. It's horrible. Poor Scruffy. :(

New York was fantastic - it was a bit hot, and New York in the summer has a very distinct reek to it. The subway vents are appalling, sometimes. Avenue Q was an inspiration, as always - the life the performers gave those puppets was incredible, and I was just about peeing myself laughing.

A BACKSTAGE article will be posted soon, but it's basically a review of a book, so I'll have to go get the actual book. This one is about improving your singing psychologically, and apparently it works. I have freaking gift cards, why don't I just go online? :P

I've been taking a little more stock than usual in horoscopes and tarot flips and moon charts and such. Not because I'm superstitious like that, but because I've found that there is a slice of truth in everything, and lately it hasn't been hard to find.

My show goes up in about two weeks, and then it's off to memorize some Shakespeare and prep for the next audition. A never-ending cycle. I hate auditions though. I've got to worry about this show going awesome before I even start thinking about Othello.

The Emerald City

I'm about to head out for a day at the center of the universe, celebrating humanity and art and life with some friends from school. I'm also incredibly fortunate to be seeing Avenue Q today, since it's closing in September. If my camera was working I'd take pictures of the greatest city on earth, but alas, it is still busted beyond repair. I just want to take in all the hustle and bustle of life there - there's nothing quite like it. I'll blog about it when I get back, tell you all the delightful tales of New York and puppetry on Broadway.

And on a separate note, the darling Hobo Cat of previous mention has gone missing. :( I haven't seen her for several days now, and neither has anyone else here. I hope she's all right. I'm rather attached to her.

The Factor

Freshness Factor Five Thousand.

http://freshnessfactorfivethousand.blogspot.com

Some wisdom and life lessons that will inspire you to live each day better. Written by a lyrical and musical genius I'm sure you know pretty well. :)

This road I've begun, this theatrical journey I've wanted so badly - it's just a piece of my life. I'm only nineteen; do I really expect to know how to handle everything now? It's a terrifying, huge world out there - and I want a little tiny piece of it for myself. Everybody does. It's time to start living, time to take a little from this world I'm given. Learn to live and learn to love and take in every second of your life because you'll never get it back. Make the most of every chance you've got. It's hard advice to follow, and I know I'm a hypocrite. But maybe someday I'll learn for real. :)

I'm walking on sunshine, whoa-oh, and don't it feel good.

A-ha

So needless to say I'm odds and ends,
But that's me, stumbling away,
slowly learning that life is O.K.
Say after me -
It's no better to be safe than sorry.




I forgot how much I love that song.

Goodnight

You can't keep a thunderstorm. You can't make one come along if it doesn't want to, and you can't make it go away if it won't leave. You can't shush it, or make it roar. You can't really even understand it unless you're in it. You can't do anything with a thunderstorm except hide from it or live along with it.

I was angry for multiple reasons - it's late, some people piss me off, stupid little things ruin my night, I'm hungry - lots of things. My room was filled with muttered cussing and stale, ranting air from hours of trying to do work and prevent it from ever happening again, so I went outside, right after the sky made it's huge, tree-splitting sound right above my house. That sound is thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Only a few things in this world help us realize exactly how small we are in the grand scheme of things - the ocean is one of them, and a hefty, end-of-the-world thunderstorm is another. I stood at the door, the wet, wild air strained through the screen at my nose, and the silent flashes of light lancing around the clouds was a little frightening. One flare of light that wanted to hold my hand and kiss my hair would shock the life from my teeny little heart in an instant. I went outside anyway, because that rain-sound is so soothing. The hiss and gentle plink and drip that comes with rain and the volume that comes with flash-flood amounts of it is so unique and wonderful that I couldn't resist, now that I was there.

The sky flickered at me, lighting up the world around me, as if it were taking pictures so it would remember where it had been, to see the shivering girl in boxers and an oversized tee-shirt looking up at it and say "Huh - what's she doing out here?"

The rain was big - giant drops still cold from the inverted ocean miles above me. I was drenched in seconds. I couldn't stay. So I went back inside, refreshed, pretty cold, and very humbled.

I love thunderstorms. I wish there was one every night.

Goodnight, world. The morning promises something new.

Dying

I wish I had rehearsal more days of the week. Because everytime we dance or sing or both, I have this wild, insatiable urge to dance myself until I literally am red in the face, unable to breathe, and I collapse against the wooden stage apron and everything goes black.

It doesn't happen, of course, but it's that ability to release, to be wild, to move and try to throw the very essence of my being out through my fingertips. I can't explain what it feels like. But I'm trying to make it contagious. There was a time I didn't feel this way - I want to share it, to let the timid ones and the inexperienced ones have it too, to force them to feel that need to fly apart and nearly kill themselves with what they do. I want to make up for all the shows I feel like I never gave it my all, never did enough. I still feel like I'm not doing enough.

Irene Leagan. Eileen Reagan. Say that five times fast.

I had this idea that when I did my massive Sunshine solo for the first time in front of most of the cast that it would be epic and impressive and shock most of them. It could have, easily, but I wound up losing control and being so entirely winded that I just stopped and waved the pianist on, unable to keep singing. I wanted to impress everyone so bad, to prove I deserved what I got, but all I did was prove I'm out of shape, haha. But for some reason I wasn't mortified like I thought I'd be. I wasn't completely embarrassed. I'm not sure why. They'll hear it eventually. I'll rock it some other time.

There's no time in the world like a summer speeding away. I love it and hate it and can't figure it out. It's beautiful, is what it is.