The Kansas City Integral Theatre Project
Thursday, March 23, 2006
We look at you through those little grates
One of the greatest moments in my life happened during the curtain call for the closing performance of Twelfth Night at the Globe Theatre in 2002. The production was, at that time, the most authentically produced (as in, true to the way things were originally done back when the plays were new) show to be staged at the Globe since its reconstruction. So it was an all-male cast, with a dewey, fresh-faced young lad playing the heroine and a comically butch guy playing the female servant, etc. Mark Rylance, then the artistic director of the Globe, played Olivia.
During the curtain call Mr. Rylance received several ovations, having amazed and touched us all with the quick timing of his comedy and the genuine sincerity he'd brought to the character. At one point he raised his hands for us to stop clapping, and pulled off his wig. "I just want you to know how important you are," he said. "You audience. People don't tell you this very often, but we are absolutely indebted to you. Do you know that we look at you through those little grates back there (he pointed to the grating in the wall next to the stage) and hold our breaths wondering how you're going to react? We couldn't have a show without you, and I just wanted you to know how grateful I am - how grateful we all are." And they clapped for us.
This is a paraphrase of what he said, obviously, but I think it's pretty close as it burned itself in my memory. "Yes, yes YES," I kept thinking to myself. And then I hurried out of there, because I had been a groundling (stood RIGHT next to the edge of the stage) and had thus been on my feet for nearly five hours (counting the time we waited in line for discounted student tickets - which cost the equivalent of less than ten dollars, by the way).
It's hard to explain how this made me feel. It was incredibly important that an actor was taking the moment right then to tell that audience how important it was - that we'd laughed well, and been engaged, and helped them to be at their best. This is gone over briefly in Intro to Acting textbooks, but it's not very often that an actor addresses his particular audience with such gratitude while still in costume. And it's also lovely that it was someone with such renown and accomplishment as Mark Rylance, because it sets a good example for others in the business.
I'd like to follow that example in my work. I've been to question-and-answer sessions after plays, which tends to be more about figuring out how stuff was done (effects, line memorization (!), etc). I've been to meet-and-greets, which tend to be more about the actors' egos than anything - a chance to be given individual praise. Which isn't a bad thing per se. But I'd like to see something done on behalf of the audiences, as well.
Similarly, I'd like it to be okay to tell an audience that it was crappy. During a performance of The Fool's Journey (a show I did in college which ended up going to KCACTF, which was a terribly traumatic experience, which is another story altogether), a young gentleman sitting in the middle of the second row fell asleep. The Narrator character (who had a pretty thin fifth wall erected to begin with) stopped the show. "Hold on a minute, please, everybody," she said. "This guy is asleep. Hey. HEY!" And she woke him up. He looked terrified. "Hi there," she said. "I'm doing a show up here." And she smiled and went on with it.
It was fantastic. He didn't come back for the second act, which didn't really surprise anybody. But it was one of those terrible audiences that you just can't win, no matter how hard you try. They weren't merely ambivalent, they were disruptive and rude. So it was nice to see someone taking a stand.
During the curtain call Mr. Rylance received several ovations, having amazed and touched us all with the quick timing of his comedy and the genuine sincerity he'd brought to the character. At one point he raised his hands for us to stop clapping, and pulled off his wig. "I just want you to know how important you are," he said. "You audience. People don't tell you this very often, but we are absolutely indebted to you. Do you know that we look at you through those little grates back there (he pointed to the grating in the wall next to the stage) and hold our breaths wondering how you're going to react? We couldn't have a show without you, and I just wanted you to know how grateful I am - how grateful we all are." And they clapped for us.
This is a paraphrase of what he said, obviously, but I think it's pretty close as it burned itself in my memory. "Yes, yes YES," I kept thinking to myself. And then I hurried out of there, because I had been a groundling (stood RIGHT next to the edge of the stage) and had thus been on my feet for nearly five hours (counting the time we waited in line for discounted student tickets - which cost the equivalent of less than ten dollars, by the way).
It's hard to explain how this made me feel. It was incredibly important that an actor was taking the moment right then to tell that audience how important it was - that we'd laughed well, and been engaged, and helped them to be at their best. This is gone over briefly in Intro to Acting textbooks, but it's not very often that an actor addresses his particular audience with such gratitude while still in costume. And it's also lovely that it was someone with such renown and accomplishment as Mark Rylance, because it sets a good example for others in the business.
I'd like to follow that example in my work. I've been to question-and-answer sessions after plays, which tends to be more about figuring out how stuff was done (effects, line memorization (!), etc). I've been to meet-and-greets, which tend to be more about the actors' egos than anything - a chance to be given individual praise. Which isn't a bad thing per se. But I'd like to see something done on behalf of the audiences, as well.
Similarly, I'd like it to be okay to tell an audience that it was crappy. During a performance of The Fool's Journey (a show I did in college which ended up going to KCACTF, which was a terribly traumatic experience, which is another story altogether), a young gentleman sitting in the middle of the second row fell asleep. The Narrator character (who had a pretty thin fifth wall erected to begin with) stopped the show. "Hold on a minute, please, everybody," she said. "This guy is asleep. Hey. HEY!" And she woke him up. He looked terrified. "Hi there," she said. "I'm doing a show up here." And she smiled and went on with it.
It was fantastic. He didn't come back for the second act, which didn't really surprise anybody. But it was one of those terrible audiences that you just can't win, no matter how hard you try. They weren't merely ambivalent, they were disruptive and rude. So it was nice to see someone taking a stand.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
We've got to start somewhere, right?
So I've been referring to this thing in my head as "the Kansas City integral theatre project" for a while now, as that name embodies everything I know about it so far: we're all about to live in Kansas City, we're interested in starting a theatre project (whether it be a company or an entire movement), and we want it to be comprehensive or integral in a way that doesn't seem to have been previously achieved by other theatre projects in this area.
But what does that MEAN, exactly?
Here are a very few possible jumping-off points for discussion. I have ideas on all of these issues, although some are certainly less well-developed than others (and those others are about as well-developed as anything one hasn't yet put into words can be).
Anyway, there's some possible topics for blog entries, anyway. Not a comprehensive list, and not a draft of bylaws, by any means. But those are some of the things I'd like to see discussed. What about you?
But what does that MEAN, exactly?
Here are a very few possible jumping-off points for discussion. I have ideas on all of these issues, although some are certainly less well-developed than others (and those others are about as well-developed as anything one hasn't yet put into words can be).
- The transactional nature of live performance - and specifically what goes on between the actors and the audience - ought to be consciously addressed.
- There has to be a more holistic approach to auditions than what we've all experienced before, both as performers and as directors.
- The basic yearning in my heart is for, firstly, my own enlightenment, and also for the enlightenment and liberation of my loved ones, and ultimately for that of all sentient beings. In trying to develop my own "integral life practice," I'm trying to find ways to attune all aspects of my life with this movement towards liberation. Is "theatre for enlightenment" too lofty a goal?
- I suspect that a truly integral theatre could be used as an educational tool for all KINDS of things, from learning about history to learning how to do your taxes. Why not? But the question is, how?
Anyway, there's some possible topics for blog entries, anyway. Not a comprehensive list, and not a draft of bylaws, by any means. But those are some of the things I'd like to see discussed. What about you?
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