Haven't done storytime in a while, so here's couple of stories for you.
And they all have to do with my weird little quirk this week: the funniest things happen to me on stage. Yeah, I know, it's not a single word quirk, but it's true. Maybe it's because I'm playing someone who isn't me and does things I may or may not do; and says things I may or may not say; but if the experience is weird or quirky and hasn't happened in the presence of my family, it's happened onstage.
Here's the clincher: two of them were with the same scene partner. And generally speaking, we were in the same roles--sort of.
This guy was and absolute sweetheart and someone I had no trouble with as a scene partner. See, he Filipino-Iranian and six-foot-two at least(I'm five-five), and talent? This guys had it in spades.To a romantic nineteen-year-old, this was a dream come true.
Until I got the casting notice.
We had both auditioned for a production of Romeo and Juliet, and the director had come up with a fascinating idea that Lord and Lady Capulet(Juliet's parents, for those not too familiar with the story) and Paris(Juliet's betrothed) had an---interesting relationship.
See, she decided that Lady C and Paris were having a fling, and that Lord and Lady C had an abusive relationship. Which meant that the dynamics of one scene in particular(ie, the scene after Tybalt's death where Lord C announces to his wife that Paris will marry Juliet) one of the most fascinating scenes I've ever participated in.
And guess who Lord and Lady Capulet were.
The rehearsal process was one of the most interesting I've had. We didn't get to the actual combat stuff--at least Lord and Lady C wise--until about a week or so before we opened. I won't bore you with too many details, but I will say this: after the "pre-combat eye contact moment"(which is what you do when you fight onstage), I was not acting--I was terrified. Because initially there is nothing more terrifying than a six-foot-two male coming at you in the dark, or semi-dark(we were rehearsing outdoors under street lamps most nights) shouting things at you in iambic pentameter. Nothing.
But I got used to it because it was part of the scene. That didn't mean I didn't jump out of my skin during some performances, but it also didn't mean that it felt awkward or weird. It was part of my job, so I did it. And it was interesting.
You know what else is interesting? Explaining to your friends why you have thumb-sized bruises on your wrists for about a month and a half.
Flash forward eleven months. Same company, same director(or producer at that point), same scene partner. Different show.
It was called "The Camberley Triangle"(which, for you reading pleasure, can be read here), and concerned, well, a love triangle. And this particular guy and I were two sides of said love triangle. Now, in the script, there is no kiss. None. But two days before we opened, the director stopped us mid scene and said there was something missing. She had no idea what it was, but we needed to fix it.
So we started from the top. In the script one of my lines is interrupted by my scene partner saying something to shut me up. Only when we got to this line, he didn't shut me up by speaking. He shut me up by kissing me.
Confession: this was my first kiss. Ever.
And it was weird. It was one of those ten-seconds-of-fireworks-thirty-seconds-of-wth-kind of moments. Until my director said, "yes, perfect, do it again!"
So we did it again, and it stopped being weird--just as the getting "hit" thing stopped being weird. That kiss worked because A) my character was not expecting it and B) I was not expecting it, and made the scene believable.
Because that's part of what we do as theatre artists. We try to make things work.
And when we pull it off, it's AWESOME!!!!!!
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