A TRAGEDIAN'S TALE
Mar. 16th, 2004 10:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
plumtreeblossomSometimes, things just plain work out.
Back in January, getting involved in another indie theatre production was the precise opposite of what I was looking to do. I was nursing scars that wouldn't heal from my last venture into independent theatre; a catastrophic disaster that left my spirit in a shredded heap and my wallet flattened from the 100% loss of a nearly $1,000 investment (a crippling sum for me). I had more or less sworn off theatre forever at that point. I thought it was over; a love since childhood beaten dead.
When my roommate Chris passed me an e-mail he'd gotten about auditions for a first production by some new company called Theatre@First, I think I said something like "Oh ferchrissake, not again." My armor was up and my first instinct was to give it a curt pfft and throw it away. I read it instead.
The play was Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, one I like because of its clever Shakespearean twist. My inner creative soul and my protective outer shell were going head to head. Want to do it. Shouldn't do it. We miss theatre. No we don't! Gollum-girl sat on her bed fighting with herself about it. Feeling a guilty sense of self-betrayal, I signed up to audition.
The night of auditions came on the coldest evening of winter. I had prepared nothing and figured I'd just go in with my old Emilia monologue, be stiff from the cold, suck, leave, and never hear from them again. I said to myself, these people don't need anything I can do. Nobody needs me for anything. Stay home. I blew off auditions without even calling to cancel.
Two days later I got an e-mail from director Elizabeth Hunter. They were short a few people for the non-speaking roles, and would I like to talk with her about taking one? Before my sensibilities could cast their dank shadow, I said yes. I assured myself that if the energy was in any way toxic, I could just quit.
How different things often are from the way our minds pre-paint them. I went to the first read-through expecting what I'm accustomed to - cold cordiality and an all-business atmosphere. Instead, I walked into the church basement to find a cheerful, raggle-taggle collection of actors and artists from my own community, all strangers but somehow all friends. I said little to anyone that first night; just sat there in my coat enjoying the read-through and letting the energy melt my armor just a tiny bit.
In the earliest days of production, I got to know the Tragedians first. All women, playing men and boys in a down-at-heal wandering theatre troupe. There was a fun humor to that, part of the scrappy make-do spirit of community theatre that would bond us as the weeks went by. If you'd asked me 10 years ago if I would ever appear onstage before the world wearing a painted-on beard, I would have rolled my eyes and gone back to my morose performance poetry. When did I change? We were short two Tragedians, and things felt good enough that I coaxed my friend Jane, a trained mime, to come onboard and become a "trag queen" with us.
Around the onset of the production, two things happened: the first was that I lost my job of 5 years at MIT due to a layoff that I'd known deep down was coming. The other was that I began attending meditation classes in Davis Square as lead by my dear friend Premananda. The light and warmth of those classes reminded me that all the strength I need is already right here inside me, and I could weather this suddenly uncertain future on my own power if I open my heart to give and receive. The giddy snowball of the play kept my mood aloft, and gave me something happy and stable to look forward to in these newly unstructured days.
My favorite part of the play is the "dumb show," a play-within-a-play in which the Tragedians give a pantomime outline of the Hamlet narrative. Each of the Tragedian characters mirrored one of the main characters in the play, and mine was Guildenstern. I have a childish love of dying onstage, and I got to do it twice for every performance.
As we progressed to the midpoint of the production schedule and rehearsals started interfacing whole sections, I began getting to know the phenomenal crew and the other cast members. These were the Shakespeareans and the three leading men. It was at this point that I began to feel a genuine sense of family forming. It was so spontaneous and natural that I didn't even notice it evolving, until suddenly it was just there. At a rehearsal one evening, the actor playing the real Guildenstern, whom I barely knew yet, came up and gave me a hug for no reason. That really cracked my ice, and before I knew it I was out drinking after rehearsals with real heartfelt friends who had found each other through this theatre company. Funny how the universe leads us along a chalk line into each others orbits. Many of us live within a golfball hit of each other and have hung out in the same local venues all along, but the veil hadn't revealed us to one another yet. Somerville, you keep surprising me in wonderful ways.
Tech week came with the usual tribulations and scrambles of any production, but we were able to push through on the collective strength we'd built up. There were falling backdrops, last minute changes, lost costume pieces, headaches and very tough struggles. But the magic was there in full force, and even the rough spots felt vital and dynamically affirming to me. For once, I felt truly needed. LIFE for all ages and occasions.
This was the first show ever in my experience where there was no undercurrent of malcontent, no mutiny against the director, no infighting or rival cliques. We were (and are) one light, together. I'd always had faith that such as pure collaboration could exist, but I'd never before experienced it. This is what synergy feels like.
As a veteran of indie and community theatre, I knew better than to expect much of an audience on a brand new company's first run. I had a cheer-up speech all ready for the cast and crew, a variation on the theme of "Hey you guys, 20 people in the house is good for a new company, and we're only at opening night! Those are 20 people are here to see US! Lets get out there and knock all 40 of their socks off!" When opening night finally came, suffice it to say the speech wasn't needed.
A standing-room-only house on opening night of a first-run, unfunded company is nothing short of a miracle. That kind of thing just doesn't happen, especially in urban areas where there is a plethora of competing entertainment. Except it did happen. And the next night as well, and a hearty matinee crowd on Sunday. The next weekend followed suit, with packed houses for all shows. The house crew had to pillage the green room for extra chairs. Our producers made their investment back with money to spare.
The show grew tighter and tighter with each performance. By opening night we had really only run the whole show once, and we walked that first performance on a narrow balance beam. But we got to the other side, and each night as the run moved forward, people found ways to polish in-progress, adding embellishments and new gags once things became cohesive. The final Saturday night was the hammer swing that rung the bell, I think. I was wishing I had a second pair of eyes out in the audience.
And so it is -- Davis Square has itself a community theatre company. I'm writing this because: A) I'm sad that it's over, and B) I'm happy that it's just beginning. I got teary-eyed part way through the final performance at the reality that I was never going to do those scenes again. But I reminded myself that it isn't the scenes themselves that made the magic; it was the magic that made the scenes.
And that part isn't going away.
I've left at the end of productions feeling burned and spent; I've gotten evicted for spending my rent money on my one-woman shows and not making it back; I've left sadly, or satisfied, but there was always a walking away process that carried one pain or another with it. But this time, I won't be walking away. Its all just starting for Theatre@First. I'm grinning big to quote our wild and beautiful Hamlet backstage shouting: "Places, motherf_ckers!"
I drank way too much wine at the cast party, but I made it to my 9:30 interview at MIT yesterday. I sailed through the 3-hour interview with a confidence and velocity that I haven't known in a very long time. What I put into the show came back out with me, and I owe it to my theatre family's energy. At 4:30, there was a voicemail for me. I got the job. A great job. I'm back at MIT where I belong.
When I first came into this production, no one could have known I was a closed fist of resentment and hurt. I was at a stage where I could neither give nor receive creative energy, and I never expected what came out of this show. It changed something, let the many doors and windows of my life begin to open to let the light out, and in. My journey through this first show culminated in what can be summarized in half a sentence of Stoppard's brilliant text:
Now you see me.
:-)
Back in January, getting involved in another indie theatre production was the precise opposite of what I was looking to do. I was nursing scars that wouldn't heal from my last venture into independent theatre; a catastrophic disaster that left my spirit in a shredded heap and my wallet flattened from the 100% loss of a nearly $1,000 investment (a crippling sum for me). I had more or less sworn off theatre forever at that point. I thought it was over; a love since childhood beaten dead.
When my roommate Chris passed me an e-mail he'd gotten about auditions for a first production by some new company called Theatre@First, I think I said something like "Oh ferchrissake, not again." My armor was up and my first instinct was to give it a curt pfft and throw it away. I read it instead.
The play was Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, one I like because of its clever Shakespearean twist. My inner creative soul and my protective outer shell were going head to head. Want to do it. Shouldn't do it. We miss theatre. No we don't! Gollum-girl sat on her bed fighting with herself about it. Feeling a guilty sense of self-betrayal, I signed up to audition.
The night of auditions came on the coldest evening of winter. I had prepared nothing and figured I'd just go in with my old Emilia monologue, be stiff from the cold, suck, leave, and never hear from them again. I said to myself, these people don't need anything I can do. Nobody needs me for anything. Stay home. I blew off auditions without even calling to cancel.
Two days later I got an e-mail from director Elizabeth Hunter. They were short a few people for the non-speaking roles, and would I like to talk with her about taking one? Before my sensibilities could cast their dank shadow, I said yes. I assured myself that if the energy was in any way toxic, I could just quit.
How different things often are from the way our minds pre-paint them. I went to the first read-through expecting what I'm accustomed to - cold cordiality and an all-business atmosphere. Instead, I walked into the church basement to find a cheerful, raggle-taggle collection of actors and artists from my own community, all strangers but somehow all friends. I said little to anyone that first night; just sat there in my coat enjoying the read-through and letting the energy melt my armor just a tiny bit.
In the earliest days of production, I got to know the Tragedians first. All women, playing men and boys in a down-at-heal wandering theatre troupe. There was a fun humor to that, part of the scrappy make-do spirit of community theatre that would bond us as the weeks went by. If you'd asked me 10 years ago if I would ever appear onstage before the world wearing a painted-on beard, I would have rolled my eyes and gone back to my morose performance poetry. When did I change? We were short two Tragedians, and things felt good enough that I coaxed my friend Jane, a trained mime, to come onboard and become a "trag queen" with us.
Around the onset of the production, two things happened: the first was that I lost my job of 5 years at MIT due to a layoff that I'd known deep down was coming. The other was that I began attending meditation classes in Davis Square as lead by my dear friend Premananda. The light and warmth of those classes reminded me that all the strength I need is already right here inside me, and I could weather this suddenly uncertain future on my own power if I open my heart to give and receive. The giddy snowball of the play kept my mood aloft, and gave me something happy and stable to look forward to in these newly unstructured days.
My favorite part of the play is the "dumb show," a play-within-a-play in which the Tragedians give a pantomime outline of the Hamlet narrative. Each of the Tragedian characters mirrored one of the main characters in the play, and mine was Guildenstern. I have a childish love of dying onstage, and I got to do it twice for every performance.
As we progressed to the midpoint of the production schedule and rehearsals started interfacing whole sections, I began getting to know the phenomenal crew and the other cast members. These were the Shakespeareans and the three leading men. It was at this point that I began to feel a genuine sense of family forming. It was so spontaneous and natural that I didn't even notice it evolving, until suddenly it was just there. At a rehearsal one evening, the actor playing the real Guildenstern, whom I barely knew yet, came up and gave me a hug for no reason. That really cracked my ice, and before I knew it I was out drinking after rehearsals with real heartfelt friends who had found each other through this theatre company. Funny how the universe leads us along a chalk line into each others orbits. Many of us live within a golfball hit of each other and have hung out in the same local venues all along, but the veil hadn't revealed us to one another yet. Somerville, you keep surprising me in wonderful ways.
Tech week came with the usual tribulations and scrambles of any production, but we were able to push through on the collective strength we'd built up. There were falling backdrops, last minute changes, lost costume pieces, headaches and very tough struggles. But the magic was there in full force, and even the rough spots felt vital and dynamically affirming to me. For once, I felt truly needed. LIFE for all ages and occasions.
This was the first show ever in my experience where there was no undercurrent of malcontent, no mutiny against the director, no infighting or rival cliques. We were (and are) one light, together. I'd always had faith that such as pure collaboration could exist, but I'd never before experienced it. This is what synergy feels like.
As a veteran of indie and community theatre, I knew better than to expect much of an audience on a brand new company's first run. I had a cheer-up speech all ready for the cast and crew, a variation on the theme of "Hey you guys, 20 people in the house is good for a new company, and we're only at opening night! Those are 20 people are here to see US! Lets get out there and knock all 40 of their socks off!" When opening night finally came, suffice it to say the speech wasn't needed.
A standing-room-only house on opening night of a first-run, unfunded company is nothing short of a miracle. That kind of thing just doesn't happen, especially in urban areas where there is a plethora of competing entertainment. Except it did happen. And the next night as well, and a hearty matinee crowd on Sunday. The next weekend followed suit, with packed houses for all shows. The house crew had to pillage the green room for extra chairs. Our producers made their investment back with money to spare.
The show grew tighter and tighter with each performance. By opening night we had really only run the whole show once, and we walked that first performance on a narrow balance beam. But we got to the other side, and each night as the run moved forward, people found ways to polish in-progress, adding embellishments and new gags once things became cohesive. The final Saturday night was the hammer swing that rung the bell, I think. I was wishing I had a second pair of eyes out in the audience.
And so it is -- Davis Square has itself a community theatre company. I'm writing this because: A) I'm sad that it's over, and B) I'm happy that it's just beginning. I got teary-eyed part way through the final performance at the reality that I was never going to do those scenes again. But I reminded myself that it isn't the scenes themselves that made the magic; it was the magic that made the scenes.
And that part isn't going away.
I've left at the end of productions feeling burned and spent; I've gotten evicted for spending my rent money on my one-woman shows and not making it back; I've left sadly, or satisfied, but there was always a walking away process that carried one pain or another with it. But this time, I won't be walking away. Its all just starting for Theatre@First. I'm grinning big to quote our wild and beautiful Hamlet backstage shouting: "Places, motherf_ckers!"
I drank way too much wine at the cast party, but I made it to my 9:30 interview at MIT yesterday. I sailed through the 3-hour interview with a confidence and velocity that I haven't known in a very long time. What I put into the show came back out with me, and I owe it to my theatre family's energy. At 4:30, there was a voicemail for me. I got the job. A great job. I'm back at MIT where I belong.
When I first came into this production, no one could have known I was a closed fist of resentment and hurt. I was at a stage where I could neither give nor receive creative energy, and I never expected what came out of this show. It changed something, let the many doors and windows of my life begin to open to let the light out, and in. My journey through this first show culminated in what can be summarized in half a sentence of Stoppard's brilliant text:
Now you see me.
:-)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-16 08:57 am (UTC)You were an incredible source of inspiration, talent and energy throughout this production. I am so touched that this was a meaningful experience for you, as well as being fun. I hope we'll have many more to brag about.
And the beard looked great!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-16 01:07 pm (UTC)Hey to my buds reading -- the woman above is our awesome director and very cool friend. I know some of you are closet theatre people, and I'm going to drag you in just like I did to Jane. Mwahhahaha...
mare's brilliantly happy life!
Date: 2004-03-16 12:08 pm (UTC)Congratulations on the job, the great experience in the play, the whole sh-bang! We totally missed you last Sunday night. Wow, your presence was truly missed.
So sorry Swami and I didn't make it to any of the performances, no excuses there.
Anyways love to you, see you soon,
Love,
Lizzie
Re: mare's brilliantly happy life!
Date: 2004-03-16 01:13 pm (UTC)I'll have lots of pix from the show. I look totally hot as a man. **NOT!**
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-16 01:42 pm (UTC)I was dashing around "producing" when
you were on stage or backstage, and
never got to give you the big hug you deserve.
I am so glad to know another wonderful
reason why it was worth it to get the church
to host this theater group, and to do all the
work as a producer. This makes it worth it
in a whole new way!
Best of luck to you in your new job!
-Beckie
a/k/a "The Producer"
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-16 02:29 pm (UTC)a full circle to face the single immutable fact.
Date: 2004-03-16 09:24 pm (UTC)You've/We've made it through all this, just to come out shinin' on the other end like it was a car wash. Ahh, the stage in that room was another world.
Mazel Tov,
-Guildenstern-
(aka Jamin)
Re: a full circle to face the single immutable fact.
Date: 2004-03-17 04:24 am (UTC)Big hugs,
Li'l Guildenstern
Mare's heartfelt entry
Date: 2004-03-17 10:34 am (UTC)As for me, all I can say is thank you for bringing me into it! I love every one of these people.
Jane
Re: Mare's heartfelt entry
Date: 2004-03-17 11:03 am (UTC)love,
-M
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-17 02:04 pm (UTC)Kudos to you for seeing it for what it can be. And even more for finding the courage to participate.
All the best,
(Jo)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-17 05:01 pm (UTC)-M
(no subject)
Date: 2014-04-03 03:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-19 07:07 am (UTC)First of all, your journal was a great read!
"trag queen" - loved that! (makes me think of Marily...)
Thanks for taking me along on the recap of your journey.
Aren't you supposed to be having a mid-life crisis at your age? Not totally getting your s%$# together like you are...(you didn't expect me to write something without giving you a hard time, did you??)
I think that one of the most important things in like is finding good "connections" with people. Congrats on finding a great new community that you feel a connection with! (I'll talk with you about the job in another forum)
Love ya,
Don
"Don sighed as he...."
Date: 2004-03-19 11:38 am (UTC)And I think you're supposed to be planted on your butt waiting for the next M story I owe you (in spades, baby). Or maybe I could just write it right here....?
I got the powah!
-Mare
(no subject)
Date: 2004-06-30 12:46 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing this; as you doubtless expected, it resonated all over the place. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 08:09 pm (UTC)I didn't know you then, so I just read this now. Wow. I'm crying.
I'm so glad I know you now.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-15 12:34 am (UTC)Cue fireworks...!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-22 09:08 pm (UTC)I try not to spend too much time thinking about the fact that I was cast in that show (courtesan for the read-through, then Gertrude for one rehearsal after the original Gertrude went MIA), but dropped out when my partner quit. Early enough that it didn't cause a disaster for
Part of me wants to go "terrible mistake," "what a fool I was," and I do feel that way sometimes, especially around the here-from-the-start veterans, knowing I could have been one of them, especially when I look at that horrible, horrible time when my life here imploded in betrayal and disaster, friends and loved ones failed me, and I had nowhere else to turn, no caring people to turn to, and spent 3 hours a night on the phone with my parents crying. For months. Being a stagehand for last year's one acts directly resulted in my first prolonged break from that unending misery, Merry Wives was almost all that got me through my next worst period, and hey, maybe if I'd been involved in YCTIWY my spring would have been better! (Though if you follow my journal you know that wasn't really an option, much as I wanted it to be.) And I've been cheerfuller working on this summer's one-acts than I can remember being in months (though there are probably other reasons for that too).
I did actually have good reasons at the time, the most important being that with my intense course load, I didn't have the time (just as I didn't last semester), which I knew before I auditioned; getting in quality time with my partner was my big priority (since I was sensing problems even then). So when he auditioned, I went with him, thinking only of doing a very small part; and when he quit, I was extremely conflicted. I'd never never never ever EVER quit a play, not even in the very early stages when it's a headache not a catastrophe for the director. And everybody seemed so nice and god knows I love that show, and I even had a friend in it (Mike). But, I really was too busy, and it would have made the problems with my partner even worse -- and also there were the little, practical things like the fact that he was my driver, we were in Brighton, and so I'd have been adding a significant T commute to the time invested.
Now, of course, I know -- and reading something like this just reminds me -- that it would have been worth it. That before too long I was going to need what T@F can give, more badly than I ever could have imagined. But I didn't know that then. I couldn't have, really.
So Mare, I am so glad that you were able to overcome the obstacles that you faced, and I do envy you because I didn't... but it's all worked out now, anyway!
*Kermit YAYYYY!!!!*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-23 02:37 pm (UTC)