It was a Dark and Stormy Morning…

Scene: a rainy Friday morning in Massachusetts.

A residential neighborhood at around 9AM.

We see the front of a house.  A stoop, actually.  The house is large with a set of stairs leading up to its front door and two mailboxes.

DANIELLE a bleary-eyed PhD student zombie-walks to the front door, opens it, and takes a long unblinking look outside.  She stands and stares at the rain for a moment before we hear a voice.

HOUSEMATE: Oh, good morning!

DANIELLE: it takes a moment to register Hi.  It’s raining.

HOUSEMATE: Yes, it is.  Umbrella?  HOUSEMATE offers DANIELLE his umbrella. 

DANIELLE: barely coherent I realized I needed milk before I could have coffee, but then I was wondering how hard it was raining, because if it’s raining too hard I have to go to the garage to get my umbrella from the car to take a walk around the corner to get milk… Maybe I’ll just do the walk without an umbrella.

HOUSEMATE: Take my umbrella, go get some caffeine in you.  Almost forcibly hands her

For no particular reason, here's a picture I took of the octopus at the National Aquarium while on break from CDC 2013

For no particular reason, here’s a picture I took of the octopus at the National Aquarium while on break from CDC 2013

the umbrella.

DANIELLE: more than a little bewildered thank you!

….I was so out of it this morning that, not only did this happen, but I also committed a cardinal sin against fashion: I left my house in Tufts sweat pants, a Tufts sweat shirt, and imitation Ugg boots.  I’m just glad I didn’t actually run into anyone between my house and the store because good god nobody should ever have to look at that.

Still in Medieval Europe, but leaving soon.  Had to put down the books today when I realized that if I tried to push through the last 125 pages I was going to give myself another Friday stress migraine which might or might not last the entire weekend.

On Sunday, I’m leaving town for a week to go visit family in Florida.  I probably won’t be checking in because, well, if I’m going to take a vacation, I’m taking a bloody vacation.

Have a good week; may you never run out of milk before you’ve had coffee, but if you do may you have someone in your life who cares enough to loan you his umbrella so that you may acquire more before you inadvertently do harm to yourself attempting to make caffeine happen before your brain is fully uploaded.

My Life with a Fight Director

In an effort to bring you non-comps related material, here are some anecdotes about  how my crazy, beautiful life has some wonderful adventures in it.  Enjoy!

Over the course of the past few months, I’ve been slowly re-integrating pieces of my life that I had taken a long break from. Primarily due to the efforts of a certain individual who, as is my wont, shall remain nameless in order to protect the innocent, I’ve been rediscovering the wonderful world of fight choreography.

Staged violence is a strange and interesting thing. Part dance, part illusion, it’s something that caught my attention at a young age and has held it since. Because knowing how to execute even the most rudimentary stage combat is not something that everyone knows how to do, the individual who has even a modicum of training is often the person in the room most qualified in the art. I’ve been that person many times (though, while I wouldn’t call my experience “exhaustive”, I definitely fall into the category of “someone who knows things” rather than “someone with a modicum of training”).

Hanging out with fight directors is a special pastime in its own right. We come from

very recent picture of me fighting (as part of my now award-winning film!)

very recent picture of me fighting (as part of my now award-winning film!)

diverse backgrounds as movement artists: martial artists, fencers, the few and far between dancer (this is my particular gateway). What we share in common is an interest in safety, an interest in illusion, and an interest in making cool stage pictures. What this means effectively is that talking shop happens often and can be just the thing for making the poor diners at the next table have the most unforgettable date of their lives.

When I was still working out of New York, I remember one particular lunch during which I was meeting with an FD to talk about a project. The topic of “found weapons” came up and he took a moment, picked up his fork, then proceeded to rattle off a list of about twenty-five ways he could injure, kill, or otherwise subdue various patrons with said implement of food-shoveling.

Recently, such gems as “it was my first lynching” and “this was my first school shooting” have been texted or otherwise uttered to me.

In the past month, I’ve been (literally) swept off my feet mid conversation several times because my partner wanted to take a moment and demonstrate a technique we had just been discussing (…being a responsible partner, he makes sure to check if there’s a soft landing place if he intends to take me to the ground, but the most common stage combat throw actually works better with somewhere firm to land so that particular instance was on concrete).

This series of encounters led to me having to think about (and voice) one evening: “Oh, just FYI, please don’t throw me tonight – I have an injury I’m healing.” Because, you know, everyone should check in with themselves when they know who they are dining with on a given evening and ensure that they are physically up to the task.

We’ve discussed eye gouges over hummus and coffee.

Very old picture of me fighting (circa 2005)

Very old picture of me fighting (circa 2005)

We’ve also had lengthy talks about blood and how neither of us particularly care for working with it. I’m reasonably certain that the other café patrons thought we had a Dexter-mobile outside.

Perhaps the most amusing of these instances was a late-night encounter with Tufts Campus security. We were reviewing grappling techniques and take-downs on the big, soft lawn at midnight (because, well, that’s what you do when you’re not otherwise gainfully employed). We realized through this process that there were, in fact, several security-mobiles circling. We managed to behave ourselves like normal people while being hit with the headlights, and ironically enough it wasn’t until we were sitting and yapping at each other about historical fencing manuals that an officer actually approached us. Luckily we’re nicely dressed, intelligent people so it wasn’t much of an issue at that juncture.

My point today is this: if you, in your travels, are searching for a little adventure and variety in your social life, I highly suggest befriending a stage combatant (or, if you’re really looking for some spunk, an FD). We’re cuddly people with good stories to tell and you never know when you may need to not kick someone’s ass.

Breaching the Breech

Earlier this week, I was able to attend a reading of Much Ado About Nothing presented by the Hub theatre company at Boston’s own Trident booksellers.

I’ve come to be wary of staged readings of Shakespeare.  By and large, I think that this forum works better for the tragedies (the comedies often rely upon too much physical humor/movement to make land in a staged reading, and the histories are already confusing enough without mixing in the complications of double-casting and no costumes).  For that, this was an enjoyable and low-key evening of theatre.

One thing that really got me thinking was the casting of a lady Leonato.  I’ve seen this trend developing lately (Actor’s Shakespeare Project cast a lady Duke of Milan in their Two Gents earlier this year).  We’ve seen in recent years (and I will blame this majorly on Julie Taymor) many female Prosperos, but to see this trend of making Shakespeare’s august noble characters in positions of power who are volleying politics by marrying off their daughters turned into women begs some complications that have to be re-examined.

Let me start off by saying that this has nothing to do with the quality of the acting.  So far, every august Lady I’ve seen in these roles has been fantastic.  But there are a few innate gender issues that you simply can’t escape when you have a woman playing a man’s role in this way.

I will limit my discussion here to Leonato because expanding it would get us into too-long-to-blog territory.

Even when we modernize Much Ado, was have to deal with a few dramaturgical truths.  Any “modernized” production of Shakespeare still needs to face the text because, well, you can’t ignore it.  If you ignore the text, why are you doing Shakespeare?

Dramaturgical truth the first: We’re in a world that has defined gender relationships.  This is made true by Beatrice’s show-stopping speech in Act Four.  She laments that she is powerless in her situation due to her gender.  As such, even if we drag the show into

In case you're not sick of these shots yet; Rosalind and Touchstone from As You Like It... TALK about gender issues

In case you’re not sick of these shots yet; Rosalind and Touchstone from As You Like It… TALK about gender issues

“modern” or semi-modern times, we must still be in a universe with distinct gender boundaries.

Dramaturgical truth the second: We’re in a world where marrying someone is a play for political power.  We know this because of Leonato coaching Hero before the dance (“Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer”).  For that matter, we’re in a world with a very defined social hierarchy dealing with characters who have title and standing (A Prince, the Count Claudio, etc.).  Leonato is a part of this world; as a wealthy landowner he can host the Prince and his entourage and even seems to have some standing amongst them.  However, he is not blind to the opportunities which may present themselves while the Prince is a guest in his household.  Marrying his daughter to the Prince would do wonders for Leonato’s social standing and, while he’s not a cut-throat social climber like (for instance) Lord Capulet, he does have an awareness of society around him.

Dramaturgical truth the third: Gender relations and transgresses upon them make up a large portion of this play’s plot.  While we are dealing with wedding and wooing, the play’s major conflict also consists of Hero’s supposed trespass against her duties as a good daughter.  It is a very different scene when she and Beatrice are the only women onstage attacked and defended by the men around them than it is if Leonato becomes Leonata.  In the first case, we clearly see the gender divide that Beatrice laments in the scene to follow.  In the second, we wonder why it is that Beatrice can’t fight the gender roles just as Leonata did and assert her own authority.  In this way, giving Leonato a sex change very clearly negates Shakespeare’s text.  It gives us a world that no longer makes sense, a world that fights the text itself.  Unless a director can find some way to extratextually justify Beatrice’s speech, an audience is left wondering what the big deal is.  And, honestly, any play which needs to make extratextual additions or clarifications is edging into shooting Horatio territory.

Dramaturgical truth the fourth: By making Leonato a woman, we are left with a few historical heritage questions.  Though it’s true that a woman who had become a widower would have been allowed to keep her husband’s estate and have some power over running it, pretty much any man who came along could have found some way to run rampant over her power there and disenfranchise her.  In Much Ado, we have several examples of power hungry men who have everything to gain from Leonata’s estate (the most ready example is Don John the Bastard who could just as easily have ruined everyone’s plans by semi-force-wedding Leonata as he did with his elaborate bed-trick scheme… also: the wedding would have been more permanent).  By making Leonato a woman, it leaves unnecessary loose ends.  Does Leonata end up with Don Pedro at the end (it’s the easiest solution to Benedick’s closing suggestion of “get thee a wife”)?  This director made that particular choice, but that particular choice has its own complications.  What does that mean to the government of Messina?  What does that mean to Leonato’s estate?  Has Claudio then, thereby, inadvertently become much more than he deserves by wedding Hero?  Does this mean that Don John is going to now target Leonato’s line in the obviously ensuing war since Leonato, Hero, and Claudio now stand between himself and his brother’s kingdom?

I think, at this juncture, I’ve sufficiently proven my point.  Cross-gendered casting is not something to be taken lightly (even if you have an awesome cast!).  In the event that you would like to proceed with something like this, make sure you also have an awesome dramaturge to help you think through these issues before you give some poor theatre scholar a headache.  If you don’t have an awesome dramaturge, I happen to know one (hint: it’s me).

This is only the first in a series of readings that Hub is putting on this summer at Trident.  They’re calling the series Beer+bard and despite my over-thinky nit-picks, I do highly recommend that you check them out.  The next is going to be Henry IV i on June 17th at 7PM; come hungry for food and Shakespeare!

The Altar of Comps

A typical day in Comps study land.  Things in italics are thought.

9:00 AM: Alarm goes off.  Ugh… I’m so tired… why do I have to get up?  I should check my phone.

9:05 AM: How can I possibly have so many e-mails just from overnight?

9:30 AM: I should stop surfing pinterest and facebook and get to work…

10:00 AM: Do I want coffee or a latte? …maybe I want both…

10:30 AM: Okay, I’m going to start with this book, then a chapter from Brockett, then I’ll review notes from yesterday, then I’ll read these two plays.  I don’t think I’ll have time for a run though… whatever, I’ll do a run tomorrow.

11:45 AM: Why, god, why, what am I doing and why am I doing it and are my eyes bleeding?  I need more coffee… Maybe I should go for a run.

12:45 PM: I want lunch… I should eat something… I hope there’s something to eat in the fridge.

1:00 PM: I should do my laundry…

1:30 PM: There’s no way, NO WAY that I’m going to get all of this done.  Not a chance in hell.  Why do I always do this to myself?

2:00 PM: What are my plan tonight?  Okay, if I push through I can probably maybe do

a shot I took of the library at Hammond Castle... it'd be much easier to work here, I think

a shot I took of the library at Hammond Castle… it’d be much easier to work here, I think

more work… no way I’m going for a run today.

3:00 PM: Brain is full, I’m going for a run.

4:15 PM: Cleaned and endorphins pumping, I sit back down to work.  Man I feel pretty good, I can probably push through and do everything I said I was going to do today…

5:00 PM: Okay, if I tack another hour onto my workday I can do everything I meant to do…

5:30 PM: Brain full, I’ll just throw on a documentary…

7:00 PM: Drooling on the couch.  I am comatose.

8:30 PM: God I did so much today… I should call someone to talk about all the stuff I learned!

8:45 PM: My roommate doesn’t understand why any of this is important, or the sheer scope of what I did today… maybe I should find someone to talk to who actually does get this.

9:30 PM: Either I’m going out, or staying in.  If I go out, I have to put on pants.  But then I’ll be able to sleep and not think about the difference between theatre in the Roman Republic and theatre in the Roman Empire…

11:30 PM: In bed, I begin to quiz myself about said differences.

Sometime in the night: I have a dream that’s some sort of fantasy remix of random thoughts flipping through my head.

…wake up, do it again.

Just don’t expect much from me this summer.  I’m sacrificing my all at the altar of comps.

Training Montage

I am still not dead; my life has just been consumed by prep for comps.

And it’s not even June yet.

I wanted to sit down and write some solid reviews of all the theatre I saw last week (Punk Rock by Zeitgeist, an unsettling portrayal of school violence and bullying; From Denmark with Love by Vaquero Playground, a romp through Hamlet mashed with Bond films which doesn’t close until Monday so you should totally go see it, the next installment of the RPG-inspired New Hampshire based improv show; and Richard III by Seven Stages Shakespeare read in the parking lot of Throwback brewery… yes, they are brilliant and

my live-updated character map of Richard III that I kept to help my roomate follow the story.  A great exercise and I was impressed with my own memory!

my live-updated character map of Richard III that I kept to help my roomate follow the story. A great exercise and I was impressed with my own memory!

this reading was a truly wonderful way to spend Memorial day).  Last week was pretty amazing.

Really, what I’ve got knocking around in my head right now is a bunch of information about Greek theatre, a bunch of speculation about Greek theatre, and the threads of plots from several random plays because I’ve been catching up on all the things I was supposed to read as a good theatre person and have never gotten around to for one reason or another.  The other day, I fell asleep while reading Aristophanes’ Clouds which led to some interesting dreams (… if you’ve never read it, I think the humor translates reasonably well and if nothing else, you could read it with an eye towards what these dreams might possibly have been).  Last night, I dreamt about dancing and Argentine Tango while discussing the Spanish Golden Age (which is doubly interesting because, at least for the moment, my knowledge of Spanish Golden Age is limited at best).  I’m awaiting a dream similar to one described to me by a senior colleague that he experienced while he was in his own comps process.  It was essentially a Mortal Kombat style mash-up battle dream in which he was fighting some famous Japanese performers in a historiographically accurate Greek theatre.  He valiantly defeated his nemesis by loudly declaring that some details of this theatre were not, actually, backed by firm evidence.

When you’re studying for this exam, it consumes your life.  Everything I do or say now is somehow related to comps (and, if it’s not, I feel like I’m wasting my time).  My social interactions are only valuable to me if they include some discussion of theatre.  As demonstrated by the previous paragraph, even my naps/dreams have become an arena in which to study and process information.

I am, essentially, becoming a theatre history machine.

If this were a training montage, Marvin Carlson would be yelling obscenities at me while I ran up and down flights of stairs reciting dates, facts, and figures from memory.  Cut to me paging through tomes with a highlighter, viciously attacking certain sections as I daringly attempt to stuff that information into my mind.  Smash cut to me sitting in a theatre watching a play while information scrolls past the side of the screen Sherlock-style and I attempt to situate this both within its historical context and within the context of contemporary American theatre.  Then cross-reference that to how it may have been approached during an era entirely unrelated to either of those things.

Shot from the reading; not the best but you get the idea

Shot from the reading; not the best but you get the idea

This process is something that I am actually enjoying despite the life-consuming nature of it.  I am learning a vast amount and most of what I’m learning are things that I’ve been assumed to have known all along.  In a lot of ways, the comps process is a certain amount of “destiny fulfilling”.  If we want to take it to the ultimate geeky extreme (and, really, who doesn’t?) it’s the process of becoming the chosen one.  We’re on Dagobah being trained by the great Yodas of our time to bring balance to the academy.  We’re growing into those shiny shiny robes that they let us wear to our hooding ceremonies.  We’re crafting of ourselves something that won’t embarrass our home institutions when we walk around with their names in our byline.

…and if I look at it that way, I can’t be too upset when I fall on my face a few times.  Luke did too, after all, and he grew up to defeat the Empire.

The Warm-up

This is a drive-by to let you know that I’m not dead.

I wish I could say many things; aphorisms about how hard I’ve been working this week, comforting thoughts about how I’m nearing the end, or really just something poignant about the process I’m going through right now.

Unfortunately, they would all be lies.

The process is only beginning.  I’m just dipping my toes into the ocean that is studying for comps.  I’ve been working hard, but it’s only a warm-up for the big leagues that are ever so steadily coming my way this summer.

For that, this warm-up period is important.  You can never, ever, throw yourself into the

This was the amusing thing that happened yesterday when my comps pile for the day caved in on itself.

This was the amusing thing that happened yesterday when my comps pile for the day caved in on itself.

deep end and expect to swim when you’re plumb exhausted.  I took a break, but quickly found that that break wasn’t enough.  A good friend reminded me that fatigue is cumulative and yes, I just achieved an enormous step in this whole “becoming a Doctor” process (even though the next mountain is about twice as high and infested with Yetis) it’s no wonder I’m so damned tired.  Giving into this sometimes is only going to help me in the long run and I can study during the intervals between naptime, so long as I keep naptime under control.  In other words:    warming my brain back up to the idea of working is an important step.

It’s not pleasant.  I would liken it to those first few days at the gym pushing yourself into a brand new workout regime: i’s sweaty, uncomfortable, and no matter how good you know it is for you, you never want to go do it.  You wake up exhausted and sore the next day with only the knowledge that, in order to achieve your goals, you must do it again.  And again.  And again.

So I’m hitting it.  I’m holding myself to deadlines, I’m withholding the appropriate bribery forms (often times I have to physically walk away from my desk to keep myself from messing around on the internet instead of reading Greek tragedy), I’m keeping a proper scheduling (SCHEDULING IS IMPORTANT!  Nothing creates burnout like too much work crammed into an undoable amount of time!), and I’m making sure I eat and exercise regularly.

For that, I’m tired.  I’m stressed.  And I don’t see it getting better anytime soon.

This summer is just going to be another exercise in staying in the red and finding the energy.  But you know what?  Sometimes, you just have to get it together and muscle through.

If you need me, I’ll be buried under this pile of books for the next few months.  Don’t mind the occasional bouts of cursing, snoring, or drooling.

Not a Doctor Yet

Hello, all.

Having taken my break, I’m back in the game today.  I hit the ground running with some Brockett and Hildy (as any good Drama comps taker should) and proceeded onto some reading about rituals and the origin of Drama (problematic theory, blah blah, many details that most of the population will never care about but since I’ve decided to devote my life to bettering myself by way of the mind I need to know at least for the moment).

Over the course of the past week, I’ve been asked by many of my friends if I’m “a doctor yet”.  Let me clear this one up: NO.  I’m SO not a Doctor yet.  I’m WAY far out from being a Doctor still.  In fact, despite the fact that I’m about a half to a third of the way through the process by way of time (two years in to what should be a 4-7 year process), I’ve probably only done about a fourth of the work.

So the next thing they ask is “well what happens now?”

Here’s what happens now: I spend the summer studying for my exams.  What this means in practice is cramming into my already-full mind every single detail about theatre history, actor training, the history of scenic design, theatre technologies, famous actors, playwrights, and important plays that I can possible manage.  I will be held accountable for all of this information in the fall when I take my comprehensive exams.

At Tufts Dance and Drama, comprehensive exams (or “comps” for those of us fondly acquainted with them) consist of basically a week-long process.  Two days of in-house test-taking, then a weekend take-home.  It’s an essay-based procedure which essentially examines the student’s ability to craft arguments out of the vast amount of theatre history described above.

It’s extremely stressful.

After comps (non-denominational-deity-willing that I pass them), I then proceed to my orals.  This consists of two lengthy lectures which I will give on topics of my choosing within certain parameters set by the department (parameters mostly relating to the breadth of topics and how similar they can be) to a panel of professors whom I assemble.

Once I do this, provided I appease the savage gods of academia, I will take a month off.

My Coffee Table today: a still life

My Coffee Table today: a still life

Once I return from my month off, I will write a proposal for my dissertation.  This will be reviewed by my diss advisor and likely rejected several times with suggestions for revision before it is accepted.

Once this is accepted, I start writing.

I write for a good year (if not two or three) then come back with a book-length manuscript.  That golden dissertation.

Then I defend it.

Then I get a pat on the shoulder from the department, provided I’ve once again done well and appeased the savage academic gods, and then (oh then) you can call me “Doctor”.

Each of the steps on this road is huge, important, and extremely stressful.  I appreciate the support and love of my friends and compatriots, and will require it in spades as I continue down my path to enlightenment and letters after my name.  Every achievement is a hard-fought battle and will leave scars.  Just because I may appear to have a cavalier attitude about it does not mean that it’s not a big deal (don’t let me fool you).

So: I thank you for your congratulations.  I appreciate the excitement and I understand how confusing this process must be for someone completely outside of it (heck, it confuses me sometimes and I’m the one doing it).  But no, I’m not a Doctor yet.  And every small status change (Done coursework!  ABD! Doctoral Candidate rather than Doctoral Student!) is HUGE.

Blood, sweat, and tears.  A whole lot of sleepless nights.

I do love my job, but there’s a long way to go.

Here’s to another two to five years!

Crossing a Finish Line

Alright folks,

I can tell you now, officially, with all certainty, that it’s over.

I’ve completed all coursework for my PhD.

I wish I could say that this momentous occasion feels as wonderful as it sounds, but truthfully I’m just exhausted.  I find that, without fail, the moment I stop running everything catches up with me.  All the stress, emotional turmoil, mental fatigue, physical challenges, everything I’ve been running from since mid-semester just slams right into me and belly-flops me into the ground.

It doesn’t help that coursework is widely regarded as the easiest portion of the PhD.  Which is not to say that it was easy.  If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you can attest to just a fraction of the politically-correct things I have to say about coursework.  Somehow, all that build-up of blood, sweat, and tears only makes this next step even more daunting.

So it does and doesn’t feel like an accomplishment to have survived this long.

I’m loving my couch hard core right now and I don’t have many deep thoughts to think.  I lieu of those, have a watch of the films that we made last weekend!

(The second film is a making-of documentary with a twist available here on Malarkey’s website.)

Happy summer, everyone!

Say Goodbye to Hollywood

Over the weekend, I had the good fortune to work on Malarkey Films’ entry into Boston’s 48 hour film festival.  Without giving too much away, I can tell you this: our movie was an action movie fairy tale, there was a copious amount of violence in it, and I played a rapier-wielding fairy princess.

I believe I’ve previously expressed the oddness of returning to acting.  I had well and truly

working out a sequence with the fight director

working out a sequence with the fight director

thought that the portion of my life as a performer was over indefinitely and was slowly coming to the realization that that may be okay.  For that, over the course of this year I’ve been hard at work as an actor, combatant, and general theatre-maker.

And I must admit that it’s been much more fun than I could have hoped.  Being back in the theatre is extremely nurturing to my work and my little artist’s heart is lifted every time I get the chance to work on a project.

This project in particular was a challenge on several levels: first off physically.  It’s been a few years since I’ve done any serious fight work (and this was serious fight work).  We were on location shooting for nine hours, the bulk of that entailed either learning or performing choreography.  Despite it being May, New England hasn’t quite gotten the “it’s Spring!” memo yet so the last few hours of our day turned much colder than what was truly optimal given the costuming I was wearing (though admittedly I was one of the more covered-up ladies in the entourage).  Eventually, mental and physical fatigue just won over and to have that happen right when the weather started turning towards “not so comfortable anymore” was extremely disruptive to my groove.

Since this was a film, we were also shooting the story in not-necessarily-chronological pieces.  Which meant that one of the last shots we got was one of the first shots in the film.  Which meant that, despite being tired and cold, we had to muster the energy to be glowingly happy.  It also means that I have a sneaking suspicion that my hair is going to look all kinds of strange in the opening scenes since they were shot after I had spent the day rolling around in forest foliage fighting for my life.

performing part of our badassery; the dress was surprisingly easy to fight in

performing part of our badassery; the dress was surprisingly easy to fight in

…hilarity also ensued when a grappling sequence meant that the DP, sound guy, and my fight partner were stuck picking leaves out of my hair for a good three minutes before and after every take of this phrase of our fight.

Another specific challenge with a film is the speed with which it requires committing dialogue to memory.  In this instance, the writer was also the fight director and so was on set for the entirety of the shoot and gave us leave to adjust as necessary (with the exception of the one line which we were required to include as part of the parameters of the film festival…which of course happened to be my line).  Short term memory is a funny and amazing thing and mine was well exercised over the course of Saturday.  For that, it’s strange for a Shakespearean like myself to feel comfortable with adjusting dialogue to suit my own needs.  The vast majority of my experience treats the text as doctrine: changing it is sacrosanct.  Film, however, is a medium entirely different from stage and this was just one of the things that I had to accept and move on.

The finished product should be available on Malarkey’s website by week’s end.  I have to say, I’m extremely excited to be seeing it on the big screen tomorrow.  If nothing else, it was a welcome break from finals-writing.

For those keeping track, my last paper of coursework is due tomorrow.  During the afternoon, I’ll be at Tufts speaking at the Graduate Research Symposium in the 2PM time slot if you happen to be around and want to hear about my work for ten minutes.

…just keep swimming.