Words Were Exchanged
We have had some official feedback on
As Far As We Know
, and the feedback has been good, which is enormously gratifying. I know reviews are not supposed to mean anything; nevertheless, they do, and not just as regards ticket sales. No, in spite of making every effort to judge my work by the process and personal standards, it remains work that exists to communicate with others, and when the dialogue is one that the audience is showing their appreciation for it make it far more worthwhile. As you know from previous entries (
&
),
began by citing us as 1 of 5 of the most promising-sounding shows of the Fringe Festival, and we had a very nice
from an audience member who attended opening night.
As a result of Tuesday night's show (ironically enough for me [see 8/15/07]), we now have two more good responses: one from
, the other from
. Actually, the one from TONY is a fantastic review, save their confusion over who is now playing the character of Connie. I do believe it's the first time anything I've worked on has ever been assigned five stars. Actually, it's probably the first time stars have been at all applied to something I've worked on, what with that generally being a restaurant rating system. And a kindergarten incentive. But I digress.
The idea is not so much that you're not supposed to care what the critics think. It's more that you're supposed to care about and believe in your work so much more. Let's face it, though: We can only have so much objectivity about our selves. People need mirrors, and the mirrors that matter most are the ones that write scathing reviews in newspapers, or 'blogs. (Picture that, if you will. [I picture a hand mirror doing that weird floaty thing Disney inanimate objects sometimes do, wrapping its handle around a quill pen.]) Anyway, when it's all said and done, I'd just as soon only ever hear about the glowing reviews. Somehow that never happens though.
Lots of actors refuse to read reviews prior to the closing of the show, most of them on the argument that they don't want it to influence their confidence or performance. And it's true--simply hearing observations on one's work in this regard, good, bad or mixed, tends to make one self-conscious, and that would be terrible to take on stage with you. This used to be my philosophy, but it's changed recently, and not because of these good reviews. In fact, it changed because of bad ones.
Back in the spring I shared some feelings here about the reviews and feedback I was receiving for my performance in
(see
). I found them demoralizing, when taken all together. I knew that it was not my best work for a variety of reasons (not the least of which was my learn-as-I-go process with Shepard's writing), yet the reviews made me feel as though I had no right to be up on the stage at all. The show closed with good feelings all around, and some rallied to support me when I expressed this angst, for which I am still very grateful, but I had to take some time to evaluate the experience.
As Far As We Know
has been my first show since, and I decided to read the reviews as they came in.
My reasoning is that I don't want to work in a bubble. Art is an interaction, and I feel that as an artist (God, it still creeps me out to call myself that) I ought to allow myself the opportunity to respond to all kinds of feedback. It's true that acting is a delicate creation, and the urge to please can quickly override the sense of truth in an actor's work, but if I can't maintain my priorities in the face of opinion, just how skilled an artist am I? Some may even argue that actors in this culture don't get enough time to develop their work in rehearsal, and need to insulate themselves from uninformed feedback well into performances. Poppycock, say I. (I say it all the time, actually, which is I think part of why nobody ever wants to watch sports with me.) Once you've put yourself in front of a paying audience, you're no longer in the safety of the rehearsal room, and you better realize that. It's just a different phase of discovery, one that requires that audience. Besides, "uninformed feedback" is what we care about most. If we only wanted to perform for theatre professors, we could just stay in our little rehearsal studio and accept the sound of patting our own backs for applause.
Naturally, it's up to the individual performer whether or not he or she will read reviews during a run, or at all. I just say that it's not blasphemy to choose to hear what people are saying.
Oh, and reserve your
for
As Far As We Know
. We are a ***** show.
Let's Get it On!
Two ludicrous topics today, web-loggers. The first is in reference to last Tuesday's post (
). It would seem that it's a popular choice for people to endorse Batman against any and all odds in a fight, giving him the acclaimed status of figures such as
and Most Guys' Girlfriends. I have
to thank for exposing me to this (my own) bias, in the form of a string of submissions to
. It seems IGN had a survey/fantasy-football-esque event in which they paired off comicbook characters to see who would win in a fight, until they were down to a final two: (The) Batman and The Phoenix. Batman won the votes. Which is ridiculous (I concede...begrudgingly). So IGN began a series of articles inviting people to describe how Batman would win in the face of a variety of unbeatable odds, aptly titling the series "
." I invite you to check it out. I daresay they make my proposed Batman vs. Wolverine scenario seem utterly reasonable in comparison.
The other ludicrousity (is SO a word) is the terrible volatility of personal relationships between artists. I am not even kidding. Sometimes it seems to me that these involve more bloodshed even than Wolverine fighting a busload of overweight babies. And understand, I'm not speaking exclusively here of romantic relationships . . . you know: "
relationships
." rather, I mean any personal relationship that develops between artists. But I should confine myself to actors, here. That's where most of my experience has lain, with a dash or two of dancers and writers for good measure.
We will rock your world. We will: It's science. Now, get two of us together and add a dash of affection, an ounce of attraction and a dram of chemistry and you've got one intense stew. The only problem with that stew (assuming you like stew [and intensity]) is that when it is really cooking, it means it is constantly at a boil.
Wait. I lost
myself
in the metaphor.
I think it's something having to do with dedicating a good part of one's life to exploring emotions others generally choose to avoid, practicing reacting out of instinct and cultivating an awareness of everything everywhere. For a start. So we apply that exploration, reaction and awareness to our greatest priorities, many of which are personal relationships. That's part of why I'm grateful for those of my friends who aren't artists (though I'm just as grateful for my fellows in the arts), because it's kind of nice to know people who can let an issue slide, or are interested in just sitting down over drinks without discussing the ramifications of society's increased isolation from itself. It's great to be uncompromising and sensitive, to have an alternative viewpoint, but it's not always good to apply this ethic to the day-to-day of personal relationships.
I think there are myriad causes for the explosive nature of relationships between artists, and I haven't the experience or interest to explore them all, but one think we can agree on, I think again, is that personally involved artists working together on a project is the most explosive situation of all. I am thinking here, of course, of my relationship with the actor who left
. Moreover, I'm thinking of her relationship with the producing team, with which she is/was really close. I wonder how much of the reasons for the rift had to do with personal feelings on both sides, and how much with work disagreement. I suppose I'll never really know. What I do know is that, regardless of how much you can clean up both aspects of a relationship--professional and personal--this kind of event creates a breach of trust that I don't believe ever really goes away.
So maybe the better question is, assuming they don't rip each other to shreds, how can we hope for Batman and Wolverine to find a reconciliation together? You know? Kick it over a bucket of wings and a couple of brewskis?
I Second that Performance
There is a phenomenon among those known exclusively by thespians called "second-night slump." Opinions differ on the exact nature and causes of the "slump," but it is pretty universally acknowledged as something legitimate and worthy of consideration. In essence, it is a drop in energy between the opening and the next performance. Whatever truly causes it--a less personal audience, lower adrenaline, a sense of deja vu--it is a real thing that seems to me unavoidable. Opinions differ even more greatly as to whether the second-night slump is a good or bad thing. In most cases, I feel bad in it. Nothing will click and I'm off my game, or so it seems. Some directors (and, indeed, some actors) insist that the second night is always an all-around better performance. The actors are more relaxed, fluid, and the show loses a lot of the grating edges of first night. I was curious to know if, what with the
's bizarre schedule and our replacement actor, a second-night slump was going to occur last night. And, if so, whether it would be beneficial or detrimental.
Now I have no idea whatsoever.
That's not quite true ("...but I do lie."). The slump definitely happened, at least to me.
requires a certain intensity in performance, owing both to the subject matter and the style in which we've chosen to present it, and mine was slow to start last night. The engine, as it were, coughed a time or two before turning over. It began (it always begins with something small) with my missing the cue to begin the slower movement in the initial movement sequence. I caught the change of pace out of the corner of my eye and thought, "Oh yes. This bit."
Not a good sign.
I did pull out of my tailspin eventually, but not before the memory scene and the car scene were sacrificed on an altar to the Goddess of Preparation. It seems that it would be a good idea for me to run through the whole of my part in the play the day of a show. This is not something I need to do for a regular performance schedule, but having days between each show makes for strange rot in the brain. I could feel it in every marching entrance--the tightness, the intensity (
commitment
, as
chides me) wasn't there. I was at once more relaxed than I had been Saturday, and yet less in tune with the play. I felt good about my last scene, but that was about it.
Yet the feedback was very positive. It's always hard to say how much of the response is politeness and how much is genuine admiration immediately after a show, but even using my deepest B.S. filter it seemed those I spoke with thought I had a very good show. So I'm letting it go, to some extent. But I'll be sure to run through my show before Saturday's performance (enormously easier, given that I won't be coming from eight hours of desk work).
In other
AFAWK
news, we've had our first review. Sort of.
There's a very interesting trend in New York (and elsewhere, I suspect) in the past couple of years, and it involves an intersection between the internet and live theatre. For some time now, the only major paper left in the city reviewing theatre was
, and their word on one's show was pretty much the kiss of life, or death. That's still strictly true, in spite of independent papers making more of a mark in the last decade in that regard, but there's a host of tiny, new player on the critique scene: Bloggers. The majority of reviews we had for
were from 'blogs, and 'blogs dedicated to theatre reviews at that. In some cases this is a very, very bad thing (see
; though not from a 'blog per se, illustrative of the potential problems of the exposure of unedited work), but in most cases the articles are surprisingly well-thought-out and composed, as evidenced by Tonya Plank's
to our little show.
I love this aspect of the internet as it is now. It's a bit like the wild west, a violent infant as prone to critical error as it is to tremendous success, a mixed metaphor (if you will) that nevertheless satisfies, because all have access to it. This I do verily dig. Someday in the future I imagine the 'bloggers will hit a collective slump in excitement and ingenuity, but for now it's still opening night, and the joint is jumping.
So So So How Did It Go Go Go...?
You know, friends can't always make it out to your show. Especially when you're not native to the city, and you do a lot of shows out of town, friends both old and new often have a great deal of trouble getting to where you're doing your work. Add to that the indelible irony of being a theatre artists--that is, most of the people you've met in your adult life are the same, and involved in their own shows you never have time to see--and it's frankly a miracle when someone you know, love and respect ends up in an audience. I think I'm fairly understanding as regards this. I'm especially touched, however, by how many of my friends emailed me this weekend to ask me how our opening on Saturday went.
It went well, y'all. Really very well.
I've not felt stage fright like I did Saturday since the opening of
. With all that has changed, gone wrong and been invested in
, I was just a wreck starting around 1:30 and extending well past the hour of our start, 9:00 pm. It was a fair consensus that all were feeling mildly-to-greatly throwy-uppy just prior to curtain. We began our day with a blessed extra hour in the space from 10:00 to 11:00 am, in which time the actors ran all the transitions whilst the tech just tried to get more proverbial ducks in the proverbial row before that evening's great experiment. Thereafter we adjourned to a nearby playground to do a speed-through of the lines, and the tech side alighted into a colorful plastic-and-metal tower for notes. It was a gorgeous day, and we felt relaxed.
As I went my separate way afterward, however, already I began the micro-management (in essence, a failure to manage) that is symptomatic of an opening day for me. I got my hair trimmed again, which was good, but spent an hour deliberating on
. I got some film developed, which was also good, but walked twenty blocks to a place that closed over a year ago before finding a Walgreen's that still does hour development. Then, at approximately 2:00, I stalled out. I needed lunch, but didn't feel hungry, and worried about eating before the show, even though it was still seven hours hence. I had thought to go home and do little homey things, but my film would be ready at 5:00, and I didn't want to come all the way up to 23rd before the show, and there was a 3:00 showing of
nearby and I could eat fast but I probably needed a nap at some point and and and--
Sense prevailed. After
, I made it home and promptly fell asleep for an hour, got up and and did laundry, organized photo albums and even got to Walgreen's again before arriving for the show call. We got in a little earlier than our 30 minutes, and by the time I was there the projection drop was already up and I was put on taping down light cords. In between tech tasks, actors hurriedly checked and double-checked their props and costumes, frantically noting little differences in the space even since the morning (Who the f%$k put those ground instruments there?!). My big panic was being unable to find the t-shirt my character wears throughout, something I hadn't seen for days anyway and had been niggling at the back of my mind all day. It ended up being within the army bag--another actor's prop--and I found it way too soon. I could have used the further distraction to keep me from madly pacing backstage as the audience filed noisily in.
We had a good, big crowd, with only three out of 74 seats unclaimed. The show begins with my character's mother (that night being played by a substitute actress [a one-night-stand for her; we rehearse the actor who will be in for the remainder of the run tonight] with script in hand) entering with a box, humming to herself. Then triumphant music begins, cuing us all to enter simultaneously and enthusiastically draw yellow ribbon from the box. It's a great way to begin for me--an anonymous, high-energy entrance that introduces actors to audience without any of the stress of an opening scene. It quickly transitions into the sequence in which I do a number of push-ups (usually 24-30, by the by), and they are the easiest of my life. Nothing like show adrenaline to amp up a workout.
In point of fact, there's not enough for me to do in this show. I mean, my part is well-balanced, I think. As one of the "creactors" of this piece, I wouldn't want him to have more exposure than he already has, particularly as the show approaches its denouement. What I mean to say is that I am accustomed to sweating my way through a show, working hard and throughout, and this show in particular raises a lot of driving emotions in me that desire venting. It was not meant to be, however, so I become melancholic backstage and after the show, funneling excess emotional energy into push-ups between scenes. It's a strange state for me, and I'm curious to see if it continues into our final (read: fifth) showing.
Our first
did
go well, to stumble awkwardly back on track. There were surprisingly few gaffes given our collective circumstances, and them what happened were more than manageable. The biggest that I noticed was my first scene being cut a few lines shy of the end by a sound cue. Suspended in a freeze, I wondered if we would go back to get those lines and fudge the transition into my monologue--a horrible prospect. Fortunately we managed to segue somewhat smoothly into the "capture video," and I felt properly shaken up for it. From my end, the only other gaffe was that yes, indeed, I did almost trip backwards over a bench. I swear that little bastard hadn't been there in rehearsal. Ah well: something to keep me vigilant in my performance.
It's odd to have such widely spread performances. Even given the pick-up rehearsals today and tomorrow to work in the new actor, it feels like a strange interlude. Our next show is Tuesday at 7:00. We have sparse reservations, but it seems there was a reviewer in the crowd Saturday (blessing or curse?), and Joe Varca got a
made and up on the website, so we'll see how we do. Maybe a few unexpected friends will make it. Who knows? Regardless, I'll be thinking of them as I resist the urge to vomit profusely.