Tag Archives: stage

Forty Or Fifty Sexual Positions…& Some Haddock

10 Aug

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6 hour rehearsal reserved for today, to finish blocking.  All Leading Fella and me, all the time.

With this show only populated by four people playing all the roles, we are all (but the lead, who has his own giant bag of tricks to carry) pulling multiple characters out of our pockets and throwing them around…and it was odd to have that team cut down to just two today, though really nice in the kind of specificity it brought.

…The prime key of what MY women bring to the piece (versus those of the clowns) is the “sex” of the show.  At all times, in all positions, with any possible flavor of innuendo…we have gone full speed ahead.  Which (when working with someone you’ve never worked with before) can get reeeeeally uncomfortable reeeeally quickly. 

…Only it isn’t, and hasn’t ever been.  Not even a little.  For reasons I will prob’ly never understand.

Well…I might have sorta contributed to that at some point.  Like the time, early this week, when I came to rehearsal just after shoving an onion-filled burger into my face, and while stretching on the stage said something like, “Yeah, I ate the most awesome onion of all time on my burger just now…so I hope you like the taste of lukewarm Walla-Wallas.”

…To which He replied something like,”Welp, I’ve been burping up my lunch all day, so we’ll just swap flavors and be good to go!”

…And we were.

…He kept burping ‘tween love scenes, and I kept reeking of 12-year-old-boy-feet. 

We were just disgusting.  Together.  And it’s been a beautiful stage marriage, ever since.

This kind of thing helps considerably, when you have a rehearsal day set up like today’s: All sex. All the time.

…How many suggestive positions can we possibly sink into this sucker?  How many crotch-shots, boob-facials, accidental butt-slaps, hand-grazes, lip bites, ear nibbles, body-straddles, cock-teases, fingernail scrapings, bed-positions, whiskey-shots, handcuff bits, garter-belt-popping, and lap dances can you find a home for in a script that just screams for sex, like Noir film in heat?

A lot.  Come to find out.

A. Whole. Fucking. Lot.

…And this was only the “preliminary” pass at it.  THIS was only “blocking.”  What comes with the finesse, and character study, and bit-work later, God only knows.  “More,” certainly. A refined style of it, slipped in…with layers, some subtle, and some…very much NOT.

For some reason, “comedy” means you can get away with a lot more with the general viewership, than the straight stuff.  I promise you that if we were doing half of what we did just today, on a stage, in a straight show, there’d be seats thumping closed and feet rushing through the theatre doors to the lobby faster than a run on a toy store at Christmas. People’s comfort level and self-righteousness grows like leavened bread in those kind of circumstances.  I have no idea why.  But bedroom farce is just this whole other world of a thing.  And in all my time in theatre, this is the ONE discipline of sex that I have NOT been asked to do as yet, on a stage.

…I gotta say, it is really quite liberating.

And fun!

Especially when you aren’t working with a creepy, greasy, tongue-thrusting, boob-grabbing, sleazoid.

Frankly, I’ve just totally made out like a bandit! A funny dude, whose game for the outrageously embarrassing, in a tag-team environment!

Plus, just doing the show is gonna get me more “action” than I’ve had in the past mffrrrtmmfa-MONTHS.

HOT DAMN! 

Let the sexing-up begin!

~D

Things That Go “BANG!,” And Mournful Bunting

4 Jul

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Home early from The Fella’s, and In-Laws. Stone. Cold. Sober.

…I’m sure this in not how the Founding Fathers intended America’s biggest party day of the year to end, for me.

But here I sit. 

…Because work is tomorrow, (after a Holiday sales blitz), with the beginning of a weekend full of shows riding it’s ass, like white-on-rice.

I feel I planned well, in-all, as plenty of drinking happened earlier in the day to offset the not-having-any-later, deal. Plus, having eaten half a cow and a lot of pig (with incidental greenery on the side), I think absorbed all the residual alcohol, and/or coerced it into helping break down all the stuff in m’guts, soon after.

…Which is basically a “workout,” if you look at it in some ways. (Like the world where ice cream doubles as your dairy qualification for the day.)

The amount of food I’ve had across these past two days, does worry me a bit.  Not so much in the fact that I won’t fit into my costumes…(that’s what a corset is for)…but that it will be exponentially more uncomfortable to be squeezed into them.

…But I haven’t totally ignored my responsibilities in that realm. I did manage to run lines today with The BFF, (as in days of old), to  keep verbally fit and ready for tomorrow. And as part of my coming-home-early-to prep-for-tomorrow bit, finally fished out my tights from the show-bag, where they have lazily resided all crumpled and stinky, since last Sunday. 

…And now, as I listen to endless pop-rockets, snap-dragons, and gunpowder bangs outside my window, clean black tights hang in their place along the shower rod…drooping like mournful, wet, bunting.

There is something strangely satisfying in my bathroom being taken over by show laundry, hanging to dry. 

Tradition. 

…Harking back to centuries of other show people, from Vaudeville to the legit stage, who have done it before me, and will long, long after I am gone. 

Some things never change:

…The late-night excessive banging of illegal fireworks outside your bedroom window on the fourth of July…and prep, the evening before your next performance, being two of them.

Happy Independence Day, friends!

~D

Speed-Blocking

26 Feb

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Due to one cancelled rehearsal and a max of four per week at roughly 2.5 hours each, Mr. Director has set an unheard of course of blocking. 

His goal is 3 days.

3. Days.

…That’s 101 pages, wherein 8 of the 10 in the cast, never actually leave the stage for more than roughly 1 minute, each at staggered points throughout the show.  We eat on stage, dress on stage, cook on stage, sleep on stage, get in fights, and live on top of each other from the second we arrive until just before the last monologue of the show.

…That’s a LOT of fucking movement, all.  In fact, it is actually a woolly mammoth shit-ton.

It means that whether we are actually in the scene or not, we are still “on,” somewhere…usually in a bedroom on a platform, on the couch, by the “pouf” chair, at the table, working at the stove…going about doing all the things that normal people go about and do in day-to-day life, only in this case, it needs to be paintstakingly blocked, and stipulated step-by-step.  Because, due to the cramped space, and furniture, you almost can’t move until someone else does so as well, so you can counter them, and be (in turn) countered by someone else.

…Again. 8 PEOPLE.

8 People.

3 Platforms.

1 Staircase.

1 Couch, which folds out into a bed.

2 Cots.

3 Beds.

3 Dressers.

1 Dinning room table with chairs.

1 Desk.

1 Side table.

1 Kitchen sink/counter/stove/ice box hybrid

4 Doors.

1 Bookcase.

0 Walls.

…Tonight, we finished through Scene 2 of Act 2, covering all Mrs. Van Daan’s major three freak-outs and melt-downs,  the smoking argument, four costume changes, Anne’s nightmare, Hannukah, the break-in, Peter & Anne’s first real “talk,” and New Years.

…We’re makin’ better “time” than a stripper at a Bachelor Party. 

…But of course have no idea if, at these speeds, we have really retained anything.  It might prob’ly will be one gigantic cluster-fuck by the time we review and start working scenes this Sunday…but by the grace of theatre impossibility-happening-anyway…we might just make it happen.

Theatre’s weird that way.

Especially when you think there is no way in hell it could ever work.

…It’s like a special rule or something.

In the meantime: I built a teaser trailer for the show today.  Am contracted to do it for another theatre in town, but I like to do them for other shows too…mine, that is…to help and get the press out.

Wanna taste?

Alright. You twisted my arm. 

…But spill anything on the fur coat, and your ass is MINE, bub.

~D

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