"What's your favorite thing about touring?" asked the girl from Central High's school paper. Her tone sounded like she'd asked herself in a mirror over and over and now it was CRUNCH TIME. In the background, a fellow staffer was snapping pictures. I leaned down toward her phone, which she was using to record our chat.
"Well," I began as I heard Maria (our awesome Lady M and all-around super cool lady) answering the exact same question behind me, "I love the fact that we're presented with an entirely new show every night." My subtext was Don't sweat it, future journalist, you're doing fine! This is probably weirder for me than it is for you. "That space is different, the audience is different, it all informs the kind of show we have in the end. I love it, it's like theatre boot camp."
Indeed it is.
I thought about the past week or so. Counting the two previews, we'd done about 10 shows and 2 workshops since last Friday. I haven't gotten up this early this frequently since High School. Many a morning, I found myself trudging to our meeting spot (The Omaha Community Playhouse) with my hands buried in my sweatshirt pockets, trying to squeak out a warm-up on the way there while I attempt to wrap my brain around this career path. I wake up at 5:30am to get together with friends, drive to a high-school and MAKE BELIEVE for an hour. Last Wednesday, we had three shows. That means three load-ins and load-outs. Three sets of fight calls (The final Macbeth Macduff scene on the final performance was an exercise in endurance.) And a whole lot of STANKY LEGGINGS. Afterward, I felt like I unlocked a damn Achievement. If you can do that, you can do any-fucking-thing.
"So, you've been doing this for a while. Do you like your other cast members?" she asks, a bit more relaxed now after we'd chatted a bit.
"I love em'. I LOVE EM'." Tune it down, Dakotah--you're scaring the poor highschooler. "It's a pleasure to work with such an amazing group of people. We all really have each others' backs out there." And we do. We've yet to have our Perfect Show, so in the meantime--we're ready to jump in on a missed cue, help each other put on clothes (in AND out of show, ROWR--no that's not true), clarify stuff, dial shit up/down, and if need be--deliver Maria's baby. I'm just sayin'--how awesome a story would that be? "And she never broke character!"
"Do you ever get tired doing the same show over and over?"
"No, not really." I wished one of the kids had asked this in the talkback. I've been wanting to verbalize this thought process for a while. "The way I see it, every night you're noticing something else. It's like when you watch a movie over and over--you start to appreciate the minutiae. The more we do it, the more new stuff I hear every day."
"Oh wow," Reporty McReportpants laughs, no longer in 'reporter mode', "I never thought about it like that."
"Yeah."
"So, how did you like Central High?"
"Ah-" I pause. How exactly do I say this? "They're rambunctious, but pretty focused. I think they really dug the show." Well done, Brown. No f-bombs. To be honest, they had some trouble with unsex me here, and all the murders--which are evidently HILARIOUS(??), and I definitely saw some kids sleeping, reading, and playing with either PSPs or their wieners (I couldn't tell, it was three dudes hunkered into their chairs all looking at one dude's crotch.) To be honest, the best shows we've had were at a pair of havens for underprivileged children. The kids helped us set up, paid INCREDIBLY close attention to the show (which they LOVED), and their questions were the most intelligent we'll probably get on the tour. On top of that, they're all SUPER sweet kids. I'm amazed that we got to enrich their lives with our make believe. We're actually helping people. Shakespeare is fucking AWESOME.
"Well thank you," the girl said into her phone, "thanks a lot."
"Oh yeah, of course! Thanks for comin' to the show! Pleasure to meet you." and she leaves after a firm, professional handshake.
I have the best job ever.
Showing posts with label Barack Obama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barack Obama. Show all posts
Friday, October 2, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
Monologue
Hey cats!
First off, I leave for Nebraska tomorrow--so I gotsta pack my shite... but in the meantime, here's a monologue from the play I'm writing!
Now--the way it works--or the way it's supposed to work, this is performed simultaneously with another monologue (which I may post later.) For the most part, the monologues overlap, but for a little while they're spoken in unison. You'll get the idea as you read this one.
MAN A. "It’s kinda weird. I’m kicking this…can down the street and sometimes it clatters off into an alleyway. You know, I always get a little bit upset about that. It’s not an important can. I wasn’t gonna’ use it later or anything, but for some reason I get the tiniest sinking feeling when it rolls under that dumpster. Of course in another block, there’s another can. I pick up right where I left off with the last one. Just kickin’ away, enjoying the little sound it makes when it rolls over gravel or a grate. After a while I had to stop and cross the street, and when I looked up, there were two cars lined up to make a right turn on this corner. The blinkers are on, y’know tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. I watch these cars and I realize that those turn signals are very very slightly out of rhythm. It’s like each car has its own incremental speed for turn signals or something. The important thing, what happened was, they would be off. Totally off, completely in opposition for a second or two, but then they’d start to overlap, and then suddenly they’re going at the exact same time. Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. And for those few seconds, while you’re standing there waiting for the light to change, waiting for the oppressive red glove to disappear and make way for the triumphant tall white guy, for that instant, everything is perfect. The sounds of the traffic become a hundred-piece orchestra--I nod my head to the tenor horns and bob to the base notes of the timpani blasting from trunk speakers. All of a sudden, the can is just so so upsetting now. The simple fact that it is means it will never be again. Your connections, your rolodex of connections to all of these people and machines and systems you can rely on become nothing in an instant. Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. Sometimes life is just too too much. It hits you so damn hard that you have to double over and put your heart back inside. You cram it back in and nail up another layer of hard calloused skin. And those people in our lives--those actors we loved so much a moment ago are hailing cabs outside, or standing in groups of backslapping friends and fans, or smoking cigarettes while talking on their cell phones. Those liars stand there and they lord their normalcy over you. Somehow they can get away with pretending like it never happened. Like they never laughed, screamed, or died in agony. Minutes ago, things seemed so goddamn important, and we always want them to be that way. And yet, our skin sags and our cats die. We turn the heat up, then put a jacket on. The river changes direction. The signals are in time, apart, and then one 90 degree turn later--they’re off. But really…I think that’s beautiful. So so upsetting, but beautiful."
Love love love, and perhaps a real post soon!
-Dak Black
First off, I leave for Nebraska tomorrow--so I gotsta pack my shite... but in the meantime, here's a monologue from the play I'm writing!
Now--the way it works--or the way it's supposed to work, this is performed simultaneously with another monologue (which I may post later.) For the most part, the monologues overlap, but for a little while they're spoken in unison. You'll get the idea as you read this one.
MAN A. "It’s kinda weird. I’m kicking this…can down the street and sometimes it clatters off into an alleyway. You know, I always get a little bit upset about that. It’s not an important can. I wasn’t gonna’ use it later or anything, but for some reason I get the tiniest sinking feeling when it rolls under that dumpster. Of course in another block, there’s another can. I pick up right where I left off with the last one. Just kickin’ away, enjoying the little sound it makes when it rolls over gravel or a grate. After a while I had to stop and cross the street, and when I looked up, there were two cars lined up to make a right turn on this corner. The blinkers are on, y’know tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. I watch these cars and I realize that those turn signals are very very slightly out of rhythm. It’s like each car has its own incremental speed for turn signals or something. The important thing, what happened was, they would be off. Totally off, completely in opposition for a second or two, but then they’d start to overlap, and then suddenly they’re going at the exact same time. Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. And for those few seconds, while you’re standing there waiting for the light to change, waiting for the oppressive red glove to disappear and make way for the triumphant tall white guy, for that instant, everything is perfect. The sounds of the traffic become a hundred-piece orchestra--I nod my head to the tenor horns and bob to the base notes of the timpani blasting from trunk speakers. All of a sudden, the can is just so so upsetting now. The simple fact that it is means it will never be again. Your connections, your rolodex of connections to all of these people and machines and systems you can rely on become nothing in an instant. Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. Sometimes life is just too too much. It hits you so damn hard that you have to double over and put your heart back inside. You cram it back in and nail up another layer of hard calloused skin. And those people in our lives--those actors we loved so much a moment ago are hailing cabs outside, or standing in groups of backslapping friends and fans, or smoking cigarettes while talking on their cell phones. Those liars stand there and they lord their normalcy over you. Somehow they can get away with pretending like it never happened. Like they never laughed, screamed, or died in agony. Minutes ago, things seemed so goddamn important, and we always want them to be that way. And yet, our skin sags and our cats die. We turn the heat up, then put a jacket on. The river changes direction. The signals are in time, apart, and then one 90 degree turn later--they’re off. But really…I think that’s beautiful. So so upsetting, but beautiful."
Love love love, and perhaps a real post soon!
-Dak Black
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