Archive | August, 2013

Indiscreet Ink – Week 3

30 Aug

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Oie. 

This one was a bear to finish, the kind of week I’ve been having certainly not helping.

…But it’s different, it’s dark, and it’s completed.

On time.

**Click here to read “SHE”, an exercise as part of Weekly Writing Lab**

~D

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Sex Farce

29 Aug

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You know how actors are always saying things like, “Oh filming sex scenes are one of the top ten most un-hot things to do ever,” and they are describing how much of a pain in the ass it was for them to lay around naked, in a bed, beside Brad Pitt for a week to shoot it…?

…And you know how you sit there, and watch them give these interviews and say these things, and you want to punch them in the mouth…?

…Because your job is in no way even remotely like that, nor do you make the kind of money that they do while doing it, and the fact that they are complaining about any of it, really makes you want to hate them…?

That is why I won’t be saying any of that.

Except that it is sufficient to say: I work in the theatre, so I decidedly do NOT make as much money as you, and also (in the current show’s circumstances anyway,) am sweating a lot more nightly, than you do in a week’s time.

…While being continually “made love to,” classic film style. 

As a variety of people, in a hundred different scenarios, featuring dozens of acts of groping, smooshing, spitting, scratching, dusting, patting, plopping, straddling and motor boating, in a seemingly unending voyage of butt slaps, boob squishes, lip sucks, face smooshes, crotch dives, feel-ups, arm wrenches, leg locks, and what-all, I am technically getting more action than if I were married right now.

…And though often hilariously funny, achieving any sexual significance from this, is utterly out of the question. 

Even for the slowly, specific things. 

…Because when you’re mid-them, on a stage, the repercussions of the act are the last thing on your mind.  What comes first is where the noses go this time, for the right shot to the audience, and how to balance your two weights acting against one another, and how long to hold the beat for the other thing to happen while this is going on, and how to time the end of it, when the other thing is finished, and how not to laugh when someone tip-toes by as if they fucked up and were in the wrong place, adjusting to it now…which is part of the actual humor of the show, and requires everyone on stage to keep a straight face of focus, while they do it.

This all makes the sexual innuendos, anything but sexy to the people involved.  Furthermore compounding the fact that the speed and attack of these moments turns them into controlled beat-snaps.  Which means lips have more the consistency of grade school children kisses, than adult sensuality.  Then it’s, “where do the hand cuffs go,” ” how do we do this turn while stuck together,” “what’s a new way to straddle you that I haven’t tried yet,” “what if I bit him here,” and beard prickles, followed by sweaty nylon leg skims, and breathing all night in one another’s faces so that by the end we could reconstruct the entire day’s worth of food intake, by burps and accidental-on-purpose vocal spittings alone.

…What I’m trying to say is: Sex and comedy go together like strawberries and champagne from the seating section POV.  Hell there’s a whole sub-genre invented for it. But for the bedroom farce-ing actors: I promise you, almost nothing, in the entire world, could turn you on less.

…Which is why (I think) they threw the “farce” bit in, to begin with.

For us.

Cuz if you aren’t getting “off” in bedroom matters…might as well have a good laugh at it.

Am I right?

~D

A Rehearsal Post

28 Aug

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Sitting in the house, while an oddly masculine woman plans her debutant daughter’s party, as her husband schemes homicide.

Now: Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre interrogate our hero.

…There are only two people on the stage.

It’s a long one, (as far as they go in this show full of French scene madness.)

…Six and a half pages.

The finale of Act One.

Psychotic Nazis, world overthrow, frenetic gun brandishing, top secret-secrets, maniacal laughing, rampant crossdressing, murder, peepshows, and self-propelled seating.

Six pages.

…Oop! Back to beginners, I’m up!

***

Later: Just back from Scotland. Baking accidentally phallic bread loafs, tucking in murderers for a good night’s sleep, and watching a lover escape into the night, through the “rear window.”

…It’s been a full night already, and we’ve been at it less than an hour.

First, came an “underware parade,” for instance.

…This is how you know I’m in a show, cuz in real life, I haven’t worn so little as a one piece swimming suite in public in over a decade. Yet tonight began, trying on high heels and period underwear, while the costumer and everyone watched me parade around, flop about, and mock die, so they could talk function, light, and color notes.

…Like every other prop on stage.

…And now they’ve moved on.

…Via a slow motion chase scene.

***

Next: an assembly hall, featuring the oldest man in the world, and a fuck-all political speech that would make Aaron Sorkin sit up and take notice. Mostly cuz it’s so long and terrible.

…In all the good ways.

***

Nexter: Invisible car ride through the moores, followed by erotic ballet by handcuff.

…I’m telling you, this show has freakin’ everything!

And more.

~D

Vikings & Sword Brandishings

27 Aug

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amtiredandcranky.

dontwannablog…

orusepunctuationspacesoranything.

iwouldratherreadthisBBCHistorymagazinearticleaboutthevikings…

andhowtheywieldswordsandtookoverstuff.

…soiamgonna.

~D

Easter Eggs, In August

26 Aug

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Run and works this week, with notes in between. Dialect coach in residence (poor woman) taking notes on how to keep the “terrible,” at least consistent.

It’s a lot like singing out of key, on purpose.

Also, the planting of more Easter Eggs. 

…Like a DVD menu of olde, where they’d ghost special icons that you could find by accident, and unlock a neat little extra scene, outtake, or blooper…we’ve taken an already written homage of a show, and have been planting Easter Eggs all over it.  It’s even breeding more Easter Eggs, on top of other Easter Eggs.

Our sources are coming from everywhere.  They begin with Hitchcock, but certainly don’t end there.  No.  That would be too easy.  And what about the people who come 5 and 6 times to see our awesomeness?!  We must give them more toys to unlock and find with every new angle of viewpoint, and actor they watch at any given time.  We are all bringing out new ones, all the time, either in accent, physics, intent, attack, music, prop, set and/or light.  So if you plan on coming to the show, and want to get all you can get out of it, you need to start boning up on cinema (in total), like right now.

Current features include (but not exclusively):

* Mrs. Danvers from “Rebecca”
* All the women from Monty Python
* Lister from “Red Dwarf”
* Sydney Greenstreet & Peter Lorre mostly from “Casablanca”
* The long kiss, from “Notorious”
* Inspector Kemp from “Young Frankenstien”
* Lili von Schtupp from “Blazing Saddles”
* Ronald Coleman in anything
* Elise McKenna from “Somewhere in Time”
* “The Maltese Falcon”
* Every train scene in every Hitchcock
* Murderers and milk, from “Suspicion”
* Tim Conway as the Old Man from “The Carol Burnett Show”
* Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”
* A song, as a key clue: “Shadow of a Doubt”
* The Hitchcock “MacGuffin”
* Art Frahm pin ups
* Field Marshall vonKluck “Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid”
* Cyd Charisse as The Woman In Green in “Singin’ in the Rain”
* “Lets Call The Whole Thing Off” by the Gershwins
* The shower scene in “Psycho”
* The married bickering of “Mr. & Mrs. Smith”
* “Call The Midwives”
* “Rear Window”
* The chase scene from “North by Northwest”
* Gil Elvgrin pin ups
* “Murder By Death”
* The birds attacking in “The Birds”
* “Clue”
* Plot share with “Foreign Correspondent,” “The Man  Who Knew Too Much,” “The Wrong Man” and “Suspicion”
* The no-nonsense Hitchcock blonde
* Death and theatre: “The Man Who Knew Too Much,” “Saboteur”
* The ill-timed phone ring from “Dial M For Murder”
* The falling dummy body from “Vertigo”

And of course:

* Hitchcock’s own cameo

This is where we are starting.  There are more, even more “insider” than the rest.  They keep breeding, bit-to-bit.  And the more I re-watch the Hitch flicks, the more I see what they already threw in there as winks to begin with.  So many that they virtually fly by and are two steps past, before your brain even registers it. Which is good.  Cuz if we stopped at every station for every “bit,” this show would be three days long, come with a scavenger list, and an open bar tab.

~D

The One Where Marty Flashes Her Dinners

25 Aug

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Today was “friends” day. 

The Eyes n’ I decided to meet at noonish, and feel out someplace by the theatre for drinks, pre Marty’s matinee.

…Incidentally, you’ve met The Eyes before in other posts, only never knew it at the time, as she was a vague “friend” in all of them.  This was never to suggest her vagueness in importance, only due to my having no nickname for her.  Mostly because there is one thing that screams for usage, and sounds weird to both explain and say.  But you know what? Fuck it. My blog, my names.

So: “The Eyes” she is. 

…People who know her, would get why.  Aside from a Disney Princess, she has the largest peepers of anyone you have every seen…certainly “live.”  Bigger than Mila Kunis. Bigger than Audrey Hepburn.  Their ratio of collective space takes up roughly 2/3rds of her face.  These things are almost frightening they are so exceedingly present, with no makeup, just sitting there, blinking camel eyelashes at you. The rest is represented by petite bow-like features, dark hair and super fair skin.

…In fact, you know how if Barbie were a real person, she’d walk on all fours and look like Pamela Anderson? Well, The Eyes is like knowing the original Snow White, (minus the little people, and creepy OCD cleaning animal friends.)

So, now that you know the etymology, we’ll continue on our way.

…Where was I?

Oh yeah, Marty’s “dinners.”

The show: “Five Women Wearing The Same Dress,” by Alan Ball.  Think: updated “Steel Magnolias,” minus the heavy drama and plus a lot of language and sex talk.

The set-up: a wedding, wherein all the bridesmaids hide out in a house bedroom, getting drunk and high and dealing with social anxieties, politics, pain and what-all, while the reception goes on below.  The roles are for the most part archetypal, and could be left at that and still offer a decent amount of comedy and “amens” from the peanut gallery.  Thankfully, the director requested more of his ladies, and they had the goods to offer it, which opened up the work as a whole. 

…Few of the “lady show” type problems were present, actually. Prob’ly in part as the script was written and directed by men to add in that necessary part of testosterone, tempering the emotional excess.  It kept the easy pot hole “sappiness” at bay.  Also absented the unfortunate (and often present) disease I like to call “shrieking harpy syndrome,” which is a frequent guest star of women shows, where high pitched voices begin to rail on the ears until they all but bleed with pain.  He also cast it well,  which is always a good start, I think. A variety of ages, a variety of vocal textures, updated the script into the technology age, and paid attention to details. Then: he let these women work.

I liked ’em.

…Granted, I knew three of ’em before this, but even the three I knew brought new flavors to their work I hadn’t seen before, which is always exciting to see in friends, and also to study.

…Because, even if it is to support your buds, even if there is no paper to be written on it for a class, no test taken after, no comparisons needing to be drawn… even if it ain’t Shakespeare, actors honestly can’t help sitting and studying a show. Good, bad or otherwise.  We do still obtain the ability to genuinely enjoy it: yes.  But turn off that analytical aspect? No.  We’re too deeply ingrained in it.

…And when it’s a house you know, on a stage you have often performed on, that teaches you even more.  About the angles of cheat, the projection and vocal support qualities, the sense of how close the audience really is, versus what they “feel” like, from stage POV, with lights blaring in your face.  The amount of subtlety you can get away with on this stage of intimacy, versus other ones…how different the audience vocal responses feel and feed, when you’re immersed in the group and not directly in front of it, on the receiving end.  And, being a comedy, with the feed so immediate…to watch how that energy fed and infused and informed the stage action: also a treat.

It’s different from the seats, guys.  That’s all I can say.

…But still enjoyable as hell.  ‘Specially when a great delivery was spot on, a hilarious physical choice was nailed, a moment of total silence was earned, and some of those people are your friends.

…And some of those friends are your besties.

It is with great joy to note that today: Marty was brave. On a stage, in a room of strangers, she splayed, got high, got drunk, plopped, screamed, cried and cussed, took her clothes off, and flashed her ta-tas like a fucking pro. 

…Which she is. 

…And I know that.

…And did before this. 

…But, much like sitting in an audience, where the normals live, versus being on stage and totally immersed in it all…it’s nice every once in a while to step back, see it from another view point, and still come away saying, “Yeah. Theatre is a fucking awesome beast.”

…And so is Marty.

~D

Germany, By Way Of England, With Some Scotland Thrown In

24 Aug

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First stumble through of show tonight, sans bells and whistles.

…We congratulated ourselves by drinking after.  At this German bar called the Berliner.  I’d heard of it the last time I worked at this particular theatre, but we never went there.  We were doing “Anne Frank” at the time and thought it somehow wrong.

…So there were were, over stein-sized beer, in a variety of colors, eating sausages made from different meats, dipped in mustards, and screaming at one another over Oomp-pah-pah music, played by grown men in lederhosen, after spending all night in the Scottish moores, and English music halls, with a healthy seasoning of German spies thrown in.

Theatre is magical, and anyone who says different is an idiot.

First stumbles always teach you a lot.  Mostly about how far you have to go.  But tonight, with how tight our cast is and the intimacy level we work in, it taught us at least as many “good” things as “bad,” which was a nice “plus,” end-the-night.

So was that one porter.  No bitter finish, at all.

…Thing about beer though is, my guts are all full now, and I’m peeing every two minutes.  Which, (P.S.) , I need to do now.  Again. Time 32.

…So I guess I’ll go do that, then.

…And plenty of IM’s with Marty, who I haven’t seen in like a forever two weeks. 

She will light up tomorrow’s matinee, I’m sure.  And I’ll be jealous of all the bitches who are getting to work with her, cuz they aren’t me.  Which is what TRUE devotion and friendship is all about, really.

You’ve been told.

~D

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