I make my triumphant return to Liars' League NYC this Wednesday evening. (Evidence of my triumph: I'm still willing to ruthlessly abandon my wife and toddler for an evening's performance.) This time finds me reading the tale of a recent father (apt) who finds himself dreading what he hath possibly wrought (not apt) (though, she hasn't been sleeping that well lately...).
Yesterday I found myself cramming a brief rehearsal into my lunch break. Fortunately it was a mere two blocks from my job. Unfortunately, it was a lunatic wintery mess outside, and I was given flawed directions. All the same, we got underway and it was a delightful reunion with the rehearsal process. Andrew Lloyd-Jones makes an actor feel right at home in a literary world. It's a unique gift to be able to constructively converse with an actor, and especially so when it's not a facet of your appointed art-form.
The story I'll be performing tomorrow is called Maternal Instincts, and is by Melanie White. It finds me in a subjective third-person voice, which is a change-up for me. but also stupefyingly boring to reference with my creative-writing minor vocabulary. Allow me to entice you instead by mentioning that our rehearsal process involved discussions of psychological horror and Polanski films. Yes. That kind of tale.
Very much looking forward to it. I only hope the subject matter doesn't have me return home to my sleeping wife and baby with suspicions about what they're up to without me...