Portland Center Stage

On Being An Actorrrrrrrrrr

Posted by Chris Coleman | 05 April 2011 | Comments (8)

As we approach opening night for Opus, my wearrrrrrry body is both excited and exhausted.  I said to a friend this morning, "It's like you were a marathon runner 12 years ago, and decided to run the Boston Marathon again.  Your brain is ready, and your body is saying, 'What were you thinking?'   But the experience of working on this show has been completely fascinating and consuming.

(Above, Matt Boston, who plays the brilliant violist, Dorian, peeks out into the house during rehearsals)

First thought:  I'll be more patient next time.  I remember during rehearsals for Imaginary Invalid feeling baffled that Sharonlee McLean was so frustrated at trying to manage all the business and prop-ography that Toinette had to handle.   I was thinking, "Wow - you're already wonderful and in the right zone, you'll figure all that other stuff out."  What's clear being inside the role of a character, is that you're longing for the moment when you have alllllllll the logistics locked in so they become second nature, and you can forget about them.  You want your body to just remember when the bow is supposed to be going up instead of down, so you can live in the character's imaginary experience.  You want to be able to just listen and respond to the other characters, and not wonder if your chair is at the exact right point on the stage in order to hit your light.  

Opus is definitely a ballet for those of us in the cast:  trying to coordinate so many of the logistics, and the intricacies of the emotional twists and turns.  You miss one beat in the music, and all of a sudden your brain is focused on that and you miss the cue you are supposed to deliver to another actor in 30 seconds.  Fun, fun, fun.

Other things that have crossed my mind:  how much you 'need' the director when you're acting.  At least it feels like I do.  I'm focused on trying to bring the character's emotional journey to full life in rehearsal:  and I have no clue what is landing and what is not. " I just tried that last scene less aggressively - was that beneficial or did it turn the scene into a soggy mess?"  I had a professor in grad school who said 'the director is the audience's ultimate advocate' - and this feels true.  He has to be helping the story to emerge in a way that will allow the maximum number of audience members to take the journey with the highest impact.

Brendon Fox, our director, is just fantastic.  He understands the acting process deeply and has been a great partner, coach, nudge, taskmaster through the whole process.  And it's been bracing to see if you could deliver what he was asking for in some of the scenes.

One of the surprise pleasures of this process has been discovering a new relationship with parts of the Armory that I hadn't really explored.  For example:  this hallway, which I have dubbed 'my secret hallway'.  It connects the studio lobby with the dressing rooms downstairs, is always empty, and is always filled with a low mechanical hum.  It feels like a hallway in which one might run from a murderer in a Matt Damon action adventure movie.  I just like to walk quietly down it when I'm getting ready.

Orrrrrrr the dressing rooms.  I had only really popped in and out of them to say hi to the actors, but its kind of fun being in them for real, and having your wardrobe delivered prior to each performance and hearing the backstage chatter.  The marvelous Chris Hietikko (Carl in the show) is grinning above. 

I've been struck by how incredibly well treated I feel by the costume shop and backstage team.  Maybe just because I'm the artistic director?  Do we really take this good care of all of the actors who work with us.  Feels kind of amazing to have these amazingly skilled people adjusting all of your clothes to fit perfectly, making sure your shoes don't slip on the stage floor, and helping you execute the quickest of quick changes.  I've heard for years how wonderful Danna (above left) and Bonnie (above right) are to work with backstage, but experiencing it first hand has been a revelation.  The first time we rehearsed my first quick change, I ran offstage and Danna immediately started pulling off my shoes, as Bonnie pulled my shirt off before I knew what was happening.  They work with such speed and precision, but also maintain this kind of quiet peacefulness.  Its like being dressed by a Buddhist monk.  Sublime.

It's also been hilarious to hear how the out-of-town actors find adventures in Portland.  Greg Jackson (on the left, playing Alan) - has become a Voodoo Donut devotee.  I asked, "Greg how do you stay so skinny eating all those donuts?"  He replied, "Oh, it's simple.  You start the first day of the cleanse with no more than four Voodoo Donuts, three lattes, and for dinner a Voodoo Donut and two Miller Hi-lights.  But that's ALL you eat.  Nothing else."

Moving onstage is both realllllly fun and overwhelming.  You start to get a much stronger visceral sense of what the relationship of the story will be to the audience.  But you are also adding all kinds of new information into your brain as you try to navigate.  Por ejemplo (for example):  in the first transition I have 20 seconds to:  a) turn upstage to my right; b) shift my chair upstage 1.5 feet, with the back corner leg approximately two inches upstage of the seam in the floor; c) cross upstage about 10 feet; d) remove my tie (with one hand, while I continue carrying my violin and bow in the other); e) put the tie in my violin case; f) pick up the violin case; g) move back downstage and put the violin case on the floor, slightly in front of my chair, so I have enough room to cross outside of it later in the scene; h) take music out of the case, and put it on music stand (preferrably right side up); i) take eyeglasses out of case and put them on face; j) lift violin and bow, look at the other actors, and; k) begin playing the Bartok piece.  Annnnnnnd somehow I have to manage to keep my brain prepared to launch into the next scene emotionally.  

I assume that at some point all of this will figure itself out, but last night when we tried it for the first time and I turned upstage to my right, I literally sawwwwwwww:  A SEA OF BLACKNESS.  PITCH.  BLACK.  BLIND.  I SEE NOTHING.  I reached for the chair, finally found it, and then ran smack into another actor (Greg? Matt?  who knows?).  So the next time during techs, an actor says, "Can I have glow tape on this transition?"  Instead of thinking, "Oh give me a break," I will say, "Where do you need it?"