Preview #11: The Beauty—
The beauty. Boxers block and punch and bleed for the beauty. Welders brave molten metal and white hot sparks for the beauty. Musicians play till their flesh is raw for the beauty. And actors accept assignments that end up costing them money …. for the beauty.
I have always characterized myself as a hard working journeyman actor who goes to where the work is and always, always delivers the goods on time and under budget. The money was never the issue, well not for me anyway, but the beauty… the beauty.
The beauty of an actor’s life resides in a child’s smile, an audience’s laugh, the approval of a colleague the feel of a perfect line of prose as it rolls off your tongue, over the air and into the ears, minds and hearts of perfect strangers who will never forget that moment, that curious exchange of energy.
I once had the pleasure of working on a film with the great middleweight boxer Lloyd Weaver. He and his brothers, the Weaver brothers, triplets who had all become professional boxers, have always been in pursuit of the beauty. Lloyd told me a story once of a tough fight he was waging against a Mexican boxer who’s name has escaped me. Lloyd waxed eloquent of how beautiful his opponent was, how his punches stung, how his footwork was a beautiful dance, of the deadliness of his left hook. Lloyd caught one of those left hooks on his right temple. He didn’t see the punch coming. The lights went out for him. There was no thought, no passage of time, only the blackness that the blow engendered. And when the lights reignited he found that he was still fighting. His mind shut down but his body, trained for hours and days and months and years, fought on and did not fall. Lloyd didn’t prevail in that fight. At the end, his opponent’s hand was raised before the crowd, but his performance in the fight was so earnest, so pure, so utterly beautiful that the decision was beside the point. He went on to fight again, and again, and again….for the beauty.
I’m 60 years old. I’ve been a working professional on stage for over 35 years. Many of the players in this company are younger than my son. And in all that time, all those lines, all the audiences and entrances and exits, and flubs and hits and flops, I’ve never lost my appetite for the beauty; the beauty of a well written line, a colleague’s praise, an audience’s gasp, a perfectly crafted moment that rings true again, and again. The beauty of a perfectly crafted prop, a splendid costume, a quick change executed with perfect grace and 10 seconds ahead of the entrance queue.
I will never be rich. I will never be a star, and I will never have a bad day in the theatre. Most of all, I will never, ever cease my pursuit, of the beauty.
More to come.
Preview # 10: Adjustments —
After every preview performance the director will give notes to the players and the department heads intended to hone and polish the show. In general notes are a “no news is good news” situation. I’ve received very few notes since we have begun public performances. Yesterday our director noted that a specific line that I speak wherein I refer to Desdemona as “jewel” was not landing in the way he desired. This note gave me some concern because this was a moment that we looked at very specifically during rehearsal. His note was that the line, as the softest spoken line I say on stage was not being heard and the idea of the line was not entirely clear. This put my mind into overdrive. I had to do some rethinking.
A layperson might hear that note as a suggestion that the line must be spoken louder and that might be true. However, simply speaking louder does not get the job done in terms of communicating the idea behind the line. In order say the line louder or to have it land with more impact, in a truthful way, the idea the line is meant to convey must be stronger, more specific. As notes continued I went over the line in my head and came up with a new idea for the line. One that was more impassioned and urgent than what I had been using and that would make for a sharper locution the line and that beautiful pet name for Desdemona, “jewel”. There was one problem though, speaking that idea, in that way, meant that some punctuation in the line as written had to be ignored. Ignoring punctuation can lead to changes in meaning, and that could skew a scene in a way that no one intended. I needed a second opinion.
After notes had concluded I consulted with our voice and speech expert Julie Congress. She is always present at notes and had heard the note I’d received. I explained my idea for a new reading and we scanned and analyzed it together. I spoke the new reading a few times and Julie agreed that the adjustment fulfilled the note. The period that broke up the line could be safely ignored. With Julie’s seal of approval I felt I was on good ground to make the adjustment. As a professional courtesy I mentioned to Chuk and Heather, who play Othello and Desdemona that the line in question would be coming at them in a substantially different way.
Once the show starts I try to play one scene at a time. I knew an unrehearsed change was coming but I really could not give it any thought until the time came. The scenes leading up to the court scene went well and when we came to the court of the Doge of Venice I was thinking fast and working to stay present, centered and in the moment. I let my breathing go slow and deep and listened carefully to my co-workers as they furthered the story toward the moment when I would have to take my turn. The noted moment came and I delivered the idea just as I hoped I would. It felt great to plan and execute a change like that without stumbling….well…. almost.
As the court scene closes I give one parting line to Othello as I am leaving the stage and then I begin to feel dizzy and stumble into the arms of one of the guards who ushers me off. This bit of business is intended to point to a line in Act V where the character Gratiano, the brother of my character Brabantio, announces that Brabantio has died of a broken heart because of Desdemona’s sudden elopement with Othello. Well I am here to report that, after all of the internal drama of successfully changing a line I managed to stumble while stumbling. Yes I really did that. As I was leaving the stage I began my staged “stumble” and the toe of my boot caught on the weatherproof stage surface just enough to cause me to pitch further forward than I planned and lose my balance and fall to my knees. The guard who was supposed to catch me was there and slowed the impact and my big, luxurious costume cushioned my kneecaps so it was completely alright but was more of a stumble than was intended and will certainly earn me another note from our beloved director.
One might say that I went a long way to achieve an incremental change and that is quite true. The steps I took were necessary to respond to the note without jeopardizing the integrity of the play we have crafted. Changes often have unintended consequences, and we are obliged as storytellers in collaboration, to examine any changes we need to make and head off any issues before they become problems.
More to come
Preview #9: Rituals—
The secret to consistency when performing on stage is to settle into a pattern of behavior that encompasses the hours spent in the theatre putting on the show. Simply stated, an actor must create a performance ritual and stick to it. Some folks start their ritual when they wake up in the morning. Others start when they leave for the theatre. I do a bit of both for this show. For the next show it will likely be different. My ritual for Othello begins at 6:40 AM when my alarm goes off. I spend 20 minutes reading the headlines and then get up at 7:00 AM, brush my teeth and dress for yoga. By 7:15 I’m out the door for the two block stroll to the Yoga studio where I do the 7:30 AM Vinyasa flow class with whatever teacher is leading the class that day. At 8:30 I say Namaste` and hit the showers. Apres shower I drink three glasses of water and head back to the apartment for coffee, breakfast and blog writing. That done I do what chores need doing and then try to get out for a walk or a bike ride or to meet a friend or sometimes, rehearsal. The ritual picks up again at 6:00 PM when I hop on a Citibike head to the theatre. I arrive about 6:15 say hello to the sound crew and the dressers and make my way to the coffee station under the stage. There I pour a cup of lukewarm black and stroll out of the theatre to sit on one of the benches facing the Delacorte and watch people walk by as I drink my tepid brew.
Watching people is something I’ve done all my life. I’m fascinated by the way they move, the things they say. Once while I was in Toronto on a TV job I was wandering through Chinatown on my way to the Kensington Market when I was treated to some prime people watching. Ahead of me a metal door set in a nondescript building burst open and two women stumbled out. One was tall, brunette and loud, with long hair that seemed sweaty and a well between combings. The other was short, dark and and equally loud, with tightly curly hair that was sitting strangely on her head as though it was an ill fitting wig. They were laughing and stumbling and seemed either high or drunk or both. It was the middle of the afternoon but these two had to look and manner of a couple of after hours clubbers who had finally closed the last place on their list. A third person came out the door behind them and stood at the threshold, a skinny, stooped, balding man in greasy jeans, a t-shirt and a leather vest. His arms were heavily tattooed and his fair skinned face was blotchy and florid. The taller, louder woman, unsteady on her platform heels, wheeled around and pointed at the man, “You’re the best Joey, you’re the f__cking best”. She had an accent. I had a frenchly glide to it. “I want to suck your c__k” she continued, smiling slyly and licking her veal colored lips, “Only yours Joey, only yours….and one other guy”. I could not make out what Joey said in reply. The two women, laughed some more, took hold of each other and stumbled down the street together. It was one of those moments that would have taken days to stage for a film and yet it happened with perfect timing and unselfconscious humor. I watch people before a park show to remind myself of who I am doing this for. It’s not me. An actor who plays for self satisfaction is really just masturbating. When I step on a stage it is because I want to convey an idea to a group of fellow humans. The act of Theatre is a ritual in itself that has been played out since the Greeks. It’s about people.
After my people watching I head back into the theatre, put on my show underwear, trousers and boots and then hit the stage at 7:00 PM for vocal and physical warm up. Vocals are led by our voice coach Julie Congress, and the physical, for me consists of 10 very deep and very slow pushups.
One very lovely part of my show ritual is the prayer led by my colleague Peter Jay Fernandez. He is a self professed “saved Christian man” and every evening at the 5 minute call he invites whomever is present to join hands and join him in a prayer. I’m a pagan, and have been for years, but that does not mean I’m opposed to prayer, especially this prayer which is offered in a spirit of joy, and is an enchanting moment of reflection that puts me into a mood of gratitude. My colleague Peter never fails to ask for blessings on the crew, the ushers, the box office personnel, the engineers, and everyone else involved in making our show great. It’s a minute or two to reflect on how lucky we are. It’s a part of Peter’s show ritual… and now it’s a part of mine.
Last night we played well. Running time has remained consistent and yet I feel like I have so much more time out there. Even though we are still in previews, this show is running, and quite well indeed.
More to come.
Preview #8 – In the Groove —
Last night during preview #8 I suddenly realized that we are in the groove. Different folks describe it differently, some actors will say that they have “taken full ownership” of the material, or others will say that they are “wearing it like a suit”. Still others will announce that they are in a “very good place in the process”. For me, what it all comes down to is that it is no longer a stressful exercise to get through a performance. I no longer have to use all my mental energy to get from curtain up to final blackout. I have some brain power to spare that I can use in the moment on stage to find more nuance, more emotional notes to play, more colors for the palate of gesture, movement, behavior. Now is when things get really interesting.
Civilians often ask the question “how do you remember all those lines?” We in the profession often joke about that because learning lines, for the most part, is easy. What is hard is saying those same lines hundreds and hundreds of times and making each time sound like the first. That requires mental acuity, toughness and agility. It demands the ability to let go of last night’s performance and put all of one’s focus on what is happening right now. And by right now I do not mean, “this performance” or even “during this scene”, I mean right this very moment in my part of the universe as I am living it; the meta now. It’s a tough mental exercise and is easy to avoid. If an actor is tired or a bit hung over, or overfed, underfed, ill or even constipated. It is very easy to just hit the cruise control and skate through a performance…too easy. The mindfulness required to be in this very moment on a stage, is something akin to the practice of Yoga or meditation. As a former athlete I can say that playing on a stage with a company of actors, has some of the same mental challenges as competing in a team sport. Mindfulness of the moment and sensitivity to the movements of and proximity to one’s co-workers are key to good storytelling and winning teamwork.
So we are in the groove, but the work does not stop. We continue to ask questions of ourselves, to test the material to explore different emphases and other facets of the ideas behind the language and the language itself. When we are in the groove we have had ample time to gauge audience reactions and incorporate those laughs, or ooooohs or gasps into the timing of our performance. But we can never count on those reactions to happen because every audience is different. We have to play the percentages and be hypersensitive to the sounds coming from the audience by actually paying attention to them. In effect, an actor on a stage is occupying three realities at once. The reality of the story being played, the reality of the people and mechanisms behind the story being played and the reality of the audience who it witnessing the whole thing. Multitasking is a proven impossibility, so what we rely on is not actually being, mentally, in three places at once, but rather in understanding the patterns that comprise three different narratives. If one pattern in one of the narratives changes then the other two must change as well. When I hurt my leg the other night the show narrative took the first hit. I was on stage saying my lines, but at the same time I was trying to determine whether I could even do the blocking I had been assigned for the scene. The story narrative was affected because my character seemed more distracted and less passionate due to the tentative way I was moving. This affected the audience narrative in that their one time seeing and hearing this story would include a Brabantio who was behaving substantially differently than the one the prior night’s audience had witnessed. Once off stage I was able to better assess my physical situation and make adjustments to bring the three narratives back into balance. Believe me, if learning lines was the only challenge in the profession, I would have already left it for the priesthood.
Last night everything was clicking. The crew has coalesced into a single powerful entity that plays the Delacorte like a musical instrument. The cast is tuned to each other and to the story in a deep and intimate way. On stage we are listening and responding as people, off stage the listening continues as we offer encouragement, compliments and jokes and stories and tenderness.
Tonight we arrive at the theatre with full hearts, healthy bodies and willingness to tell this story again with wit, passion, humor and love. Everything else is yet to be discovered. Or as Iago says “There are many
events in the womb of time which will be delivered.”
More to come.
Previews #6 and #7—
Preview #6 was just as wet and wild as we thought it might be. It had been raining of and on all day and the stage crew had been squeegeeing like made to get the stage to as dry a state as possible before curtain. They made a great effort and the stage was dry when we arrived for warm-ups. Even though we all knew what the weather report said, we carried on without discussing or allowing for potential precipitation. There is enough to ponder and consider in the high level telling of a Shakespeare story without paying attention to the weather. An actor on the Delacorte stage keeps playing no matter what the weather until the story is told or until the PSM says “take cover”.
We got off to a good start and then hit a slight bump in the road when one of the veteran players “went up” on his lines. For you civilians, “going up” on lines means that an actor has forgotten what to say next. It can happen anytime to any actor regardless of experience. An actor can be in the middle of the thousandth performance of a play that they know perfectly and suddenly the lines are gone from memory. There is a big difference between not knowing lines and going up up on lines. Not knowing is a humiliating and career bending proof of an actor’s work ethic, life choices, and commitment to a particular project or the profession in general. It doesn’t happen often and the only exception to such a gaffe is when an actor of advanced years is on stage. Our senior actors, just as with any other person in the golden time of life, need our help and understanding when it comes to remembering. But for an actor in their prime of life and health to go through a rehearsal and preview period without fully learning their lines is inexcusable.
I really don’t know the origin of the term. In the back of my mind I’ve always thought it related to the term, “up the river without a paddle”, a term that suggests being caught in the grip of forces beyond your control. Another school of thought is that when an actor forgets a line the tendency is to look up, as though looking for the words. I doubt this possible origin though because it’s been my experience that an actor who is up in their lines will stare at their scene partner with laser beam intensity, looking for some clue as to what happens next.
However the brief moment of line-silence that landed on my colleague Sunday night was what happens to all of us from time to time. It caught my attention immediately because the line he was supposed to say was a cue line for me. My job in that moment was to hit center stage as he finished that line and get him to change course and engage me. I heard the silence and knew immediately that he he had “gone up”, and in a millisecond decided to continue my entrance and hit the spot on stage that I was meant to, knowing that my arrival would take his mind to the next line and the scene would continue. My assessment was correct, I hit my spot, and I saw my colleague’s gaze shift from his mind’s eye to me and the next line came, and the story continued. The whole thing lasted about 4 seconds.
After that the story went on beautifully until Act V Scene I just after Iago stabs Roderigo to death. At that moment the skies opened and we got the call to take cover. The rain was quite heavy and when it finally stopped 30 minutes later, most of our audience had called it a night. When we took the stage once again we were performing for about 350 die hard Delacorte fans who were in rain slickers and rubber boots. They screamed and cheered and encouraged us through the last act of the story. They made mad dogs and Englishmen look pretty tame. It was a pleasure to play for them.
After the show some of us retired to a local pub to drink beer and discuss our first week of previews. By 3:00 AM I was seeing double and made my way home. I arrived, shed my clothes, lay down and was dead asleep in an instant.
Preview #7 last night came after a day of rest. On a rest day an actor does banking, laundry, grocery shopping, bill paying and any other chores that have been put off during the week. It’s always a short day. I ended my rest day by retiring early. Tuesday, show day, started early with Yoga at 7:30 line study, a nap, a good long walk and then reporting to the theatre for a 2:30PM rehearsal. We received notes from our director and then we rehearsed a couple of moments that needed sharpening. We were done by 4:00PM and the company went their separate ways for dinner. I had packed a brown bag dinner which I ate in my dressing room. Then I took another walk before returning to the theatre for an hour’s nap on the Equity cot. For my civilian readers, our union, Actors Equity, has put a rule into most contracts that a cot must be available in the dressing area for an actor to lie down on. When I was a young buck I never used it. Now that I’m an actor of a certain age, I use it well and often. One of my dressing room mates wondered at my ability to nap on the cot. “Man, you were out cold, you had that towel over your eyes and you were dead asleep calling hogs!”
The show went beautifully. The weather was cool and we were comfortable in our heavy costumes. The audience was attentive and engaged. It was our best show yet. Tonight is preview #8.
More to come.
Preview #5 – Rain, Rain, Rain —
It rains in New York in the summertime, heavily and often. There is no rhyme or reason, no warning, nothing to do about it but prepare to get wet… even on stage at the Delacorte. There is no roof on the Delacorte theatre, only sky. Since the Delacorte opened in 1962, the companies who have played it have developed a deep well of institutional knowledge on how to cope with a rainy evening in New York City.
Preview #5 started energetically and well in the cool of the early evening. As the sun set the skylight morphed from amber to azure as Othello and Brabantio fought a war of words over the heart of Desdemona. Desdemona made her own case though and Brabantio had no answer save to offer his parting shot to Othello and retire from the stage.
At that point in the story, my work as Brabantio is complete. I only two more appearances on stage in the performance, as a drunken Cypriot soldier singing in a tavern and as that same soldier arriving at the scene of the killing of Roderigo. So while waiting for those appearances I sit with my colleagues in our shared dressing room and swap stories, read, write and relax, all the while keeping track of the progress of the story onstage piped in on speakers throughout the backstage area.
We had just kicked off the second half of Othello and the Moor was confronting Desdemona about the handkerchief he believed she had given away, when there was a pause and then a roar and applause from the audience. I thought it might have been because of another raccoon sighting, but that seemed unlikely as the scene being played was very dramatic. Moments later we heard our production stage manager announcing a rain hold and asking the actors on stage to take cover from the precipitation. Our policy on rain delays is that we will make every effort to complete the show, even going so far as to perform in light rain or drizzle. However a heavy rain will stop the show. Our stage management team knows to the minute how long it takes to tell our story. A rain delay will last only as long as it would take to finish the show by midnight. The midnight deadline is mandated by the city of New York, the Central Park Conservancy and the NYPD, it is not negotiable. So if there is twenty minutes of show left to play, then a rain delay can last up to 11:40PM before the show will be cancelled. The delay lasted about 15 minutes, much of it used by the stage crew to squeegee rainwater off the stage. Our PSM announced that the show would continue and a grateful audience cheered and returned to their seats. We started part 2 again and when we reached to moment where Othello asked for the fateful handkerchief the skies opened up again and our PSM stopped the show.
Now we were looking at the real possibility of a cancelled performance. We had barely enough time to reset and complete part 2 before midnight. If we managed to get going again, a third cloudburst would guarantee a cancellation. The rain persisted and we were all watching the clock. The optimists among us stayed in costume, the pessimists began quietly preparing for an early evening. Company Manger Liza Witmer, in a wet rain slicker, came smiling through the dressing rooms, congratulating us on our first rain delay. The decision to keep going ultimately rests with James Latus, our production stage manager. He consults closely with Liza Witmer our company manager and the production management team. As they were deliberating the rain abated and the stage crew came out with their squeegees. They were working fast and hard. We were just about out of time. James got on the public address and announced that we were going to continue, and then announced to the cast that we were going to start at the very line where we had stopped. I looked up at the clock, continuing now meant we would finish at 7 minutes after midnight. We had to hurry but we could not rush. The 600 or so audience members who stayed through the second delay deserved the best show possible.
We continued. We played with our hearts. The audience members who stayed locked back into the story and we played the hell out of it for them. At the curtain call we bowed to the standing ovation offered by our rain soaked audience and then we applauded them in return. It was five minutes past midnight.
James, and Liza wanted to continue and felt that going past the deadline by 5 to 10 minutes was not too heinous a sin, however they could not make that call, they lacked the authority. So Liza got on the phone to our artistic director Oskar Eustis and explained the situation. Oskar gave his blessing and allowed us to finish past midnight. I can only assume that he had to make some phone calls of his own after making that decision but that is another story.
Preview #6 tonight, will be the last show of our first week of public performances. Then we take a day off. As you can see, there drama aplenty onstage and off when doing Shakespeare in Central Park.
More to come!
Preview #4 —
We are starting to find our groove. We are beginning to carve out a path. There comes a time in the process of theatrical storytelling when a company will find an assured path from beginning to end. This is a wonderful and dangerous time. The wonder of it is in the confidence and assuredness that comes to the storytelling. The danger lies in the potential for the story becoming a rote and repetitive exercise.
Preview #4 was proof that we possess a solid understanding of the story and that we are not afraid to tell that story passionately. How do we know this? The measure we use is playing time. As we have been previewing the show the time it takes to tell the story has been consistently decreasing. This is not a matter of telling the story faster. Rather, it means we are telling the story efficiently, with less silence between lines. With less lingering on the line, with a forward leaning approach to every scene, every line, every word.
If playing time decreases as previews continue that is a sign that we are on a good development track. If the time increases, that often indicates that the actors are unsure, or unconvinced about how the story is being told. We are telling this story well and we all know it. This is an exciting moment in the development of our show. We are taking ownership of the moments on stage. We are telling the story on the line, in the moment and without hesitation. This is the ideal.
More to come!
3rd Preview —
Got a morning text from our Company Manager. She wants me to see Taaj right away instead of waiting for Friday. I agree and the appointment is made for 6:05 in the evening. It’s raining in the morning and I broke fast on hard boiled eggs and cottage cheese after opting to skip yoga. My leg is still sore and I am really afraid of doing more injury.
Today the company gathers at the Theatre at 1:45 so we can rehearse and refine some scenes. The rain subsided and the crew went at the deck with big squeegees with a vigor that got the stage into a playable state in a matter of minutes. Our director gave us some notes on the 2nd preview and exhorted us to trust him, the story and Shakespeare himself. The next step he is rallying us to take it the biggest step, and that is to play with our hearts, to stop thinking and start reacting to stimuli both real and imagined, to passionately convey our ideas. I know what he wants. We all know. He is asking us to cross into the realm of Shakespeare on stage that one might describe as “the zone”. Golfers go into the zone, so to do basketball players, singers, ballet dancers, the list goes on. In all these cases the performer is striving to take thought out of the process and just “do it”! In the world of hi performance fighter jets it is an article of faith that an aviator in combat will not “rise to the occasion” but will instead default to the level of their training.
I can’t speak for any of my colleagues. For myself, going into the zone, or playing from the heart or whatever else you want to call it, starts with being absolutely stone cold solid with my lines. A fraction of a second of doubt about lines is all it takes to break the spell. Next I must be completely clear about what I’m trying to say, about the ideas I want to express with the words I know so well. Words spoken without strong ideas attached are just recitation. Third, I need to feel comfortable in the space and in my clothes. An unfamiliar space or an ill fitting costume are like someone farting during the sermon in church. When all of these pieces of the puzzle are in place then the circumstance is right for that magical transcendance. Whether or not it actually happens is another matter altogether. With lines, ideas and physical setting in place a good performance will always take place. Sometimes that magical transcendent performance in the zone happens and it’s happening before you realize it. To have one of those performances a week is a great blessing. I’ve been studying my lines religiously, I know what I want to say, and my Toni Leslie James costume fits me like a second skin. If my leg holds up I’m in a good place to have some magic happen to me.
The consult with Taaj went really well. Turns out I just pulled my calf muscle and did not tear it or damage it is a gross way. No tendons are involved and ice, heat, ibuprofen and mindfulness in movement would be enough to get me back to 100% in a week. The peace of mind her assessment and subsequent massage provided me made me feel much better. I immediately texted Liza Witmer with the news and strolled over to the Theatre in time for vocal warm ups.
Knowing my leg was not badly injured really put my mind in a good place. My voice felt strong and resonant during warm ups, and afterwards I tested my leg on the set, and on the ladder I must climb up and down. There were no problems. I did some pushups on stage and retired to my dressing room to get dressed. Wardrobe team had everything in place for me and I dressed in two stages. First the underwear and trousers, then I went over to the sound team to have my body mic taped on. Mic in place I finished dressing and sat down to review my lines. At this point it is a mental process that involves closing my eyes and imagining the actions and words that I go through in my scenes. I effectively play out my role in my minds eye. There is a dual benefit in that the process is very meditative.
When my cue came for my first entrance my leg felt tight but did not hurt. My scene partners were energetic and passionate, I matched and exceeded their energy and excitement and the scene built to a crescendo. I came down the ladder and the dresser was there, I didn’t even look back as I put my arms out and felt the sleeves of my costume being pulled over them. I was seeing the scene about to be played in my head for a moment and listening for my cue, when it came I hurried onto the stage with the news that my daughter had disappeared from the house. I was panicked, upset, confused. It was inconceivable to me that Desdemona would leave me and go to the arms of the Moor Othello. I gathered my kinsmen and servants together to confront him at his lodgings in the Sagittary. We found him there and I shouted my accusations and charges at him, but there was a delegation there from the Doge of Venice. Othello had been summoned to appear before the Doge and the council and it was certain that I was called for as well. I decided to take my case directly there. At the council I demanded that the Doge and my fellow senators address my complaint about the abduction of my daughter by the Moor Othello.
I present my case to the Council. Othello makes a persuasive rebuttal. Finally Desdemona arrives and settles the question by explaining that she loves Othello and went to him willingly and eagerly. I’m heartbroken. I retroactively consent to the match and then retire to my seat in the senate. Talk turns to the business of state and the Doge dismisses us. As I leave I warn Othello that Desdemona’s betrayal of her father may be a harbinger of a future betrayal…of him.
I leave the stage and by the time I get to my dressing room I realize that I really played those scenes from the heart; that I was very firmly “in the zone”. It was like finding treasure, or hitting the lotto, or falling in love. It was a blissful and fleeting feeling. To get a magic performance like that on the 3rd preview is a good sign indeed.
More to come.
Second Preview —
It is an article of faith among Theatre folk that the second night of a show is always a little off. I’m not sure if that is true. What I can say for certain is that every performance is different. Each time the lights come up on a show it is a singular experience. Last night was different from our first, and tonight will be different from the other two.
One thing that was different last night was that I suffered a minor injury. While climbing one of the steep ramps up to the stage I felt a sudden and very painful twinge at top of my left calf, near the knee. It was felt very much like a torn muscle I suffered two years ago while performing in Troilus and Cressida in the Delacorte. I was entering into a scene and was unsure of my mobility. I was literally testing to see how much I could walk while playing a scene with Othello. I got through the scene and limped off stage. I immediately informed stage management and prepared for my next entrance, and when the cue light went off I was limping back up the ramp where I had suffered the injury only minutes before. I decided to start my entrance early as I needed extra time to get up the ramp and onto the stage and across to center stage to start the scene. In the scene I’m required to make a graceful circuit around the stage and my attention was on the knot of exquisite pain in my leg while the words and ideas of the story were finding their way through me to the audience. I was trying not to limp and having a bit of success.
I got through the scene and got off stage. I had a blessed 15 minutes before my next entrance and used the time to ice my calf and down some ibuprofen. I got through the rest of the show and pulled together with the rest of the company to put on a great second performance of Othello at the Delacorte Theatre. The audience was on their feet at the end.
As ever the show was different. The raccoons did not make an appearance. My character Brabantio was not as passionate as usual, the character of Emilia was more outraged and heartbroken at the death of her mistress Desdemona. The beautiful Desdemona fought harder and longer to survive the wrath of the Moor Othello, and Othello was more horrified at what he had done. The villain Iago was more charming and more deadly than ever. We are all developing and evolving.
Afterward I joined the actress Kate Skinner and our PSM James Latus for wine and snacks and shop talk. My leg was throbbing but it didn’t feel badly injured, only sore. Company manager Liza Witmer had arranged a Friday appointment for me with the physical therapist Taaj Jahara whom I’ve consulted with before and who has a healing gift to go with her encyclopedic knowledge of the human anatomy. Kate and James and I told stories and laughed into the night. Alas, many of the stories were about friends and colleagues who have passed away. I guess that is what comes of a life in the theatre. Hell that is what comes of life itself…death. When we were all properly wound down embraces were made and cheeks kissed and we went our separate ways into the night.
I got a Bike and pedaled slowly home. We had put a second show behind us. But the adventure is not complete. It’s just starting.
More to come.
First Public Performance —
For the 1800 people sitting in the house last night a performance in the Delacorte begins with an announcement by Public Theatre Artistic Director Oskar Eustis. His remarks include thanks to our sponsors, a mention of the fact that our performances are free to the public and a very clear statement: “everyone is welcome here”. As his message comes to a close the overture music begins and the story begins.
For the company the proceedings get going an hour earlier when we gather on stage for vocal warmups lead by Julie Congress, our voice and speech consultant. Then we take a moment on the stage, moving, stretching. I like to do a dozen or so slow and very deep pushups. Then the stage is given to the players who will be acting out scenes of violence. This moment is called the “fight call”. Before every show every “fight” is rehearsed in order to insure that all participants are clear on what is to be done. This is very, very important. Staged swordfights, punches, kicks and slaps are exciting and lend to passionate telling of a story, but they are inherently dangerous and can lead to injury if not performed properly. After the fight call, the players retire to the dressing area and at 7:30 PM the production stage manager calls “half-hour”. it is now 30 minutes to curtain. The entire company should be present and Assistant Stage Managers check the sign in sheet to be sure. During half hour we get into costume, and makeup, have our microphones fitted and taped into place. Some of us are donning wigs. At around 7:45 the PSM calls “house open” and soon we hear the hum and buzz and bustle of nearly 2 thousand souls as they enter the theatre. At the 10 minute call we all start to focus, especially the beginners, the players in the first scene. By this time we are all prepped and ready to go to work.
When the five minute call comes I go to my first entrance, even though there will be a places call, in a few minutes, I prefer to be early. It’s just the way I roll. From my first entrance under the seats in the Down Left Vomitorium I can hear and feel the audience. They are excited, chatting and talking, taking pictures, laughing. I close my eyes and take a few long deep breaths. The breathing is not to stave of stage fright or nerves or butterflies in the stomach. Those have not been issues for me for a long time. They serve to remind me to be present in the moment, and to keep my mind on the task at hand. “Places” is called and soon the other players who will be using this entrance arrive. We exchange embraces and offer the traditional “break a leg” wish. In the theatre it’s bad luck to wish another player good luck. Dancers never wish broken legs upon other dancers, not even in an ironic way. Instead they say “Toi, Toi, Toi”. French theatricals don’t use “break a leg” either. They just say “Merde!”
The overture starts and my eyes turn to the cue light. When the light comes on that means, “get ready” when it turns off that means “go!” The little green bulbs go dark and I stride onto the stage for our dumbshow. Most theaters seem smaller once they are filled. The Delacorte is quite the opposite. When I walk onto that enormous stage and see 1800 faces all looking in my direction the Delacorte seems like it has doubled in size. The twilight sky overhead is filled with scattered light, the music is lush, my cast-mates, beautifully costumed and floating this way and that. It is a glorious sight that most civilians will never see, and likely never want to because an audience is a terrifying thing more most people.
The first public performance of Othello last night was a huge success. The audience laughed and gasped and were rapt as the story unfolded. They broke into applause as one of the Delacorte raccoons made an appearance, attempting to upstage our Othello, the amazing Chukwudi Iwuji.
This was the night that we played with all our hearts. We offered the deepest part of ourselves to an audience of strangers and those strangers accepted our hearts, our souls, and our story with grace and gratitude. It was glorious.
First preview complete. The journey continues.
More to come