UVic's "Yerma" - A Critical Evaluation

In one of the University of Victoria’s smaller, studio theatres, Federeico García Lorca’s masterpiece, Yerma, was recently realized. Having had the privilege to attend, I was immediately taken with the set design—a thrust, the stage itself was ovular, and was graduated dramatically so that its downstage was significantly lower than its up. This central space was encompassed by a ring with a less dramatic tilt; between the two a narrow trench contained the water which formed the river gurgling quietly from the foot of the stage. In the background stood a tree, red-painted children’s toys hanging from its branches. Stage left culminated in a ramp, gradually sloping upward, for character entrances from afar as well as the chorus of townspeople. In a word, the set design was innovative for the space used—and for a theatre without curtains, it heightened the audience’s eager anticipation of the performance’s start.

            

And it began with the stage creatively illuminated with a circular light, and revolving text. The setting established: the countryside, amidst the Spanish Civil War. Yerma is a married woman who more than anything longs for a child. Often reviled for her barrenness, she is determined to conceive—but for what purpose? Is it because she wants a child for the opportunity to mother one? so that she can finally be a “woman,” as he reality has defined womanhood? is it so that she can escape the social condemnation?

           

I hoped for my question’s answer in the second act; the first focused on Yerma’s realization that she could not conceive a child with the help of her husband. To her, intercourse with her husband serves to provide a child—and repellant is the notion that it might serve as anything but. Yerma doesn’t know whether she hates herself or her husband for her inability to bear—but seems not to entertain her husband’s culpability for long. The women in her life all have children, and she does not. And so, she visits the eccentric, outcast Pagan Woman, mother of fifteen, and provider for many more. For her visit to the Pagan Woman, the source of Yerma’s desperation is disassociated with escape from condemnation, for from the moment of her visit onward, her relationship with her husband as well as her image in the village becomes one inveighed against her, now a pariah.

            

At the end of the first act, I specifically noted that the lighting had been totally effective in the first act—different parts of the stage had been effectively illuminated and dimmed, so that focus was consistently directed by the obviously meticulous lighting design.

            

At the same time, though, I felt that the stage had not been used to its full potential by the actors; for a thrust, it too often seemed to me that scenes would simply be performed for alternating sides of the stage, instead of encompassing the whole stagespace, so that the action and a scene’s physical motivations were clear to every audience member. Through the end of the performance of the second act I felt this way. I did not find the direction of specific scenes to be incredibly innovative. On the part of many of the actors, too, I found much movement to be stiff, and unconvincing for its frequent lack of motivation. This said, though, the choreographed movement during transitional scenes, involving the women washing clothes at the river, or the chorus as a whole, was very effective.

            

I found Kesinee Haney’s understanding of her character, Yerma, to be profoundly authentic, and the meticulousness with which she cast the emotional underpinning of Yerma, to the character’s final collapse was on par with that of a professional, considering the abstruseness of the play’s language. Her performance did wane in intensity slightly, in the middle of the second act, and I felt that it struggled sometimes to establish pace during the first, but overall, her abilities were clear. Vocally, in more ways than any, she encompassed the character—by singing, through the use of tone, volume, and inflection, and culminating in the animalistic screams of the penultimate scene, she wholly proved Yerma’s plight to the audience.

            

While Hayley Feigs’ performance was appealing, I didn’t feel as if it captured the character, the Pagan Woman. In a word, I felt as if she was an actress onstage playing an eccentric character, as opposed to the pure embodiment of the Pagan Woman. But I was totally confused by Graeme Nathan’s portrayal of Juan. His performance was so stiff and unnatural, I have to surmise that it was part of the direction. This the case, I might completely reconsider my critique of Feigs and Nathan’s performances; considering the poetic nature of the text itself, perhaps naturalism was far from the director’s vision, and so, by disassociating character from reality in such a way, the words of the play were the greater focus.

            

On this note, I found the translation of Lorca’s text to be a well-executed and interpretive realization of his original work. On a specific note, while I appreciated the authentic Spanish-speaking abilities of Angie Lopez as one of the Angels, the attempts at Spanish by the rest of the cast were… the opposite. Sometimes, they were speaking what sounded like Spanish, but really wasn’t at all.

            

I did appreciate the heavy integration of music into the adaptation, however. At times, it overpowered the actors, but in Yerma’s final scene, the subtle guitar only heightened the hysteria.

            

As the second act hurdled to its chilling climax, a brief lull broke, and as one of the more arresting scenes of the performance’s duration—that of the pagan forest orgy—unfolded, the pace of the production was established, as it hadn’t been before. To that point, I don’t feel as if the audience had ever been totally disengaged, but it was from that point to the end of the play that I could describe the performance as visceral and harrowing, and the audience’s demeanor: captivated. The scene of Yerma’s undoing—the climax at which she chokes her husband to death with her bare hands is a dangerous one. Done improperly, it could be potentially hilarious. On UVic’s stage, though, it was silencing; and, I might attribute it to Kesinee Haney’s vocal work.  As the lights on the main stage dimmed, Yerma threw herself into the river, screaming and crying. She opened her legs, and the water from upstream poured across them—her character had given birth to the rage that society had fostered, and repressed within her. In retrospect, I think this was clichéd. But in the moment, it did little to distract from the profundity of the previous moments.

            

The performance ended with a reminder of the Spanish Civil War (fine, but unnecessary, in my estimation), and a bow.

            

In all, the experience was definitely an enjoyable one. The adaptation of the piece was effective, as was the music incorporated. I was ultimately ambivalent towards the direction, though—at times (mostly during transitional scenes involving the chorus) there was a clearer vision and style. But in more of the scenes, I almost felt cheated out of the action.

            

Overall, I found the production quality to be very good—the set and light designs, especially. The costumes, I felt, were not drab enough when it would have been appropriate, and not flamboyant enough when needed. The use of the colors grey, black, and red truly tied the whole production together visually, though. Red—blood, passion—created an ambient tone of calm verging on uneasiness teetering on breakdown.

A few days later now, I recall the performance fondly. Having read Lorca’s original text before, I found the adaptation enlightening. I’d recommend it, and, keeping in mind its status as a student production, I describe it as nothing short of stellar.

The Dress and the Final Show

(Originally written November 14th)

I’d have to say that this whole process has definitely been the greatest experience of this first term. As Danie and I developed our scene with Nima’s help, we were able to incorporate the reaction of our various audiences (as they grew in size), as well as the feedback of the rest of the company.

Friday night’s open dress rehearsal went well. As a whole, I think the company’s performance was rough, but obviously well prepared. Considering last night’s performance, I think our dress rehearsal was absolutely where it should have been, in terms of the production quality. It was in no way perfect, or eve where we’d have wanted it to be for a final performance, but it was the final trial run of the show, in a sense.

In my scene, Danie and I had a great time with the finalized set pieces and props. The cashews were a “hit,” and the dress rehearsal was the perfect forum to experiment before a live, untested audience. We did have some trouble with lines though—the line progression was derailed momentarily, at the end of the second scene, and it took a moment before we righted ourselves.

But having the audience there—and the laughs—was one of the most fulfilling elements of the whole thing. It was the first of the final pay-offs, because, to that point, I feel as if we were never sure if the masses would appreciate our scene, and find it poignant and funny. In rehearsal, members of the cast and crew become accustomed to the rehearsed beats of a specific scene or scenes, and so it’s easy to fall into a pattern of expectance when handling audience reactions. But I’ll reiterate again what a great team I feel that Danie and I make, and so I was still totally confident in our abilities to adapt to the demands of the audience.

And so by the end of Friday’s performance, while bitter about my own line mishap, I was totally confident in our ability to perform it to the very best of our abilities on Saturday night, for the final show.

Overall, I think most shared my opinion about the dress rehearsal. There was a positive audience reaction, but from those to whom I spoke, who had attended both the dress as well as the final show, it was made clear the disparity in terms of crispness between the two.

And I think that crisp might be the best way to describe the final show. In almost every way that it could have been, I felt it to be flawless.

I am totally confident that Danie and I gave, hands down, the best performance we’d ever given. The audience’s reaction was at a positive level such that we’d never experienced, and by the end of scene two, I was terribly sad to say goodbye to “Art”. Because that’s what we made—on Saturday night, but throughout the process, too. We were artists, all of us.

I am incredibly proud of what we as a class of first years accomplished. Each of us, many with little to no prior experience, managed to put on an incredible show, one which showcased a remarkable diversity in cultural and dramatic influence from the many world theatres from which its parts were drawn.

For next year, I’d like to remember some small things:

-   It might be better to have two backstage crew-members to facilitate everything during the show, and the rehearsals leading to it

-   Creatively, a second year assistant director to oversee the creative development of each scene, from the very beginnings of each group’s individual rehearsals, through to the final dress, might be beneficial to the overall cohesiveness and creative flow of the show, as well as the focus of each group

-   Perhaps some discussion on the nature of performance decorum as an actor prior to the show would be helpful—how to leave an actor be when she or he is in “the zone,” and how to respect a performance from backstage, while it is taking place

Overall, though, what I’d like to remember most is the way that the production can make first years feel welcomed into the powerful campus and artistic force that is Pearson’s theatre community. I am sad to see the end of the show’s run, but am incredibly satisfied with the result. I’m already looking forward to directing at this time, next year.

Read-Through and the Technical Rehearsals

(Originally written between Saturday, November 6^th and Wednesday, November 10^th)

Saturday morning marked the official start to the full-ensemble rehearsals in preparation for the first year production with a largely un-blocked read-through by each cast—an incredibly promising process.

Each group’s scene is clearly markedly disparate from any other, which promises a highly varied experience for next Saturday’s audience. On a more important note, though, each group is clearly committed to its scene and each actor within to the others.

Personally, I feel as if Danie and I have been working together for months. She and I seem to share an understanding of each other’s presence as a performer, and I am more than confident that our scene from Art will only get better.

Charged with “having fun” with our scene (and considering the fact that only the first of our two scene’s had been formally blocked at that point), it felt as natural as anything, and the comedic beats seemed to flow very well—it was reminiscent to me of sketch or television comedy, in the way I felt impeccably well-written banter of each scene roll fluidly.

NOTE: It’s very important that each person operating a scene change knows that he or she is participating, and it’s always better to have too many people, the extras of whom can be eventually dismissed, than too few.

Monday promised the first of the two purely technical productions. Honestly, I’d say technical productions are one of my favorite elements of the rehearsal process—a low pressure acting scenario, it’s the perfect time to toy with the limitations of sets, props, and characters without close directorial supervision. Additionally, it’s a good opportunity to bond with the other castmembers… though the nights were long, I honestly didn’t care. Many people were frustrated by the way that the first two rehearsals already began to monopolize their time, but I honestly couldn’t care less. I loved every minute of the rehearsals, and I’m already looking forward to the rest of this week, as the rehearsals shift their focus to the stage and its actors, and I can begin to interact with a small, makeshift audience of second years. Danie and I have improved with the addition of props and the stage, but I’d still like to know whether or not I’m going to have cashews to use during the final performance.

NOTE: Clarify props and set pieces with actors early on, and attempt to ensure their presence at as many rehearsals as possible—unless purposefully withheld. While I’d like to have the cashews, it’s possible that, by the time I get them, any added elements to the scene will only enrich the performance for added spontaneity.

First Rehearsals

(Originally written Friday, November 5^th)

It’s Friday, and I’ve just finished my second ever rehearsal with Nima and Danie in preparation for the first year production.

I’m excited about our scene—I think its comedic potential is great, if Danie and I can manage the physicality demanded, and if the three of us as a collaborative team will be able to settle on a distinctive plan for setting and blocking.

The problem, though, is that Nima seems to have a radically different view of the piece as a whole than do Danie and myself. I’m already afraid that our lack of cohesion as a creative team will be highly detrimental to our final product. Already, I’m slightly nervous for that fact that, this having been our second rehearsal, we’re far behind many other groups, many of whom began rehearsing before project week, in terms of preparation. I’m simply afraid that, in addition to the fact that we’re so divided in terms of consensus on a specific vision of the scene, we’ll not reach a point of preparedness in time for the beginning of serious rehearsals as a whole ensemble. I’m being pessimistic, though.

On the whole, I think that, regardless of disagreement, and whether or not were at the level of other groups, the three of us have a willingness to see this scene to its full potential, despite our sparring opinions. This an element of our team that I feel will potentially save it from failure, or at least resuscitate it from its present state of delay, I am nonetheless hopeful, and am confident that I’ll at least be pleased with my final product.

I’d like to begin compiling some sort of idea bank for the first year production, in anticipation of the directorial/logistical role I’ll assume next year.

The first think I’d like to remember is the important role that pre-production communication between director and cast plays in the confidence of the ensemble as it eases itself into the early stages of rehearsal. From our start, our communication as a group was weak, and I didn’t know confidently of the status of our ensemble until after returning from project week, a point at which, I’ve said, some other groups had already held multiple rehearsals. All the same though, I want to be careful not to judge too quickly—for every cast, while a certain tone can be detrimental for the final product, it can also be incredibly successful, even if it does not perfectly align with a particular style or popular dynamic. This said, I hope that Danie and I will be able to ply off of spontaneity—our piece being comedic in nature, I think this could be excellent fodder, and might foster an even more genuine performance, if, by the final show, we’re not simply exercising a routine. Ultimately, I suppose that we’re safe in terms of preparedness, considering the tone of Art—were it dramatic, I think Danie and I might have a much more difficult time in terms of chemistry and comfort projecting our roles into the scene.

But the fact is that Danie and I know our lines; we work well together—very well, in my estimation—and though Nima does not appear to have adopted the same artistic mentality in approaching the scenes, Danie and I consistently see “eye-to-eye”—but perhaps this is not a totally positive element, either. I’m slightly concerned that Nima feels overwhelmed by our opinions, as if we’re stripping him of that element of deserved “power” that accompanies directorship.

I’ll simply hope to remember two rules next year:

Communicate – I’d like to think that much of the disagreement and unsureness that seems to have plagued these first rehearsals is a result of poor communication in our earliest stages as a creative team; and, this cannot be blamed on anyone specific. As castmembers, Danie and I should have been more proactive in marrying our small cast with the creative directorial force; as a director, Nima should have assumed some of the logistical responsibilities that accompany a production (without a producer) that accompany the role of director, inevitably.

Collaborate with my cast, while still maintaining my creative vision – …easier said than done. But, part of the trouble with our ensemble is that Nima’s vision is simply too rigid, without any flexibility. This is incensing—I’ll be honest. Theatre has been a big part of my life thus far, and his inability to appreciate anyone’s creative influence but his own is purely egomaniacal. And this in turn leads to an inflammatory and likely irrational reaction from Danie and myself. This is simply dangerous for the cohesion of the piece, as well as the art of…Art.

Tomorrow is the read through—I’m looking forward to it. Danie and I are comfortable with each other, whether or not we’re comfortable with the current direction of the piece. But we’re the actors, and we’re the ones who will be onstage. We will respect Nima’s directorial influence—we’d be terrible actors if we didn’t. But at the same time, we have a specific vision to cultivate.

"Let The Circle Be Unbroken"

The first of this year’s second cycle of IP’s, “Let The Circle Be Unbroken,” a play adapted from the novel by the same name, was co-directed by Ashley and Chezev, and was performed on the Max Bell stage.

Might I say first: blackouts rarely work.

But they worked tonight.

Episodic, and deeply pensive for its smooth integration of monologue and short scene, the piece incorporated a fairly large cast for any IP production. As focus shifted from a single speaker perched above the audience at the back of the theatre, to a small scene played out before the audience onstage, to another monologue, this one against the far wall of the theatre, the light design—shifting from single spotlight, to warm, golden glow, to a burning scarlet deluge—encapsulated each vignette in an effervescent cocoon. Through some tore a hopeful, guiding beacon; but others were muted by a hazy twilight, and then a total, enveloping darkness.

And rightfully; the story itself played across several vignettes, as mentioned. The time period was itself not entirely clear, which I feel enhanced the “anytime” nature of the setting, as did it reinforce the prevalence of racism in society, “then,” and today.

Embodying these storylines with fervor were, among others, Shani, Hawi, Sarah, AJ, and Sidingo—each delivering performances fervid with painful truth. Moved especially by Shani’s performances (monologues, as well as a brutal rape scene incorporating AJ, as her son, as well as Nima and Erickson, her attackers), I was deeply moved by her ability to transport herself as well as her audience.

And, another noteworthy point: the audience’s role in the production. While not as integral a player in the production as was the audience in Einat’s IP, Ashley and Chezev’s careful choices in performance space dispersed the actors throughout the theatre at various points during the show. Hawi would periodically deliver a monologue from atop the steps between the centermost sections of seats—while I initially found this to be an uncomfortable use of space with regard to the viewing ability and ease of the audience members, it later occurred to me that the careful placement… and my subsequent discomfort, emphasized both alienated vulnerability, as well as the selfishness of the patron, as she or he views something of such emotional ferocity. In this way, the production almost dually satirized the upright surveyor, who, though innocent in charge, is all the guiltier by association. And, to symbolize the sometimes cumbersome, yet dynamic passage of time, while each monologue seized the audience’s attention, a change of set and personage occupied the stage. Perhaps some found this distracting… but it was almost representative of the imminent and unadorned backdrop of life.

By the end of the performance, I wanted more. But this the indication of masterful direction and production technique, I always tell myself that any production should end with a certain grace… so that it is both inimitably conclusive, and still unforeseen.

And what more, the production convinced me that it’s possible to incorporate elements of naturalistic drama with more monological oratory in an IP without the production feeling out-of-place or forced. The fluidity of the project could have also been due, in part, to the soundtrack which, interspersed on and off throughout the production, served as a perfect auditory backdrop to the intensely visual display. This convinced me, too, of the possibilities for the incorporation of technology into an IP. Like the others, it served on one level to even more greatly intensify my desire to direct my own.

My hat is off to Ashley & Chezev—their production felt natural, polished, and emotionally raw. I haven’t yet felt so impacted by both the performances as well as the technical aspects of production, and it’s obvious that their collaboration not only worked, but it gave rise to one of this IP season’s best.

Pearson & Theatrical Controversy

Having anticipated and then watched Einat’s IP, I think I’ve been clued in to the powerful role that word-of-mouth and a certain enigma surrounding a production can play on this campus. I attended the first of her production’s two showings, and I’m not sure if there were even ten of Pearson’s one hundred and eighty missing from the tightly crammed Common Room. Everyone eagerly awaited the performance, one which had been rumored to be highly controversial; one that had consumed the Common Room for a week in preparation of a temporary stagespace.

And on that night, the Common Room could barely spare a square metre. Almost too crowded for comfortable viewing, it also seemed that, at times the actors struggled to work around the precariously-placed lights and the shuffling audience-members only inches away. But, it was incredibly inventive and forward-thinking of Einat to employ the use of the Common Room for her production—after four consecutive IPs in the Max Bell, a change in space did wonders to engage the audience’s captivation, for it almost seemed that (the Common Room totally transformed) they were alienated by the new environment.

But dually, Einat’s choice of space integrated the audience as a near demi-character in her production. The shape of the Common Room, as well as her stage, started at a point directly above the fireplace at the juncture of the back (or front, depending on perspective) walls of the Common Room. It emanated out, in its wake engulfing the players on the stage before the fireplace, then, subsequently, the audience, which sat backed to the windows. This careful involvement of the audience’s reactions and interactions with the players was (theoretically) key in the development of the narrative. And so, from the beginning, Einat’s production already brilliantly used space provided and intimately incorporated the audience into the rising action.

And so did the audience participate in the developing storyline. But at the story’s principle, the audience knew what was going to happen in the end—it had been discussed before the production was even viewed. And so it was with anticipation, partially, that I think the audience viewed the first half of the play.

So too with praise for the overacting of a few of the actors, who seemed to be asking for laughs as the play progressed—and the audience consistently rewarded them with approval. This was, to me, the most disheartening element of the whole experience; I felt as if the audience was disturbingly immature in its inability to separate friends from stage performers. And some of the actors seemed to be equally as inexperienced in their performing abilities for a) employing Einat’s production, a serious examination of gender roles, stereotypes, and discrimination as a forum for improvisational comedy routines, and b) for their inability to manipulate the situation so that, when the audience was laughing during a rape scene, they’d be able to direct the emotional undercurrent in a way that would refocus the audience on the subject matter.

But Hailey’s performance couldn’t be stifled by the performances of some of her cast mates. I felt that she brilliantly portrayed the part of a young girl so unconfident in herself that she’d feebly agree to anything for acceptance. Her quick transitions to her older self and then prosecuting attorney were laudable, as well. Her performance was incredibly brave, as it called for several actions and behaviors that likely made the audience and her highly uncomfortable.

It was clear that Einat poured every ounce of herself into the production, and that she cared so deeply for the final product that she, her actors, and Kenta had created. I think that she did an excellent job condensing a longer work into a shorter timeframe, though I felt that, at times, the pacing of the production as a whole tended towards lethargic. This was due in part, perhaps, to the sheer volume of lines to be memorized by each of the actors, and then their subsequent work in recalling them during performance. Perhaps a part of this, too, was the anticipation of the rape at the end of the piece. I have to conjecture that every audience member was anticipating that savage climax, and so that, too, could have contributed to the pacing. If this is so, I can only call it a brilliant realization of brutal tensions on Einat’s part, as the director.

And, when “the scene” finally arrived, I was truly moved by the tact and virtuosity with which Einat executed the sequence. It was not clichéd, nor was it melodramatic or fragmented. It was delicate, and highly impacting. Though the audience’s reaction was, perhaps, rude and inappropriate, it’s possible that their laughter only masked sheer disquietude and fear for the reality of the situation. The play itself was based on a true story—and, in a word, Einat truly brought it to life.


(Photo by Mark Kelsey)

Emma's IP: "Small Crimes"

(Originally written 6/10/10)

After some reflection, I think I can objectively deconstruct the process that built Emma’s final product: “Small Crimes,” her IP.

It was undoubtedly one of the highlights of my first month at Pearson—having always felt “at home” on the stage, the camaraderie of collaborative productions can’t be matched; in the time spent preparing a theatrical work, you forge connections with your cast mates and director which, hopefully, yield a genuineness during a final performance.

I wouldn’t say, however that those connections I built during the production of Emma’s IP were like those I’ve experienced in my past theatrical experience… perhaps due, in part, to the size of the cast, or even to the isolation of each of the characters within the play. As such, as sometimes happens, I didn’t find myself looking forward to rehearsals for any sort of friendship or “group” collaboration; instead, most rehearsals were an opportunity to develop my character as part of a very introspective and personal process.

In previous posts, I’ve voiced some of my frustrations with Emma’s broad criticisms of my character, stage presence, and physicality. Ultimately, these were resolved, but because, in the final performance, my character had a suitcase, packed slowly with clothes over the course of the performance. This had been planned all along, however I didn’t have the prop to work with during rehearsals until the final dress. I’ve resolved that some of my awkwardness on stage was due, partially, to the fact that, for long stretches, my character literally had nothing to do but pace, and fidget. As soon as I had the suitcase, I immediately planned the actions surrounding its packing, so as to mirror the rising action, though subtle, of the monologues themselves. I was ultimately pleased with my character’s physicality as a result, and so too, I think, was Emma.

Part of me wishes that I’d had closer performing relationships with Alice and Elisabeth—ironically, I’ve become closer friends with each, especially Elisabeth, after the completion of the production, and it would seem that the experience had very little to do with the development of the friendships. Perhaps this was purposeful on Emma’s part—a very interesting directorial technique, if so. Based on reactions of audience members that I’ve intercepted following the performance, some people felt that the characters’ isolation was effective, and captured the bleakness of disintegrating relationships. However, others have told me that they felt the monologues themselves were disjointed, and instead of contributing to a narrative mosaic (the way in which I’ve inferred Emma’s vision to decipher the monologues), they were simply fragmented, leading to total confusion on the part of the audience.

Another point: the esotericism of the piece’s language and narrative. I’ve spoken with very few people who’ve confidently stated they’d understood the “plot” of the piece. Perhaps this was intentional—poetry is rarely conditioned to be interpreted in only a single way, so, it’s possible that the intention of the play itself was to capture emotion in a way that would provide audience members with “form-fitting” puzzle pieces which they could assemble to construct personally interpretive narratives. Perhaps for the savvy, natively English-speaking audience member with an interest in literature and language, this would be the case. However, for the broad majority, I think the play was confusing. I don’t know that this is necessarily negative, though. Artistically, I admonish anything that panders to the majority, and so, if the play spoke to only two audience members, but it deeply affected them, then I think the production was a success. And, I’ve not spoken to anyone whose voiced outright distaste for the production—perhaps this is due to the fact that they were speaking with me, and I was in it. On the whole, people have stated that they “didn’t understand it,” or “found it confusing,” but, they also say that it was beautifully performed, and many say that they found the ending to be impacting.

Others, though, have said that they found the ending to be disconcerting, and starkly disparate in its tone from the rest of the piece. Throughout the production, Emma voiced her intention for the piece to be Brechtian in its staging and tone. Admittedly, I found this to be conflicting with her direction to deliver the monologues to the audience, as I felt that this conflicted with Brecht’s theory of an audience’s alienation. In all other aspects, though, I think the performance was Brechtian—the costumes, props, and sets were stark and austere, and the color palette of the stage centered on grays, blacks, and whites. This, then, was fitting with the final sequence, in which the players literally became the crew, and broke the set.

Ultimately, I was pleased with my own performance—I felt that I truly knew and understood my character’s plight by the final performance, and, following it, I found it difficult to let go of the “portal” into his psyche which I’d developed. In speaking with Elisabeth, though, I understood her to have had an entirely different experience. Many audience-members expressed their difficult in understanding Elisabeth as she’d delivered her lines. And so, too, did Elisabeth express concern. First, I must voice my intense admiration of her bravery and talent in learning and memorizing her lines. I think there are few native English speakers who could decipher the language of the piece upon an initial, second, or even third read. However, I think that, considering the piece, in casting the production, selecting native speakers for the three characters should have been imperative. The language was simply too esoteric for a non-native speaker to grapple with, considering the time constraints of the production schedule. But, Elisabeth did an incredible job nonetheless, and far superseded any expectations of someone in her position.

Having participated in such an atypical theatrical production, I consider myself lucky to have experienced such a unique take on the process. Considering the experience as a whole, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. If I could change anything, I’d have vocalized my thoughts regarding my character to Emma sooner rather than later—perhaps, had I done so, the production would have progressed in its depth of emotional analysis. For me, though, the experience’s most valuable byproduct was the excitement with which it’s provided me for my chance to direct an IP, in a year’s time. Having worked with Emma, I hope that I’ll have a conception of the strategies she used that worked well and those that didn’t. Although I don’t think the style of my project will be similar to hers, I am appreciative of her abilities and vision, for I think they’ve provided me with impetus to create something spectacular. 

IP Rehearsals, Stanislavski, Improv, etc.

This past week seemed to go by very slowly. Though it culminated with the European Regional Day, the rest was markedly uneventful.

Theatre, however, continued to excite and fascinate.

We established the mark and influence of theatre god, Constantin Stanislavski, inventor of what is today known as “The Method,” and the modern conception of “acting” itself.

In short, Russian-born Stanislavski, at the turn of the 20th century, reformed the then-popular trend of Classical acting technique into one more heavily focused on emotional evocation from within the actor.

ACTING 101: Act from the outside in, and the inside out

Stanislavski, himself a mediocre actor at best, was inspired by the emotional ranges and abilities of several of his contemporaries, and thus, following decades of careful note-taking, he conceived a process focused on intense and meticulous character development—from defining the “Magical If’s” of character (those traits and qualities not defined in the text, but necessary for a full-rounded understanding of character), to drawing on personal experience to attempt to better relate to emotional travails. Many of today’s most noteworthy actors and actresses utilize Stanislavski’s method, and his is the name most associated with the birth of modern theatrical technique.


Later in the week, I began rehearsing (with more seriousness) Emma’s IP. At this point, I find it difficult to objectively comment, and I’m conflicted; I have strong opinions about the project, and yet it’s not my own—she’s translating her vision to the stage.

I’m just worried that the implications, as well as the potential of the text, are being slightly marred, or even underappreciated. The text itself is esoteric in its language and vocabulary, and that coupled with its monological, slow-paced nature require the director and actors to fully understand every subtext—the true natures of each character. I just worry, at this point, that a partial understanding of the literature is muddling the full potential of the piece.

Just two days ago, an entire monologue originally belonging to the “wife,” was reassigned to the “husband.” This seemed, to me, to be indicative of a weak understanding of both the language and the characters.

It’s also difficult for me to keep from defending many of my personal techniques.

ACTING 101: Do not argue with a director during a rehearsal

However, part of my personal process of character development involves meticulous definition of my character’s physicality— my “husband,” being slightly cowardly and emotionally immature, is hunched; his feet shuffle slightly when he walks, and he touches his neck frequently. At other times, his hands are kept concealed: behind his back, folded within one another, or kept in his pockets. At the times when he’s not speaking, his transition from the monologic focus of the foreground to a near set-piece of the background is marked by a slow metamorphosis into stagnancy, in which he gazes, vacantly, just past the characters about which the other monologues speak. As his next block of text approaches, he is drawn, slowly, from his reverie, and his eyes are filled with a realization appropriate to the tone of his next monologue—in specific cases, either fear, reminiscence, bitterness, or loneliness.

When I put this carefully developed trait-based physicality into practice, however, the notes following the run-through instructed me to “not to put my hands in my pockets, because it makes me look like I’ve forgotten my lines.” Perhaps I did look as if I’d forgotten my lines, but I would have hoped for more constructive criticism, or an inquiry as to why I’d done it. It was frustrating, as it almost seemed that the care and precision with which I’m treating the project has gone vastly unnoticed. It stung on another level, too, because I, as a general rule, NEVER walk around with my hands in my pockets. It’s…unbecoming.


This past Thursday, however, I did have a chance to exercise an ability that has always been creatively stimulating for me: I helped to instruct the class in the rudimentary concepts of theatrical improvisation. After several exercises and what I felt to be a concise, introductory explanation, I feel as if the class had a better understanding of the tenets of improv, and I hope that, as a class, we’ll continue to develop these skills.

Improv is not for everyone—I don’t feel as if I’m particularly good at it. Some people enjoy theatre sports, a highly competitive take on improv. However, at its roots (and at the level at which I most often choose to participate), improv is acting without a script. It is raw—sometimes good, sometimes bad—but nonetheless, most professional actors would acknowledge that improv is a useful tool when attempting to define character, or the tone of a scene. Stanislavski even condoned and utilized it.

But essentially, improv reinforces what I believe to be the most important component to any actor’s repertoire: an ability to empathize, and understand. An actor—and a director—must understand the implications, emotions, and stakes of a text before the text itself can even be a concern. Some turn to improv to establish this—others use their own methods.

I just hope some method will cement the integrity and expressiveness of an enigmatic IP.

Second-Year IP’s: Auditions and More

Last week, I signed up for consideration by the second-year theatre students as they cast their directorial projects.

And, I’m abundantly glad that I did so.

The IP’s were auditioned in two groups, in two sessions spanning two days. My audition took place on the second of the two. Here, I should probably digress and acknowledge that it wasn’t an “audition” in the traditional sense of the word. In my experience, an audition has always been conducted in a one-on-one, partnered, or small-group setting with a markedly “intimate” tenor. But, my theatrical experience is limited to one specific region and influence, and therefore I was excited to observe and partake in a contrasting interpretation of the process: one with a highly social atmosphere focused on flamboyance and a strong group dynamic. But—more on that to come.

It’s obvious to me that every second-year director is entirely committed to the realization of an artistic vision—they’re serious yet enthusiastic about their casting processes, and I can only imagine that they, feeling the pressures of a deadline, a grade, and most of all, the artistic potential of their projects, will treat their rehearsals and ultimate productions with directorial mastery.

The group audition that I attended on Tuesday evening, September 14th, was, too, conducted and executed by the second-year directors. It began onstage with a few group-oriented games aimed at lowering the inhibitions of the potential casts. Circular and interactive, the games appeared to help many feel more comfortable onstage, nearly blinded to their second-year counterparts avidly purveying from the seats.

Next, we broke into smaller groups of five or six—for the Family Portrait Game. The exercise consists of the assembly of a named group onstage, where they are presented with an interesting scenario to be portrayed. At a moment’s notice, the leader and external conductor of the exercise calls “Freeze!” and the scene and stakes are altered. The exercise itself tests the creative spontaneity of its participants, and is generally lighthearted and comical. I was slightly disappointed by my specific scene however; my group was assigned to a “waterpark,” and the scene was altered to involve a shark attack. I didn’t feel like this presented very many opportunities for originality or variance of character, and instead fostered a group “scream-and-stomp-about-the-stage” dynamic. This was perhaps due, in part, to the fact that, by the time my group assumed the stage, the exercise was no longer being led by a single person, and was instead dictated by the first person to shout any scene from the audience.

After this, we partook in the "Hello, hello" exercise. This time my partner and I were in a restaurant; I was late, she was disgruntled by it. Disdain and confusion ensued.

Next we again broke into groups of five or six, and formed, group by group, lines in the upstage-left corner of the performance space. Each group was then given an emotion to portray, and, one by one, each group-member walked across the stage physically embodying the emotion.

At this point, the least inhibited, loudest, most talented character-actors had been recognized. This was also the point at which the entire group of auditionees was instructed to take a seat, and subsequently watch and listen as each director took turns calling people or groups to the stage to “improvise” various scenes.

The night ended in a slightly chaotic call-back, in which people unconfident in their earlier performances left, slightly dejected, perhaps, and convinced they’d not be cast in a leading or speaking role. The remaining participants went into separate areas to continue to read and improvise for specific directors, this time in a much more private setting.

I was approached by Nima to read for his project, did this, and left.

The next day, I was approached by Emma, and was cast in her project, the prospect of which was very exciting. That evening I read through the script with Emma, and the other two cast-members: Alice and Elisabeth. Her project, titled, “Small Crimes,” is based on the poetry of Tania Cassin. It is avant-garde, and should prove to be challenging, but highly effective in its depiction of the trivialities of love and the human condition. The piece will culminate in a song by Damien Rice, entitled “9 Crimes”.

It’s also likely that I will be performing in Kelly’s project, but I’ve not yet seen her schedule or read her script.

In our most recent class-session, we discussed and analyzed the audition process that many of us had experienced. Several people expressed sentiments similar to my own, feeling as if it was less an opportunity to display talent and abilities, and more one to seek attention for loud, comical improvisation.

I was particularly bothered by the “embody an emotion” exercise; I felt as if it severely neglected one of the primary rules of acting, one which we readdressed in class:

            ACTING 101: Play the action, not the emotion

When playing a character, an actor should never think, “Well—it appears that my characters is sad. At this point, how can I embody sadness?” In embodying a character, a primary element is the elimination of the divide between actor and character—and bringing a reality to the stage. True human emotion is NEVER as simple as sadness or happiness. I doubt amoebic emotion is that simple. An actor must consider the innumerable factors catalyzing an emotional palette or a behavior in a specific case—fear, trepidation, disconsolation, arrogance, infatuation, and perhaps vulnerability—not just… sadness. This exercise is useful in contexts of hyperbolic emotion: clowning, mime, and modern melodrama... but by no means is it useful in assessing the dramatic range and ability of an actor of realistic drama.

Ultimately, we established Six Pillars to be remembered next year, when we’re executing our own IP’s:

1.              Eliminate competition in ensemble – establish a clear objective

2.              Allow for time to process emotional depth

On this specific note, many people recalled the perhaps unrealistic challenge of being asked to take the stage, and, in an instant, channel the emotions of a murderer or sufferer of some grave illness. The consensus was: it’s not possible to embody characters experiencing these highly unique and emotionally complex circumstances, given only a moment of preparation.

3.              Have and distribute texts beforehand

4.              Have a clear understanding of theatrical technique, and an understanding of     the uses and implications of improv as an art

5.              Privacy

6.              Be specific and avoid generalizations in direction.

I hope that I’ll be mindful of these and more potential fallacies in execution to which any director could fall victim. It’s important to remember that everyone involved in IP production is a student—we’re all learning. On the whole, the process itself was still a fairly positive one—perhaps not for the mechanics of its execution, but for the passion and energy with which it was executed.


I look forward to the coming weeks—they should prove to be rigorous, but will, hopefully, produce incredible results.

Reflections on our first classes...

Theatre has quickly climbed to the top of the list of my favorite classes—I'm already looking forward to the next two years. Having been a patron of the stage for a relatively significant portion of my life, I am incredibly excited for the opportunity to finally integrate my love for theatrical production and performance into my education!

...and, I feel like I'm already learning more. Our dialogue exercise was a great opportunity to acquaint myself with not only the expectations of the class—and the seriousness with which all exercises are treated—but also with my classmates, and their abilities as actors and directors.

It was very interesting to observe the different tones and styles with which four simple lines could be translated into small scenes:

         Person A: Hi.

         Person B: Hi.

         Person A: Have you been waiting long?

         Person B: ... forever.

Though today I've only viewed one other performance of this dialogue besides my own, I already acknowledge the significantly varied means of dramatic interpretation with which it can, has been, and will be treated.

The first duo to perform interpreted the four lines of dialogue very dramatically—and worked, following their first performed run-through, to perfect personal character development. It’s imperative to know one’s own character physically and emotionally, and to have a perfect understanding of the “stakes” and physicality of a situation.

The physicality of any situation for a stage actor is particularly important for, unlike an actor of film, a stage set is rarely if ever a real-life physical representation—stage sets almost always creatively work around space and financial limitations to better represent the concept of location.

After multiple run-throughs, the first duo nearly perfected their interpretation of the scene—that of two people, who care deeply for one another, meeting for the first time, in a long time, at an airport. They convincingly suggested through body language and inflection that they’d not seen each other for a long time, they were both slightly anxious about the meeting, and that, perhaps, they had deep emotional ties to one another.

My partner and I, instead, settled on a much more comedic interpretation of the scene. We established a medical waiting room of sorts with a reception desk (complete with receptionist, me), a seating area, and a patient suffering from the H1N1 virus.

After an initial run-through, it became clear that perhaps our characterizations relied too heavily on caricature to comically depict the situation. While this is accepted and applauded in situations of sketch-comedy and improvisation, we readily decided to assign our characters greater complexity, and, while still preserving the scene as a predominantly comedic one, we allowed for greater empathy from the audience. What started as clownish play soon developed into a scene of greater finesse and emotional range.

In characterizing my part as a waiting room receptionist, I settled on an interesting (and perhaps common) character trait amongst many members of the profession—an impatience and delight in others’ suffering. And yet, conscious of the respect every actor must give his or her character, I was careful to empathize with my receptionist’s plight, and, during our second run-through, attempted to depict a phone conversation during which the receptionist experienced chatisement or rebuke. I then transferred the negative emotions delivered to my character to the patient in my waiting room, in an act of reciprocation and retaliation against my sense of helplessness. While my character’s delight and admitted sadism in his decorum with the H1N1 victim are rude and alarming, I hope that my characterization partially explained his plight and condition to the impartial audience.

I’m fascinated by characterization and the translation of dialogue to stage—and so, I found this to be a very worthwhile exercise. I’m definitely looking forward to the performances of the other duos, and wonder how, stylistically, they will translate four very simple lines into compelling, true-life situations.