Tag Archives: casts

Something Like Seven Years Later…

10 Jan

image

When you do shows with people, there is this strange familial intensity of time, wherein these (sometime) total strangers, become the people you (for all intent and purposes) live with for two months (or more) of your life.

…And then, the show ends, and that living arrangement breaks up.

…You all go your separate ways…sometimes to OTHER shows with each other later in the season…or in the next…or five years after…or maybe, never again.  But aside from the total transplants and floaters, even if NOT working directly with these actors again, chances are: you’re gonna see ’em.

…See ’em in passing.  See ’em at Opening Night parties, or casting calls, or on stage in other shows. 

…And sometimes you get that little misty spike of endearment pop up, even just in those short moments together…when the chat comes super easy, and the catching up runs a mile a minute, and you both say, “Gawd, why the hell don’t we go out for drinks some time or something-or-other?!?”

…And you REALLY TRULY intend to…

…But then “life” and shows and movies and things happen…like one fucking thing after another (it seems)…

…And then it’s three years later, at the concession stand, waiting for your too expensive glass of bad house red to be poured out, seeing one another again…

…And it’s the same song, and the same dance, to the same tune…because there is obviously a genuine affection and intention there…as you (again) strike up a conversation like it was all yesterday when last you met, and it all ends with the same declarations of “friend dates” and nonsense hang-time in the pending scheduling…

…But it still doesn’t happen.

This occurrence is a regular phenomenon of the theatrical profession. Furious affections can lay dormant for years of time, and be revived immediately at first sight…years and years later…as if waking from a broken spell all of a sudden…like in a fairy tale.

Thankfully, we are (in current day) given the divination of the Facebook Fairy Godmother…so that even if we DON’T see our former family loves for half-decades at a time, we can still keep tabs on them from afar…

…Which (as tonight’s former castie-love, The Prodigal Blonde, pointed out), may be slightly freaky and stockerish…but gets the job done. Cutting out whole former initial necessitated opening lines like:

“Oh wow! How the hell ARE you?!”

“What have you been doing with yourself?!”

“Shut up, what?! You’re MARRIED now?!”

…Allowing us to cut right to the meat of the matter, instead…like:

“My god, it’s been…how long?! You look fantastic! Shut up, and you have a baby now! And that trip you took to France? Those pictures were AWESOME!! P.S. I really love your last headshot sitting!”

…Which obviously helps to make the ABSOLUTE MOST of our precious, cherished moments, whilst finally flung together for a matter of moments (waiting in line for the ladies loo, for instance), so as to not waste even a millisecond of visit time.

The Facebook (and other general social media) has become not only the ESSENTIAL self-marketing and networking tool of the artistic world…it has also helped us to Celebrity Stock our own friends, (as they orbit in the world outside of our immediate own), so that when (by chance), we actually DO manage to meet up for that drink we’ve promised to meet over for about seven years now (or maybe slightly less), we can just immediately get down and dirty to the real poop-hammock story realness of it all…

…Jump right into the deep end of cracking one another up, sparring wits, iknowwhatyoumeaning, and hearing (at least in this instance) that totally hilarious inverted squeak…of The Prodigal Blonde…which is one of the most wondrously definitive laughs of all time

…Immediately sending you back, to that one rehearsal, when you heard it for the first time, snorfled, and said something like:

“Um. What. Was. That. I’ve never heard a human make those kind of sounds. That’s not your REAL laugh. NOBODY laughs like that.”

…Which is how (I’m pretty sure) our whole friend-affair first began, (at least in MY book.)

…The end? infinitely ongoing.

~D

It Worked! Now What Did I Do?

11 Jun

image

Pin pointed some good moments tonight. 

We all did.

…Working our asses off, never looked so esthetically pleasing.

…Nor as funny on apparent total accident.

(It is no accident, these people are funny.  And so is the show.)

Tonight, trying some new wardrobe changes in act two had me doing my hair no less than three times for the evening.  My scalp was a bobby pin nightmare by the end, but it was totally worth it, and I’ve now been locked-and-loaded in all my visual incarnations.

Gwendolen is a very specific creature of very specific style and accessory.

…Which makes owning and flitting about in it, (as if one did so all the time), a total necessity.  And I’m riding that wave tighter every night.

As is usually the case, the rest of the “her” I was looking for, showed up with the costumes, hair, and intimate props.  These are always my final touchtones to the characters I play, which means I am fussy about them, and endlessly futz with them, because they must ultimately become so virtually a part of me, that there is absolutely no question as to the form and function of each and why they are a part of the tool kit the character uses.

…Meanwhile finding “the final look” is often a work in progress.  Fine tuning, rearranging, and adding small details are what seperate the men from the boys in this field…each step of which, influences the actor and their work.  And because this is the late Victorian era, there is a hell of a lot of “detail” to be tuned into.

Much like Oscar’s verbiage, it is not a matter-of-less is more, or more-is-more, but rather: ostintatious-is-the-ordinary.

More of everything, including fringe, lace, jewelry, prints, pillows, tea, and accessories, Art Directed in such a way as to appear completely normal in form.

…And once that is added, the actors adjust, work, and incorporate accordingly.

Due to the total difference in hats and new alterations in costume tonight (for instance), this means I’ll be doing two completely different coifs each performance. 

Because Oscar is a wise man…and no doubt realized what it takes for a woman of the period to change and prep and do such things…I have around 30 minutes (including an intermission) in order to achieve it all.

Plenty of time.

…If still a monster task.

…And the result is (even if I do say so myself) supremely smart, therefor totally worth it.

It is all totally worth it.

…When you hit those moments, the sweet spots, where everything just seems to fall into place, and everything becomes just a little more supremely delicious in texture, and line, and look, and delivery; when you are truly playing with another person on stage, with all the rules assembled, but the open possiblity of surprise sizzling in the air between you: that is what it’s all about.

Finding that with people you didn’t even know three months ago, still blows my mind with wonder.

And the friendships that come with that requirement of total unflinching trust, is what builds the real joy in what we do.

At least it does for me.

Applause ain’t even half of it.

~D

We Three

29 Dec

image

Marty, our “Joe,” the Rat Pack, Oceans 13 and an a lotta smokes are still occupying mi casa as I speak.  Post a very hit-and-miss rehearsal, a couple bottles of wine, and some killer tofu stuffs hidden behind the mask of many, many good spices. 

…We are bonding hard core right now.  We may be BFF’s  by the end.  I dunno. 

Mostly we are trying to accomplish compare-contrast of our personal relations of the past and why they suck…sorta like an ongoing Oprah episode, minus the baby-daddy moments. This is why theatre families are so valuable. It almost never matters how fucked up you are personally, there is always another person at LEAST equally, if not more screwed up, or codependent than you are or have been. It’s sorta like comparing scars. “Here, I have this one from that one dude that totally fucked with my head.” “oh, yeah, but I have this one from that one chick that la-de-dah’d.”

Always raising the stakes.

…It’s like Improv really…you always say yes, and add on.

It kinda amazes me how totally screwed up actors are. I know we are by “reputation,” but I almost never believe it, really. We are all a hot mess for our own reasons, and part of the joy of what we do is realizing that a ton of other people are equally fucked up…and that’s why they understand what we do when we do it.

Right now they are on the sofa, YouTubeing this ghetto South African group, Die Antword…which is a particular favorite train wreck husband/wife music group that Marty found this one time and is obsessed with. It’s sorta her party trick. And its beautiful.

…Like many things that Marty does.

Dear Lord…they found a new video of them.

…Also, it’s three in the morning.

…But we are at my house, being totally responsible. And cheap. By drinking free booze.

Rehearsal for tomorrow (or today, if you count by sleep) was cancelled again, for reasons that I still don’t understand. Our “Joe” is tending to the tater tots in the oven, I’m posed over the keyboard in responsible notation of events, and Marty is Nicki Minaj-ing. We are a hot mess of ridiculousness.

…Again: its 3 a.m.

It’s what we do, as a race: “actors.”

…And magically: tots are suddenly before us in a bowl, Regina Spektor is hallooing to us, in a Capella, and we are wearing shit-eatin’ grins.

I love us.

A lot.

I feel a giant glass of water and sleep is soon on the horizon. And as the “old lady” in the room (by like 7 years), I call the bed.

…Let it be known.

~D

Running Behind

22 Dec

image

Just got home, for the first time since 10:15 this morning.

…I’m beat, but the happy kind…the kind that knows I still have three more days off work, and I’m aloud to sleep in for all of them.

Good through-line rehearsal, running the show for the first time, and bonding with the peeps, today.  Delicious little sound-bites, and curious eye twinkles, and naughty grins, and confidential truisms: that is the world we live in.  Terrifying though it can sometimes be. And yet, there is almost nothing greater on earth than kicking back over a drink with casties, chewing over the risks taken throughout the day, the things we appreciated seeing in the others, the choices that sent the run in this whole other level of strength and curiosity, the compliments and admiration of the other person’s work. 

…It’s been a helluva year, being so blessed with this continued streak of great show-families to work with. 

Our young ladies were absolutely dedicated to the classes and history work we did today, which helped immensely in their stage presence…the adults spent huge pockets of time line-running in off scenes, and further soaking the show into the artistic sponge cake of our brains.  The tech departments watching, got a strong and realistic look at the bones and beginning muscle tissue of the show before the final work and push, and suddenly…”angst” and “sex” and “separation” and “stakes” are registering at this whole other level. 

Lots still to be found (obviously), but we’re in a good place.

…I may even say, we are in a GREAT one, as Mr. Director saw fit to give us tomorrow off.

So now, we have a “Holiday,” proper.

…And I have more time for all that running around, and last-minute-purchasing that I have to get done.

…And possibly a blog finished on time before the click over to midnight has passed.

…Which I clearly need to work on.

Apparently.

…But just know: it’s been for a good cause.

Happy dreams, loves.

~D

Post On The Move

21 Oct

image

I’m taking you with me today. Out into the streets and rehearsal and friend meets and pub hang time.

…Its a sunny fall day in the Metropolis. I’m currently sitting in the UW district, drinking hot vanilla bubble tea (minus the bubbles), waiting for “K” and “A” to meet up. They just finished a 5k for Charity. I just finished brushing my teeth and putting a hat over my gross unshowered hair. Clearly, they are better people than me. This has never been disputed.

…Also, they are more hip and adventurous.

…For instance, I would never suggest consuming Bubble Tea on purpose. Usually, when shit gets gelatinous and gooey at the bottom of a fucking glass, you don’t drink whatever’s in there, cuz its obviously gone bad. But “K” and “A” are like, “Fuck that noise, ya’ll! This shit is delicious! I love chewing what I drink!” (They don’t really talk that way, P.S…but in my head, when I “write” them, they do.)

…Ooo! Bonus! “J” and Mr. Cuteness are enroute as well, I hear!

***Later***

We sit, (they chewing, me drinking), our teas as Mr. Cuteness is passed hand-to-hand. We, all commenting on how big he’s getting, and how red, the red hair has become, now the peach fuzzes have disappeared. He gnaws on me with his sharp new baby teeth, and I keep interrupting the line of conversation to stop and smell him constantly.

…His smell is like nothing else more delicious on earth.

Every time we all get together, it gobsmacks me that for months across this time last year, we were all working on a show together, and he was merely a robust belly bump we all petted and talked to and admired daily. We know this boy more intimately than legit blood family babies. We are his Aunties, and dote and pinch and play and love on him (and Mama), by turn, to ridiculous levels of necessity. Because we cannot help ourselves.

…It’s good to know that kind of pure, total, instinctual love and devotion can exist, in old maidenish, never-want-to-have-children-of-my-own-in-a-million-years, people like me.

…I missed these guys. We gotta figure out our rehearsal schedules to fit in meets between. I only live one block from their theatre, so we should figure something out, I hope. Life gets so busy and complicated, and suddenly it’s two or three months since you’ve seen people that pass your door every day. We need to fix that somehow, I think.

***Later***

A walk. Too good out there to pass it up. I’m already dressed, (and prob’ly smell), so to hell with it! Grab the phone, cue up Pandora and get out it in. Breathe deep. Snuggle into the fleece, zip-up, launch out, crunch leaves and those strange pokey nut thing seeds that go three layers deep and roll all over the pavement, screwing with the joggers who try to step between them. Read the new poem post at that one house. Then back home to shower and motor to rehearsal for final Act 5 review (in which I do not figure largely, so will be all the more able to observe and report back to the yous.)

***Later***

Sun has gone way suddenly, and a spit shower starts. I turn around and speed up back towards home. Two fellas building a trellis stop their band saws and “Hullo” me with matchin’ grins. Brothers, very obviously. I nod back, marching and thumb typing on, wiping the screen by turn, as the smell of wet sawdust follows me on the wind’s breeze.

…Raining harder now. Away goes the phone, as I tug my knit hat down further and push on.

***Later***

Change of rehearsal schedule due to flu-deaths already peppering the cast. We are all in socks and slippers (because the stage floor is being diagrammed for an intricate painting process that we keep fucking up with our shoes.) “M” is in Snookie slippers, marching around being indignant in great swarthes of Shakespearean language, with cartoon feet. My god, I love her so much right now.

…In the lobby, eating cake and BSing on-call, perpetually. Plans have been made for La Palma eats after. And I’m totally ignoring them all in the corner to write this, but they keep wandering over, by turn, to see what I’m doing. Talkin’ shit, you guys. Talkin’ shit. About YOU. Oh the power I wield.

…Off to go play…

***Later***

Line runs to infinity. We are absolutely puking meter in brilliance right now…changing accents by turn, cuz we can. Midwestern, Bronx, Boston, variety of English, and cartoon voices. If theatre shows had outtake reels, they would be twelve times longer than the legit show. And funnier. And grosser. And sexually explicit. And politically incorrect. Which is why we do this shit to begin with. We are encouraged to do things at our job that other people get sued and fired for, at theirs. We may live off condiments and stale popcorn left over in concessions from last weekend’s show, but we have a good time, damn it!

***Later***

Pub time with cast-ies, after fittings. We all order different shit and eat off each other’s plates. The Fella (a particular Ninja check-paying master) grabs my dinner and drinks off the list before I even have time to take my card out. We set a gamer/pizza/movie night together with “M” for next Saturday, (post optional add-on rehearsal), and talk shop the rest of the night.

…By 10:30, I am home, contemplating PJ’s and face-washing. Maybe some book reading. Or I’ll just catch up on my subscription posts. Either way, it’s time for me to get outta these pants, and free-bird from m’bra…so, “Goodnight, say I to the yous.”

…Tomorrow is only a couple hours away, and it’s gonna take all I got, to pretend it ain’t.

Gawd, how I hate Mondays…

~D

%d bloggers like this: