Inch by Inch, Row by Row.: May 2013

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Community Theatre: A Retrospective

Twelfth Night's closing last night marks the end of my sixth community theatre production. While that hardly makes me an expert in community theatre, it does make me somewhat unique: I have now done community theatre in three different states (NJ, PA, and MD), with six different companies, performing in shows ranging from the contemporary (a new playwright's work) to the traditional (Shakespeare). Though each of those experiences was unique in its own right, I think I've learned a few things that I'd be best to remember should I return to the world of community theatre again.

1) Much depends on the director. My poorest experiences have, unfortunately, been with inexperienced directors who believe no training is necessary to direct actors--beyond watching a lot of movies, apparently. The weakest directors I've worked with have blocked my movements on stage before ever letting me put a scene on its feet to understand it myself; the best ones have focused on the language of the script before anything else. Of course, the trouble is that it's very hard to tell much about a director while in an audition, so my new goal is, whenever possible, to see the director's work ahead of time.

2) The experience, talent, and dedication of cast members will vary widely. In every production I've participated in, I've found at least one like mind--and often three or four. Likewise, I've found several cast members in each show who perform just for fun, who always audition for the same company where they're well known. Unfortunately, these actors are often also the ones who are unfocused during rehearsals and who add costume, blocking, and even line changes mid-performance. A good director might take them to task, but, again, these are usually the people who are "friends" of the company, so everyone just seems to accept their haphazard ways. As frustrating as it is to work with these actors, they are also the reason why I audition for different companies as much as possible; I don't ever want to let myself become so complacent about my work.

3) Know your audience. No matter how much laughter we received each night of Twelfth Night, no matter how much applause I heard during my bow or how much support I received from my phenomenal husband (who attended all but one performance), I cared most about the opinions of my friends and family in the audience. Of course, I wanted them to be proud of me, but, for those who were more regular theatre goers, I also wanted to know if I'd done quality work. I value their critiques--perhaps to a fault--and, while I can see the pitfalls (and, yes, the humor) of a community theatre production, I can sometimes let the words--or lack thereof--of my family and friends change my whole perspective about the work I've put in for three months or more. So, yes, I need to know my audience. And, yes, I need to trust my own work without relying on their feedback. But that's a tough one for me.

Given all of these things, given the late nights and long drives, given the friends willing to drive from CT or NJ or VA to see the show, given the final product, did I do the right thing the night I called my director and accepted the role of Viola? I think so, if for no other reason than that I challenged myself, in one of the hardest seasons of my life, to pursue a personal passion. And I succeeded in that, for five shows, I did become Viola.

Maybe that's all I need to know for now.

Thursday, May 2, 2013

"It is the star to every wandering bark..."

July 25, 2009

"Sonnet 116"
(William Shakespeare)

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O, no, it is an ever fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, not no man ever loved.

When Jeff and I were planning our wedding in the spring of 2009, we spent a lot of time with our wonderful pastor, talking about what we wanted to include in the ceremony that would best represent us. We had favorite hymns and had selected Bible verses, but I kept coming back to my desire to include a Shakespeare sonnet. Not only had Jeff and I met at the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey, but I also had "Sonnet 116" in mind already--one that so beautifully expressed what lasting love really is. Finally, we decided to include it, and my brother read it beautifully on July 25, 2009, at our wedding ceremony.

On that day, I thought we'd been through a lot. We'd faced difficult friendships, wrestled with financial concerns, made compromises as we learned what it was to be part of another family, and dealt with the disappointment of not getting jobs we so desperately wanted. As a result, when Ret read the sonnet, I proudly thought, "yes--our love has stood up to some tempests and will endure." It's not so much that I was wrong then but more that I was, perhaps, a bit naive. As my mum and dad would say, there were "rooms of life" back then that I just hadn't walked in yet--that I couldn't possibly imagine ever walking into, if I'm honest.

Every spring, my freshmen present sonnets to the class, and we always include "Sonnet 116" in the packet. One of their tasks is to state the sonnet's central idea--to explain its meaning in a concise, clear sentence. This year, two of my favorites describing "our" sonnet were these:

"True love is pure and reliable. It is consistent."

"Love is something that will not waver under pressure."

Very little in our last 21 months has been consistent. Very little has been reliable. And the pressure has been constant. And yet, today, as I listened to my student explain the sonnet to her classmates, I was overwhelmed with gratitude as I realized that our love is pure. And reliable. And consistent. And unwavering. It has not bent or altered or shaken, even in the face of grief and trauma we never could have imagined. It has not changed with the passage of Time or been cut down by challenges.

One of my students described the speaker's tone in the final couplet as "smug." She noted how the speaker seems over-confident in what he's stating--so confident, in fact, that he's willing to wager that he's not a writer and men can't fall in love if what he says isn't true. And to that I say, "well played, sir."

There is no error in Shakespeare's words, if the love is steadfast and true. How blest I am to be part of a marriage bound together with that kind of love.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Just because you're going to LOVE these costumes...

I've been trying to think of some meaningful way to tie this post into my current path in life or to make some statement about the phenomenal man I'm married to or to reflect on how much I've grown in the past few months. However, here's the reality: I'm exhausted from rehearsals, I really just want to curl up on the sofa with a BLT and the kittens, and yet I still can't wait to share some Viola photos with you tonight!

So, here are a series of photos from last night's first costumed run-through! (Keep in mind--our production of Twelfth Night, while maintaining Shakespeare's language, is reset in the 1980s at the Illyrian Music Festival.)

Twelfth Night (of the Rude Mechanicals variety)

Viola and her identical--Shakespeare wasn't so into realistic biology--twin brother, Sebastian,

are a well-known pop duo.

Viola (me) and Sebastian (Amy--who plays a smashing boy, if I do say so myself)
having a cuddly sibling moment backstage.