If you tell me that you are having a dinner and everyone there is so nice, so smart, I think I will never come. But tell me there is a dinner with this guy who strangled his grandmother, with this guy who likes to rob the jewellery story, then maybe I come
I never trust people who are always nice. Politicians. Or people who are always serious. Who never have a joke. These people come over for dinner and break my balls with some theory. People who think they know something.
That is why I love having actors for dinner, because they always have something for the fun, for the play. They never break my balls with stupid theories or boring speeches.
People who always have nice things to say are terrible. Epouvantable. I hate these people who say they are polite and then lie about how they are feeling, smile at people they don’t like. They are not polite. They are idiots.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Bavarder avec le con
Etudiant de Con: “I really feel like the teacher doesn’t like you. Yesterday he said he didn’t like you. Why do you think he doesn’t like you?”
What I said: “Your feeling is wrong. It’s just his way of joking with me.”
What I wanted to say: “This is coming from the person whom the teacher compared to a Priest who just discovered he was a pedophile?”
Why do these doofs have to come into my life and aggravate my neuroses?
What I said: “Your feeling is wrong. It’s just his way of joking with me.”
What I wanted to say: “This is coming from the person whom the teacher compared to a Priest who just discovered he was a pedophile?”
Why do these doofs have to come into my life and aggravate my neuroses?
Exercise
Koraphus is the “leader.” He must lead the chorus of 7 people across the stage in a dance. He must make every chorus member feel they are part of the dance, the pleasure, that he loves them. They all must share this with the audience.
I go first. Koraphus. Shit. Well, think Marcella Harlan. Think Marcella.
He tells us to let him know if we do not like the music.
Prof starts the music. Big band music. Ok! I turn to Prof and give him thumbs up. He stops the music.
“WHY IS THE FUCKING YOUNG KID FROM AMERICA TURNING AROUND AND TELLING ME YES YES LIKE AN IDIOT? NO! NO! YOU MUST LOOK AT YOUR CHORUS AND FIND OUT IF THEY LIKE IT. START AGAIN.”
We start again. I make sure to look at everyone. I make fucking sure.
We move across the floor. We finish.
Prof: “Not so bad. I am disappointed. I don’t like you, young kid from America. I was really hoping I could say to you that you were terrible, that you thought you were in Iraq and you were destroying everything. But no. It was not too bad. But some times you looked like a gym teacher. Leading the class in exercises. This is very bad. This could get you a zero in the class. A red zero. Bon. Thank you.”
Another boy goes. They begin. They are stopped after just a few moments.
Prof: “Absoloutely terrible. You look like a bunch of hippies coming out of a vegetarian restaurant in India. You all just smoked too much hashish. Bon. And you, the leader, you still look like a pedophile. A pedophile leading a bunch of children back to his house. Come children! Come play! This way! Alors. You are a pedophile leading a bunch of hippie children out of a vegetarian restaurant, back to your house after smoking too much hashish. Bon.”
I go first. Koraphus. Shit. Well, think Marcella Harlan. Think Marcella.
He tells us to let him know if we do not like the music.
Prof starts the music. Big band music. Ok! I turn to Prof and give him thumbs up. He stops the music.
“WHY IS THE FUCKING YOUNG KID FROM AMERICA TURNING AROUND AND TELLING ME YES YES LIKE AN IDIOT? NO! NO! YOU MUST LOOK AT YOUR CHORUS AND FIND OUT IF THEY LIKE IT. START AGAIN.”
We start again. I make sure to look at everyone. I make fucking sure.
We move across the floor. We finish.
Prof: “Not so bad. I am disappointed. I don’t like you, young kid from America. I was really hoping I could say to you that you were terrible, that you thought you were in Iraq and you were destroying everything. But no. It was not too bad. But some times you looked like a gym teacher. Leading the class in exercises. This is very bad. This could get you a zero in the class. A red zero. Bon. Thank you.”
Another boy goes. They begin. They are stopped after just a few moments.
Prof: “Absoloutely terrible. You look like a bunch of hippies coming out of a vegetarian restaurant in India. You all just smoked too much hashish. Bon. And you, the leader, you still look like a pedophile. A pedophile leading a bunch of children back to his house. Come children! Come play! This way! Alors. You are a pedophile leading a bunch of hippie children out of a vegetarian restaurant, back to your house after smoking too much hashish. Bon.”
Woof Woof Woof
The Cabaret exercise from yesterday. A girl on the stage. She speaks a poem.
Prof: “You have a large body. A monster body. Why do you go onstage and act like a cute little girl? You bend your body. You make yourself like a hairdresser’s poodle. The ones who shit on the sidewalk. Little green piles of shit. Get off the stage.”
The Girl screams with fury. She explodes. Tears running down her face.
Prof: “STAND TALLER. SPEAK YOUR POEM AGAIN.”
She begins again. Her voice a register lower. I can’t help but think she really is on her throat right now….Harlan shut up.
Prof: “NO YOU ARE MAKING YOURSELF SMALL AGAIN”
The Girl screams louder, she explodes with rage and tears.
Prof: “Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!”
The Girl is furious and defiant. She speaks her poem.
Prof: “Woof! Woof! Woof!”
She grows larger, more furious, she struggles. The minutes go by. He won’t stop barking at her. Not a big loud bark. A little nagging insistent one.
“woof woof woof woof woof!”
She resists him. His mocking rumbling bark.
“Woof woof woof woof”
Finally….it is over. The girl is exhausted. We all are exhausted.
Prof: “You make yourself small. You pretend that you are a little girl. But you are a beautiful monster. You hide. You hide this and you make yourself like a little poodle who pisses on the floor of the hair salon.”
Prof: “You have a large body. A monster body. Why do you go onstage and act like a cute little girl? You bend your body. You make yourself like a hairdresser’s poodle. The ones who shit on the sidewalk. Little green piles of shit. Get off the stage.”
The Girl screams with fury. She explodes. Tears running down her face.
Prof: “STAND TALLER. SPEAK YOUR POEM AGAIN.”
She begins again. Her voice a register lower. I can’t help but think she really is on her throat right now….Harlan shut up.
Prof: “NO YOU ARE MAKING YOURSELF SMALL AGAIN”
The Girl screams louder, she explodes with rage and tears.
Prof: “Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!”
The Girl is furious and defiant. She speaks her poem.
Prof: “Woof! Woof! Woof!”
She grows larger, more furious, she struggles. The minutes go by. He won’t stop barking at her. Not a big loud bark. A little nagging insistent one.
“woof woof woof woof woof!”
She resists him. His mocking rumbling bark.
“Woof woof woof woof”
Finally….it is over. The girl is exhausted. We all are exhausted.
Prof: “You make yourself small. You pretend that you are a little girl. But you are a beautiful monster. You hide. You hide this and you make yourself like a little poodle who pisses on the floor of the hair salon.”
Beautiful
Exercise:
We all sit in a cabaret. An actor must take the stage and introduce the next act. We must love them.
Then the act must come out and sing a song or recite a poem. If we think they are beautiful, a symphony of pleasure, then we order champagne. If we think they are top level boring, we order a diet coke.
And so the performer sings.
“You look angry when you sing. You make an ugly face. You are not here with us, with the audience. Wink to the audience while you sing, send a message. After the song is over, the people you wink to must be wanting to fuck you.”
And so the performer sings again.
“Did you think he wanted to fuck you, or do you think oh lalala I need a coffee?”
“Be beautiful on the stage. You move to fast. You do not take time to be with us, to let us fall in love with you. You move too much and you destroy what is beautiful about you on the stage.”
A girl comes on the stage and is beautiful. We all know it. Everyone knows it. She was simple, direct, and open.
“She was beautiful, no?”
“But you, you were terrible. Waiter, six diet cokes.”
We all sit in a cabaret. An actor must take the stage and introduce the next act. We must love them.
Then the act must come out and sing a song or recite a poem. If we think they are beautiful, a symphony of pleasure, then we order champagne. If we think they are top level boring, we order a diet coke.
And so the performer sings.
“You look angry when you sing. You make an ugly face. You are not here with us, with the audience. Wink to the audience while you sing, send a message. After the song is over, the people you wink to must be wanting to fuck you.”
And so the performer sings again.
“Did you think he wanted to fuck you, or do you think oh lalala I need a coffee?”
“Be beautiful on the stage. You move to fast. You do not take time to be with us, to let us fall in love with you. You move too much and you destroy what is beautiful about you on the stage.”
A girl comes on the stage and is beautiful. We all know it. Everyone knows it. She was simple, direct, and open.
“She was beautiful, no?”
“But you, you were terrible. Waiter, six diet cokes.”
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Breaking My Balls
Exercise:
Music in foreign language. Actor onstage must show their pleasure imitating the singer. Then the music turns off and the actor must continue, singing.
Exercise:
Actor enters singing. When they feel they are boring the audience, they must pick up phone and call in another actor. The two performers have a tennis ball they throw back and forth to exchange being in major and minor. A third actor waits in the wings and, whenever the two actors onstage are terrible, the third must come in and save the show.
Prof: [to students onstage] “Leave the stage, right now. You’re breaking my balls. [to classmates watching] Whose balls are full? Who says, stop bouncing on my balls? [Several students raise their hands]. Bon. You are breaking everyone’s balls, thank you. You want too much. When you want too much, you break the balls of everybody. You come onstage to prove that you deserve to be there, not to make miracles happen. You don’t have to prove anything onstage, you have nothing to prove, only lots of things to have fun with.”
The Prof has nothing to prove. That is for certain. He gives his students exercises at which they fail miserably over and over again. His feedback never offers suggestions or advice. He rarely even critiques why something doesn’t work. He just responds, violently, to that which does not work.
I am put in situations where I fail terribly, horribly. Over and over. And I am given scathing critiques. The torrent of abuse has no clear reasoning. There is never a discussion and rarely a debate. All that you know is that your work is not being given approval. That you are boring. The audience does not love you.
Here is what I am used to: the teacher is to be a voice of reason, of clear and comprehensible authority. The teacher’s critiques are informative and constructive. The Prof destroys this relationship. The teacher is neither a source of knowledge nor authority; the teacher becomes simply a source of provocation: “Show us how you play. That wasn’t you playing, try again. No. Again. No. Again. No. Again.” The student is constantly thrown back onto themselves. It is impossible to rely on an authority for what is “right.” In fact, it is impossible to know what is “right.”
Sometimes I feel horrified and discouraged. Other times inspired and dying to have another go. But always I am deeply curious. I feel that it is possible to discover something within myself from this onslaught of abuse and these impossible exercises where I go in front of a room of people and make a total fool of myself over and over again.
I am accustomed to structure. Words. A story to tell. A character. But now I have no structure. Nothing to hide behind. Even when I was doing Meisner I had a partner, there were rules. But now, no. How can I go onstage and be full of play, of pleasure, without any of those things? No givens? No objective? No rules? Well, there are rules. But they are so simple. Have a strong complicite with your partner…etc. Go onstage and show us your pleasure. Speak text, we don’t care what it is, and don’t play the meaning of the text. What??? What???? What????
How do I do this????
I don’t know
I don’t understand. Not at all.
I feel completely lost. (Thank god!)
Music in foreign language. Actor onstage must show their pleasure imitating the singer. Then the music turns off and the actor must continue, singing.
Exercise:
Actor enters singing. When they feel they are boring the audience, they must pick up phone and call in another actor. The two performers have a tennis ball they throw back and forth to exchange being in major and minor. A third actor waits in the wings and, whenever the two actors onstage are terrible, the third must come in and save the show.
Prof: [to students onstage] “Leave the stage, right now. You’re breaking my balls. [to classmates watching] Whose balls are full? Who says, stop bouncing on my balls? [Several students raise their hands]. Bon. You are breaking everyone’s balls, thank you. You want too much. When you want too much, you break the balls of everybody. You come onstage to prove that you deserve to be there, not to make miracles happen. You don’t have to prove anything onstage, you have nothing to prove, only lots of things to have fun with.”
The Prof has nothing to prove. That is for certain. He gives his students exercises at which they fail miserably over and over again. His feedback never offers suggestions or advice. He rarely even critiques why something doesn’t work. He just responds, violently, to that which does not work.
I am put in situations where I fail terribly, horribly. Over and over. And I am given scathing critiques. The torrent of abuse has no clear reasoning. There is never a discussion and rarely a debate. All that you know is that your work is not being given approval. That you are boring. The audience does not love you.
Here is what I am used to: the teacher is to be a voice of reason, of clear and comprehensible authority. The teacher’s critiques are informative and constructive. The Prof destroys this relationship. The teacher is neither a source of knowledge nor authority; the teacher becomes simply a source of provocation: “Show us how you play. That wasn’t you playing, try again. No. Again. No. Again. No. Again.” The student is constantly thrown back onto themselves. It is impossible to rely on an authority for what is “right.” In fact, it is impossible to know what is “right.”
Sometimes I feel horrified and discouraged. Other times inspired and dying to have another go. But always I am deeply curious. I feel that it is possible to discover something within myself from this onslaught of abuse and these impossible exercises where I go in front of a room of people and make a total fool of myself over and over again.
I am accustomed to structure. Words. A story to tell. A character. But now I have no structure. Nothing to hide behind. Even when I was doing Meisner I had a partner, there were rules. But now, no. How can I go onstage and be full of play, of pleasure, without any of those things? No givens? No objective? No rules? Well, there are rules. But they are so simple. Have a strong complicite with your partner…etc. Go onstage and show us your pleasure. Speak text, we don’t care what it is, and don’t play the meaning of the text. What??? What???? What????
How do I do this????
I don’t know
I don’t understand. Not at all.
I feel completely lost. (Thank god!)
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Text and movement
Walk across the stage, speak a text. Show your special pleasure.
Simple. Fucking impossible.
Prof:
“The body and the text are not together. Don’t move in the rhythm of the text. When you use your body, your physical life, to accentuate the meaning of the text, you say the same thing twice. You underline the text. You break the balls of the audience. Boring.”
The actor and the text.
They are separate. They contradict. Dissonance. If the actor integrates then everything becomes too close for the play, for the pleasure.
The text is not the impulse. The text follows the impulse. The text comes on top of the impulse. The impulse is physical. The text comes on top of the physical. It is not part of the physical.
What the hell!
Simple. Fucking impossible.
Prof:
“The body and the text are not together. Don’t move in the rhythm of the text. When you use your body, your physical life, to accentuate the meaning of the text, you say the same thing twice. You underline the text. You break the balls of the audience. Boring.”
The actor and the text.
They are separate. They contradict. Dissonance. If the actor integrates then everything becomes too close for the play, for the pleasure.
The text is not the impulse. The text follows the impulse. The text comes on top of the impulse. The impulse is physical. The text comes on top of the physical. It is not part of the physical.
What the hell!
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