Category Archives: Boston

Why I Don’t Leave my Tower

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It’s been a while since I’ve had a good rant about normal people, so I guess I was due in for one.

Through a series of related events, I’ve had to interact with a great many normies of late.  You know the type; people who hold down society-approved jobs, who are good at those jobs, and who probably don’t interact much with people who don’t hold down such positions.  This is generally fine, except for when you find yourself in a situation where these people feel compelled to make small talk (i.e. at a doctor’s office while tests are being run, at your hairdresser while your hair is drying, etc.)  Inevitably, the first question anyone asks is “what do you do?” and they expect a clean-cut answer with no frills.

Things are rarely clean-cut in my world and almost never have no frills.  I swear if one more person asks me as a follow-up question to my inevitable answer of “I’m getting my PhD” “Well, what are you going to do with that?” I’m going to go berserk Homer Simpson style and (literally) bounce off the walls.

Today, a new one got added to the small talk blacklist.  After telling a very nice and well-meaning lady that I’m a PhD student she replied, “Oh, well, at least you don’t have to work.”

Uhm… EXCUSE ME?

Actually, I tend to work 60-80 hour weeks with no break.  I work through weekends and days that normal people are allotted “off”.  I take work with me wherever I go in case I have ten minutes in a coffee shop because god forbid I not be reading during that time.  I’m pretty much on call constantly as students tend to e-mail me at whatever hour they’re at their machines (I try to make a rule that I don’t reply after 6PM and only reply on weekends in case of emergency just to maintain my own sanity, but that doesn’t mean the work isn’t sitting in my inbox).  I serve as chair to a committee for my professional organization; this is a volunteer position for which I’m getting paid in networking opportunities, a line on my CV, and happy thoughts about how I will positively impact the future of my field.  Since my committee is also made up of volunteers, we all work when we have the time to.  We’re on

That's my desk right now covered in things I have to take care of today... but at least I'm not working.

That’s my desk right now covered in things I have to take care of today… but at least I’m not working.

three separate time zones, we’re all busy graduate students, and it’s not unheard of to be drafting things together at unreasonable hours of the day/night.  Though I make my own hours, I work until I’m done.  Since I’m a perfectionist, this can be late nights and early mornings (though generally more like 2AM “early mornings” than 6AM “early mornings”).

Yea, sure, at least I don’t have to work.

The problem is you can’t really say this to the well-meaning nice people who are only trying to get through their own day.  They don’t understand what it is that they’ve said (which is why they said it in the first place).  Really, it’s a societal problem; there’s a huge lack of understanding about what graduate school (particularly at the PhD level) actually entails.  Those near and dear to me know, one way or another, that I’m busy even if they don’t necessarily understand what that is or what it means.  I no longer (or very rarely) get the piss taken out of me for missing social gatherings because I have to work.  I no longer (or very rarely) have to explain that despite the fact that I’m sitting at my machine in my sweats, pajamas,  or some amalgamation of both, I’m actually working.  I no longer (or very rarely) feel the need to defend my life choices to those whom I speak with.

Which is why it hits me every time something like this happens.  It’s excruciatingly frustrating to feel like the person taking appointments for your hairdresser thinks that you’re “not working”.  I mean really, what does her job entail besides surfing facebook and playing angry birds?

So spread the awareness folks.  Tell everyone you know.  Sit them down and break it to them gently: if they should ever in their travels encounter a PhD student in the wild, appropriate questions to ask are “what does your work entail?”, “Any ideas for what your dissertation will be about?”, “What’s the funniest thing you’ve ever written on a student paper?”.  Asking “what are you going to do with that?” or decrying that they are essentially a giant leech on society because their job isn’t the same as your job is about as appropriate as me telling a Medical Doctor that her degree has taught her nothing and she may as well be a denizen of Plato’s cave, grunting at shadows because she hasn’t ever seen the bright light of truth and therefore isn’t a true philosopher.

Because I swear, if one more person (well-meaning or not) makes this insinuation again, someone’s getting punched.

…I may add a paypal donation button to the side of the page soon.  It will go directly to the bail fund for when I’m inevitably brought up on assault charges for defending the academy’s good name.  It won’t be my fault that my opponent doesn’t understand the act of gauntlet throwing and I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

Some Unsolicited Advice

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For most people, January is a time for resolutions, re-thinking the events of the past year, and re-evaluating things you can do to make your life happier, better, and on the whole more livable.  Although living on an academic schedule means that I don’t abide by the normal rules of time, most of my friends are of the population for whom the year actually begins and ends in accordance with a lunar calendar.  I also can’t help but recall that this is the time of year when PhD applications are in and everyone who has made the big decision to commit to a life of academia (or at least is flirting with the idea) has already given the dice a good, solid roll and is now in the horrible waiting space of trying to figure out what’s going to come up.

The waiting space is awful.  For everyone going through it, my heart most sincerely goes out to you.

Some recent events in my life (and the lives of those around me) have made me stop to think about some of my own choices.

As you can tell if you read this blog with any frequency, my life is not easy.  In fact, it’s overwhelmingly difficult sometimes.  I have a lot of things which require my attention, a lot of things which I worry about, and almost no certainty in anything.

But you know what?  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m constantly saying that I know I’ve made the correct decisions because, even when I’m having a bad day and facing problems that seem insurmountable, I know with the utmost certainty that I would rather be facing these problems than any other.

Friends constantly make the observation that I always seem happy in what I’m doing,

This adventure never would have happened if I hadn't taken a leap into the darkness.... (Shakespeare & Company; 2008)

This adventure never would have happened if I hadn’t taken a leap into the darkness…. (Shakespeare & Company; 2008)

even when I’m overwhelmed.  And you know what, blog-o-sphere?  I am.  I’m busy, I’m crazed, I’m fighting a trip to the literary loony bin with every passing moment, but I am happy.

So, if you are amongst those January-people, here is some completely unsolicited (but, in my experience, completely sound) advice for how to be, similarly, happy.  It’s slightly outside of the scope of my usual writings, but I feel that this needs to be said.  How do you know my advice is sound, you ask?  Because I’ve already told you that I, myself, have experienced that it works.  And I’m pretty smart.  And modest.  I’m way modest.

Change is inevitable and nothing good every came from stagnation.  To quote perhaps the wisest of them all, Ralph Waldo Emerson, “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds”.  A man’s life, lived only in a continually enacted pattern, is a violation against his nature.  Happiness doesn’t come from complacency.  Complacency is the mind-killer and the greatest thing to be feared.  Embrace the change, seek the change, and don’t be afraid of the change.  It’s your best friend on the road to happiness.

Speaking of fear, it’s inevitable.  My mom (a wise person herself) claims that it’s an acronym for “False Expectations Appearing Real”.  I’m not sure where this originated (I think it’s some therapist’s credo of some kind), but it’s been comforting to me.  Fear is to be expected and, if you spend your life hiding from fear, you’re never going to find happiness.  Do things that scare you.  In my experience, those have been the only truly fulfilling things that I have done.

Nor this adventure (Tufts; 2011)

Nor this adventure (Tufts; 2011)

The great swath of the unknown which exists on the brink of our universe is where adventure lies.  Just like Bilbo Baggins, nobody who is content to stay at home will ever find it.  I’m not saying there’s no value in having a nice, cozy place to come home to when you’re done adventuring, but if you have the option between a mediocre nest and a potentially fulfilling adventure, step off the edges of the map.  Nobody lived a fulfilling life only by wishing.

Plans never work out the way you planned them.  Flexibility is another key to finding the elusive happiness beast.  That’s not to say don’t plan; plan.  Plan to your heart’s content.  Just don’t expect that everything will line up the way you anticipate it and expect for some things to go wrong.  Do not hang your happiness on expectation.

Enjoy the ride and try, as much as you can, to take in the moment around you.  That moment is going to be gone far too quickly for anyone’s liking.

It’s not easy.  If anything is easy, it’s probably not worth the effort.

Do not confuse “simple” and “easy”; they are not the same thing.

Yearnings must be answered or they turn to regrets.  Dreams are not to be silenced, just quieted sometimes.  Chasing stars will always land you somewhere you never thought you’d go, though rarely will it put you where you planned to be.

And always always remember to breathe.  No matter what; it’s a quick and easy way to automatically improve whatever situation you may find yourself in.

Not so Sleepy; but pretty Legendary

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This afternoon, I was treated to a lovely rollick in a world very near and dear to my heart.  I got to go see the Imaginary Beasts’ Winter Panto, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Sleepy Hollow is what it sounds like, a sleepy little hamlet in Tarrytown, New York, about

modern plaque on "bridge"

modern plaque on “bridge”

forty five minutes away from where I grew up.  Of course, most of us know it exists because of Washington Irving’s very famous bit of pith about the town (historical note: the headless horseman’s bridge has since been lost; there is a bridge in Sleep Hollow, but it’s a modern construction, despite the historical plaque set upon it).

American Pantomime is… really not what it sounds like.  It’s derived from the English form which was a pithy bit of entertainment incorporating music, slapstick, topical references, mild innuendo, etc.  The American form, much like its English cousin, is traditionally performed around Christmas time (the Imaginary Beasts perform one every winter).  Salient to the American form is that it’s plot is based in nursery stories retold on the stage incorporating these elements.

Point of dramaturgical order: do not confuse “pantomime” with “mime”.  They are not the same thing.  The word “pantomime” derives from a Greek construction composed of “pantos” (“every”, or “all”) and “mimos” (“actor” or “imitator”).  The Pantomimos, then, was the “imitator of all” (or, actually, generally troupes of actors who would perform often accompanied by song).  The word “mime” comes from that same Greek word “mimos”, but that’s where the similarities end.  These forms are two very different ducks.

The Beasts adhere to all the old traditions (cross-dressing, modern references, contemporary song, audience participation, and slapstick abound) and, through this, present a rollicking good time made better by the presence of children in the audience.  If you’re willing to bring your own inner child to come play with the Beasts, you will definitely thank yourself for it.

The Beasts also embrace the age-old, time-tested tradition of high comedy: cross-dressing is funny.  I simply couldn’t stop laughing as Joey Pelletier performed a rendition of “Tiptoe through the Tulips” in full Victorian drag.  Nor could I find it in myself to deny this charmer anything he wanted (including a loud “va va va voom!” upon his entrance into any room, as per his request to the audience).  In case you were concerned that this whole “cross-dressing is funny” bit was getting a little one-sided, Jill Ragati proves to be the Ichabod Crane with the most shapely legs I’ve ever seen (and yet, still somehow androgynous… I really can’t explain that one).

I might be biased, but I found the antics of Amy Meyer as Widow Pinchpurse to be miserly hilarious.  In case you never thought you’d laugh at the old “Don’t hit me!” “what?” “HIT ME!” “OKAY!” joke again, you may want to take this opportunity to re-instill yourself with some measure of classic humanity.

As a parting thought I’ll give the Beasts this: they utilized the Scissor Sisters to much greater effect than Glee did.

So do yourself a favor: find a child (or be ready to amp up your inner eight-year-old), and go laugh a little.  It’s a dark gray winter, we can all use some time in the sun.  Ticket and show info can be found here.

Another Openin’, Another Show

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This week past was a great theatre-going week for myself and my ever-wonderful partner in crime.  There are some exciting things happening in Boston right now and it has been a pleasure to see some of them.

Pippin at the ART 

The American Repertory Theatre as an institution seems to be undergoing some changes; though no longer a center for the avant-garde (as far as I can tell, this has now been relegated to their secondary venue the Oberon), they still produce some pretty exciting theatre.

Right now on the main stage, you can see a bold new staging of Pippin.

Press Shot for Pippin

Press Shot for Pippin

Alright, alright, it’s Pippin.  Yea, the show itself is about as schmaltzy as they come.  But honestly, what’s life without musical theatre schmaltz?

And this staging really brings something to the text.  Dianne Paulus enlisted the assistance of circus choreographer Gypsy Snider to present a show that’s loaded with spectacle, drenched in theatricality, and definitely somewhere the audience would be tempted to run away to.  The choreography is new, but Chet Walker definitely kept the Fosse feel and there are plenty of shoulder-rolls and arm-fans to go around.

Of course, the show stopper (and show-stealer) occured late in the first act (Andrea Martin’s Berthe gave a performance of “No Time at All” that I am hard pressed to ever forget).  Matthew James Thomas’ Pippin is petulant and angry, wide-eyed and hungry, essentially the perfect blend of youthful optimism and teenaged angst.

The only performance which I found even slight fault in was that of Patina Miller as the leading player.  While Miller is an amazing dancer and her vocals can’t be beat, she lacks the undercurrent of menace that the part requires.  If she were to truly dig and find some semblance of an inner villain, the show would be well near perfect.

The finale lacks some sizzle (I’ve been told due to fire codes, or potentially expense), but really.  What are you going to do with a show that asks you to set people on fire?  From my vantage point second row center, the effect looked cheesy and glitzy (which would have worked had it not been for the plot-point about Pippin ACTUALLY setting himself on fire).  I’ve been told that it doesn’t look as awful from further back in the house.

I’ve also been told that Paulus made the exciting announcement at the show’s opening the other night that it would be making its way to Broadway next.  I am extremely pleased to hear this.  I highly recommend you get out to see it now while tickets are cheap(ish) and the show is local.

Two Gentlemen of Verona by the Actor’s Shakespeare Project

I’ll admit, I didn’t go into this performance with high expectations.  There’s a reason that Two Gents is rarely performed.  Act Five is a nightmare to make read to a modern audience, and the show’s protagonist is one of the least likeable characters in the canon (for further discussion of this, check out our recent podcast about it).

Two Gents promo art

Two Gents promo art

In addition, I’ve never yet heard a good review of an ASP production.  None of my local friends (or mentors) have been impressed with their work, so I did not expect that the combination of these two deadly things would yield anything horribly impressive.

For that, Two Gents is one of my favorite shows and I’ve always wanted to see it done.  Despite myself, I was rather excited to find out what the good folks at ASP had come up with.

First things first: I know Bill Barclay’s work from his long tenure at Shakespeare & Company (some of this while I myself was there training).  The man’s a genius.  His abilities with music are unmatched and it’s always an absolute joy to watch him romp about the stage with his own one-man-band of instruments (in this show alone, you can see him play the guitar, concertina, accordion, ukulele, and harmonica along with an assortment of percussion noise-makers).  I expected the music to be outstanding.

Barclay’s performance was equally impressive.  Protheus is an extremely difficult part to pull off since it requires a wide range of emotion very quickly (he’s one of the least mature men in the canon), and the foreknowledge that the audience is going to hate you.  Barclay’s natural charm and charisma worked to offset this, and his command of the text meant that he got every ounce of emotional connection out of the role.

Unfortunately, he was in the minority.  The women onstage were less impressive – Paige Clark (Julia) went for shtick over emotion, and Miranda Craigwell (Silvia), though stunning, didn’t seem to make any acting choices at all.  Marya Lowry made an excellent gender-bent Duke (Duchess) of Milan, but her Lucetta was frantic and muddy.  This is doubly unfortunate since the women are the true heart of this show; without a deep connection to Julia, the audience has no reason to react to Protheus (though Barclay’s charisma covered a multitude of sin).

The clowning was spectacular.  Thomas Derrah as Speed and John Kuntz as Launce were precise, efficient, and uproarious.  They counter-balanced each other admirably, and entertained thoroughly.  They were aided in this endeavor by Bruno, the most well behaved dog I’ve ever seen, in the role of Crab.  To quote Geoffrey Rush as Philip Henslowe, “You see – comedy. Love, and a bit with a dog. That’s what they want”.

ASP solved the act five fireworks with a game of bardic footsie that I can only describe as “admirable”.  After menacing the outlaws, Protheus turned to Silvia, made his threat, then realized what came out of his mouth.  Disgusted with himself, he dropped his knife, fell to his knees, then wrapped his arms around Silvia’s waist in a pathetic act of self-reproach.  Enter Valentine who sees something more than what he sees (as a lover is wont to do).  For a modern audience, I think this is the only way to make the scene read if you still want to maintain any sense of empathy with Protheus in the end.  It ensures that Protheus remains redeemable without violating the text.

On the whole, this production was charming and enjoyable.  While it lacked substance and true feeling, it did have entertainment value in spades.  I would encourage you to go see it but, alas, it closes today.

ASP will be doing a production of Pericles in April that I, for one, will be extremely interested to see.

A Christmas Rant

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With the holidays coming up, I feel the need to put my two cents into the universe about where your hard-earned money should be spent should you decide that purchasing theatre tickets for your loved ones is a worthwhile endeavor.  It totally is, by the by, and if you’re not considering this course of action, maybe you will now.

For those long-term readers, you may recall my rage-inducing trip to the

I know it's that time of year because I got to help put up a Christmas Tree!

I know it’s that time of year because I got to help put up a Christmas Tree!

Harvard Revels last year.  Now that we’ve come full circle (as I write this, I’m sitting in the Houghton Library reading room at Harvard and can see that they’ve once again decorated the square with vibrant twinkling lights), I find myself revisiting this rage every moment I so much as think of the experience, the institution, or the fact that hundreds of people will (once again) flood to this theatrical venue.

So let’s get one thing straight: the Harvard Revels, while it may have started out as a benign force of the community, is currently the most deplorable form of theatrical spectacle.  The travesty that I had the misfortune to witness (and pay WAY too much for) last year should never have been allowed to be birthed into the realm of theatre.  The acting was atrocious, the costuming was spotty at best (there were people wearing PAINTER’S PANTS and SNEAKERS onstage in a PERIOD PIECE), and the institution builds into its traditions a forced standing ovation for every show.  I have never in my life witnessed something more manipulative, more upsetting, and more betraying to its hard-working loyal audience.

And here’s the worst part: because this is a Christmas Tradition for some people, this institution will (once again) have an audience.  Despite putting on a product that I would describe as “an aborted attempt at holiday cheer”, they will once more play to a PACKED HOUSE.  Audiences are so intoxicated by the rosey-hued glasses of Christmas tradition that it will not matter if the Revels had an off year, people will pay anyway.

Because of this, the Revels has no impetus to change.  They will be a commercial success no matter what show they put on.  And that, my friends, is where theatre goes to die.

Okay, I take it back, maybe this is the worst part: this show is the only show that I would venture most of those hundreds of audience members will see in a given year.  That means that their theatre budget is allocated specifically for a show that does not care about them.  This show will be flat, stale, uninspired, and continually produced Christmas schlock until someone does something about it.

Theatre is only interesting and vibrant when it is fighting for its life.  The

...and, for the first time ever, a Christmas Village! Much more exciting if you consider that this is about ten feet off the ground in a window ledge and required ladder-work to assemble...

…and, for the first time ever, a Christmas Village! Much more exciting if you consider that this is about ten feet off the ground in a window ledge and required ladder-work to assemble…

Revels have not, as far as I can tell, had to do this for decades.  Give them a year scrounging on Community Theatre budget and they will get creative or die.  And from that will be birthed something real, genuine, and amazing to see.

So I beg you.  I implore you.  Do not support this abuse of the name of “theatre”.  If you would like to take your loved ones to see a show, consider one of the many other productions going on in Boston at this time.  Here are just a few…

The ART is producing Pippin (which, I’ve heard, is spectacular and I will be going to see).

A certain Shakespeare company is producing Two Gentleman of Verona and, while I have no particular love for this company, I do love this show.  Support struggling Boston Shakespeare!

The Nora Theatre Company and Underground Railway Theater is producing Arabian Nights which I’ve heard great things about.

The Improv Asylum is doing a Holiday Show if you want something a little more traditional.  They always have great programming (and classes!).

Theatre is a struggling art form.  Your ticket-buying is the life-blood of the struggling company.  Please consider that, while the Revels loom large and ugly, the money spent on their over-priced Holiday travesty could save a small company and create a better theatre community here in Boston.

Just Another Manic Monday

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I know that I’ve been doing a lot of lists lately, but finals land is inexorably vast this year… I don’t recall hell-time being this long last year… maybe I’m just wearing my rose-colored denial glasses.

Right now (as in I have actually put work into all of these projects at some point this evening), I am:

 -Doing final prep on my presentation for Thursday. What is life without powerpoint, I ask you?

-Finishing up the grades for one of the classes I’m TAing. Ethically, all I can say about this is that it happened. At some point I will find a way to talk about grading in general enough terms that I don’t feel like I’m betraying confidences. That day is not today. I look forward to that day as I know I have learned a lot from the experience of commenting upon and critiquing the students’ writing, and I feel as though these lessons are universally applicable. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.

 -Working on the official twitter feed for the Comparative Drama Conference. This

The CDC conference hotel. I took this shot last year. Yea, that hotel is pretty sweet.

The CDC conference hotel. I took this shot last year. Yea, that hotel is pretty sweet.

is particularly exciting; by my calculations (if we get the feed up successfully, which is a small if right now but an if nonetheless) it will be the first official twitter feed for a national conference in the humanities. The digital age has officially hit academia, and I can’t be more proud to be one of its heralds. There’s nothing on the feed at this moment (and we’re looking at a few weeks before you see anything exciting happen), but nevertheless go check us out at https://twitter.com/compdramaconf. Give us a follow, keep an eye on us, let us know how we’re doing. Then, when we’re all in Baltimore, we can have a drink and talk about how great the internet is.

 -Working on some dramaturgy bits and bobs for Measure. We’re bracing for impact as we wind up to wind down over the break. I’m headed to rehearsal on Thursday to have a listen to the text and then on Monday, December 10th the cast gives me a full run for my birthday (which, by the by, is December 11th… right smack during the middle of hell-time… I have reconciled myself to the fact that I will, for the rest of my life, be inordinately stressed out on my birthday).

 -Doing final dilly-dallying with outlines and research before I draft out paper number one. I was going to do this tonight, but a Sandy-granted extension gave me a little more wiggle-room on the timeline. I am also waiting on an e-mail from an archivist to see if I can’t do another archive dive to bolster this paper, but plan to forge forward tomorrow one way or another.

PiC and I on a boat this weekend past. It was his birthday, so we threw tea into Boston harbor. It seemed legit.

PiC and I on a boat this weekend past. It was his birthday, so we threw tea into Boston harbor. It seemed legit.

-Waiting on a call from my partner in crime to tell me that the first release of Offensive Shadows has gone live. We wrote the copy this afternoon and he’s uploading the sound as we speak, so by the time this is posted it may very well be up. If not, I’ll be updating the twitter feed and the facebook group when things are all green lights over there. Prepare for Shakespeare awesomeness!

-Finishing up some loose-ends classroom business for my own coursework (regular reading, message board posting, etc.). One of the great things about an academic schedule is how fast-paced it is; as soon as you get into a rhythm, or really feel like you know anything about anything, suddenly the world shifts on you. This semester has been great, but I can definitely say that I’m ready for some world-shifting. The projects I’m working on now, however, will definitely stay with me and I’m hoping that they will be extremely fruitful future endeavors. After all, “publication” ain’t just an eleven letter word.

-Setting up and administrating forums for my Shakespeare reading group. Because, like I said, the internet is a wonderful thing.

Alright, since I’ve clocked a solid fourteen hour day, I think I’m putting it down for the night. At least… as soon as the podcast goes live.

Catch you later!

List, List!

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This is another end-of-week drive-by sandwiched between a marathon research session, some much-needed laundry (especially considering I was laundering bits of my costume for tonight) and a visit with my family before I get my stuff together to go to the theatre (to be honest, I wasn’t certain I’d find time at all to post again this week).

As such, have a list!

 1)    I promise that sometime in the near future I will write a piece on the nature of

my family! …we are all making the most flattering faces in the land.

stage fright.  Because I have been extremely public about my stage fright, many many people have asked me about it over the course of the past week or so and that has revealed a few misconceptions about the nature of stage fright.  Briefly: stage fright has nothing to do with talent, or even experience.  Anyone, from the first-time actor to the seasoned professional, can be victim of stage fright for different reasons.  Mine tends to stem from the fact that I’m a) a perfectionist and b) my biggest critic (in other words: an artist).

2)    The middle of the semester has hit and, between the mountain of unread books that need to be worked into a presentation by the following Monday, the vast world of undone research that needs doing, the stacks of grading that continually accumulate no matter how bravely I beat them back, and the reading that just keeps coming, I’m absolutely swamped.

3)    Headed into the final weekend of As You Like It.  If you haven’t seen us yet, what’s your excuse?  Come on out, see some Shakespeare, remind me that there are people in this world who love me.

4)    My family (and a dear old friend) are in town to see the show this weekend.  How awesome!

5)    I hope your weekend is less stress-inducing than mine is.

The Rosalind Diaries: Entry Eight; The Show Must Go On

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So, we opened this weekend.  The following is an account of my weekend as I progressed through it; my inner monologue is conveniently denoted by text in italics.

Friday Night: Opening Night

I was worried going into this because I wasn’t feeling well, which meant low energy, which did not bode well for performing Shakespeare (much less a show that relies a great deal upon my ability to carry it on my shoulders).  Knowing this, I tried to apply as much comfort as possible to my state and let the rest of life roll off my back.  Upside: I did not have the spare energy for my normally-crippling stage fright to sink in.

 God, I forgot what it was like to be at rehearsal all week and not really have a life outside of it.  Also, right, I need to remember to pack the correct makeup… not that the lighting is horribly intense.

 The house was small, but I knew that I had some personal friends coming to see the show (one of whom being my aforementioned partner in crime who, due to cruel twists of fate and the fact that I considered myself fondly retired before this production, had never before seen me onstage).

Are all my costume changes going to work?  They worked last night… maybe that was a fluke…

Me and Orlando… hanging out in the woods… dressed as a boy… you know, like you do.

 There’s a horrifying moment, as you sit getting ready and you thank the stage manager for the fifteen call (“Fifteen!” “Thank you, fifteen!”) wherein your mind goes blank.  You forget everything.  You are awash in a sea of white and the only thing you can do is stare dumbfounded at yourself in the mirror, lipstick in hand, and wonder what the hell your first line is.

What is my first line?  No, really, what is my first line?

 The performance gets rolling and you find the ways of it.  The groves, the curves, the things you need to do to give yourself the energy to spring-board into the next scene.  I know when I need to rendezvous backstage with my partner to squeeze her hand, or take a moment to smile at him, or check in with her, or pre-set costume change C.  And finding that rhythm is comforting, but you can’t get too comfortable because then the entire thing becomes stale.

Okay, intermission, let’s just keep pushing through…

 This show, for me, is mostly about hitting the midpoint.  Act one in the court is rough; it’s hard to inject those scenes with energy and they contain a great deal of exposition which the already-reeling audience is struggling to keep up with.  Things don’t get fun until we hit the forest, and I don’t really get to play in the forest until act two.  But once I hit that stage at the top of the act, I almost don’t leave it until the end of the show.  So; you push the snowball up hill in act one, and spend act two pumping more energy into it, bouncing off your scene partners, and just letting it roll on home.

Oh good god they skipped ahead in the scene that covers my quick change.  I may die.  Or come onstage half dressed.  Or do one then the other.

 Luckily, neither happened.

Saturday; Night Two

Again, we played to an intimate but receptive house, and having those voices ring back at us in laughter, exclamations, etc. really helped to keep us going.  Unfortunately, my illness got worse rather than better and even a day of rest couldn’t curtail the disgustingness that was the way I felt.

You know what I would like?  I would like to do a performance in which I’m on top of my game… I wonder how quickly I can bust this whatever-it-is.

 Hit act one like an inferno and we finally found the energy we needed for those first few scenes.  Tapping into my darker emotions is generally easier for me to do when I’m not feeling well, tired, or a combination of both.  As such, I didn’t have to work too hard to get the melancholy rolling at the plays’ start.

I would really like to die now please…

I do not recommend binding down to anyone who has any semblance of a curvy figure.  I especially do not recommend it when your chest is congested and you are already at a less-than-optimal lung capacity.  I spent the majority of this performance feeling like I was going to pass out.

I wonder if it would be better to faint onstage or offstage… at least if I did it onstage I’m reasonably certain that I would be able to recite the lines as I went along and may even be able to pick up where I left off when I came to.

 Despite my terminal lack of energy, my scene partners advised me that I put on a solid performance and they didn’t notice a difference.  Phew.

Please don’t let me drip gross things from my nose on Orlando’s shoulder during the wedding scene.

 I didn’t.

Sunday: Matinee

Despite the fear that we would be playing to an empty house given our previously poorly attended performances and the fact that it was Sunday of a holiday weekend, we had a

my dressing room station at the top of the show tonight.

fair sized audience! And a few dear friends of ours even surprised us by appearing without telling us they were coming (…leading to an incident which can only be described as “frantic fact-checking while simultaneously making a quick-change”).

Unfortunately, my cold has escalated to something much more closely resembling bronchitis so my energy wasn’t anywhere near where I want it to be.  I have again been assured that neither the audience nor my scene partners could tell, but I certainly knew as I tried to keep my coughing fits contained backstage and took a near-nap on the dressing room floor at intermission.

Well, at least I won’t have to push to find tears.

And I didn’t.  Or to find new moments, of which there were a surprising amount during this performance.  As much as I would like to think that it is because I am feeling cruddy and, thereby, I should always be feeling cruddy when playing Rosalind, I’m really looking forward to getting well over the week and hitting it hard next weekend.

During 3.2 (a scene which took some very tedious tolls during rehearsal), I was rewarded when, after a bit I do with my hands to demonstrate monsters eating each other, an older lady cooed from the audience “she’s so cute!”.  Glowy actor time.

On the whole, we had a very satisfying set of performances this weekend, and I’m very much looking forward to the second half of the run.  The only thing missing right now is you and I encourage you, advise you, well near implore you to make an attempt to come see what I think is one of the better shows to hit Boston this year (though I well may be just a touch biased). Tickets and show info can be found here!

The Rosalind Diaries: Entry Seven; Putting it Together

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Last night, for the first time, we ran the entire show.  We stopped for a five-minute intermission, but other than that we just kept going.

And last night, for the first time, it really felt like it worked.

We didn’t have the full set, we didn’t have lights, and most people didn’t use their

Touchstone finds Rosalind reading Orlando’s poems in the forest

costumes (I did to try and make sure my changes work – they should; though my quick-change at the end is going to be a bit of a bitch).  But we did it.

Coming off the heels of a rehearsal in which I felt like nothing worked, it was pretty spectacular to leave last night feeling like something fell into place.  I wasn’t word perfect, and I know that the other actors weren’t either.  There were some few calm calls for line, but I know I could have fought through them if I had wanted to.  The pace still needs to be picked up before performance.  But those things aside, we did it.  We stumbled through.

And let me tell you, it can only go up from here, and it’s really going to be good.

Orlando and I have been in deep conversation about how to make 3.2 work.  We’ve been trying to feed things in; ideas, notions, impulses, anything to get a different reading than just something flat.  Last night, for the first time, we had a spark of something.  We were engaged with each other, we listened, and something worked.

I also owe a debt of gratitude to my dear friend Angelo who took time out of his busy schedule to run lines with me and coach me through this scene particularly when we realized how much it wasn’t working.  With his help, and with the support of my fellow cast-mates, something happened.

So; what worked?

I kept coming back to the idea that this was Rosalind’s first time really speaking with Orlando at any length.  Her disguise, the mask she wears in the forest, really frees her to say whatever she wants without consequence.  Her honor is only at stake if he discovers that she’s a woman, so so long as she can continue the charade of being Ganymede everything else will sort itself.  This scene is a desperate attempt to engage Orlando, an attempt to find a way to spend time with him in a situation that’s mediated and in which she makes the rules.  If she is teaching him courtship, then she has all the power (a situation which never would have been allowed at court).  Rosalind is a woman completely abandoned and betrayed by all the men in her life; her father was exiled, her uncle then exiles her; it makes sense that she would be wary around the guy she wishes would become her husband.  By making the rules herself, she takes a hand in her own fate and so setting up the Ganymede/Rosalind role-play concession is a vital step in ensuring a strong future for herself.

So what does a girl who likes a guy but is dressed like a guy say to that guy when she knows he kinda likes her back but she can’t reveal that she’s the one he’s in love with?

The answer is: she has a really hard time coming up with things to say.

Rosalind is a master of wit and she’s extremely good at entertaining people with it.  But when she sees Orlando in the forest and decides to speak with him, the best thing she can come up with to say is “What time is it?”

….stupid, stupid, stupid.

Once I was able to feed that nervous energy into the scene, it gave us somewhere to

Rosalind and Celia come upon Orlando carving Rosalind’s name into the poor trees of Arden

bounce from.  Orlando had to figure out why I could sometimes engage with him and sometimes not, which meant he was interested in what I was saying.  But I can’t let him get too physically close to me because, if I do, he may recognize me.  But at the same time, his eyes are really pretty and I really want to touch him, but it’s probably a bad idea.

The rubber-band action gives us something to play with, and makes sure that we keep moving (a MUST on a proscenium stage).

Another thing which really helped was a suggestion by our director to “earn the touch”.  There’s no way that Rosalind would touch Orlando casually (even if casual touching is something that I do rather frequently).  Every touch should be important, magical, and something we work up to.  Once we were able to emphasize the importance of the touch, we were able to really plug into the “I want to, but I can’t”, which in turn fed that nervous energy which the entire scene hinges upon.

So we did some solid work last night.  It’s only going to get better as we build, grow, and prepare because we open in a scant nine days (and it’s only eight days before our invited dress with talk-back).

Curious about seeing us in our full glory?  Tickets available here!

And Now for Something Completely Different…

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My partner in crime has informed me that, after this week’s previous post, I should probably also talk a little bit about the flip side of the coin.  So, as his advice is generally good, and lest you think that Graduate School is a long, dark, tunnel of stress and upset leading to nowhere positive, I would like to take some time to share a bit about the wonderful things that have happened to me because of (or related to) my experiences in higher education.

Consider the previous post the warning label and this post the advertisement.  Real life, as always, will be found somewhere gently hovering in between.  Or, if you want a picture more true-to-life, real life is actually lived on the extremes.  The average found in the middle very rarely happens, but so long as your good days equal or outweigh your bad days, you can consider your life choice a sound one… at least, I do.

One of the nifty things about being affiliated with a university is that, as soon as you tag that affiliation onto your byline, folks tend to take you seriously.  Because of this (and because of the endless generosity of people willing to take time out of their busy schedules to gab with me about their work), I have had the good fortune of conducting field research at many exciting places this year.  I got to sit down with the man who inspired me to go into Shakespeare studies (a director at Shakespeare & Company by the name

Outside the mainstage at Shake & Co

of Kevin Coleman – he’s playing the fool in their Lear right now and he’s spectacular) and talk about his work.  I got to examine and photograph theatrical designs from a designer’s private archive.  I got to tour and photograph the Rebecca Nurse Homestead during its off-season even though visitors weren’t technically allowed onsite during the time in which I had to do my research.  Would a “normal” person have had these opportunities?  Difficult to tell… but I can certainly tell you that being able to point at a legitimate institution and say that I was part of it definitely helped my confidence by way of things that I was willing to ask for.

Archive access is another neat perk to academia.  The great thing about an archive is that it’s a repository of all kinds of shinies.  Sure, I love books as much as the next nerd, but something about holding a piece of paper older than one’s own country really gets the adrenaline going.  The Harvard Theatre Collection happens to be the oldest and largest Theatre archive in the United States… it also happens to be right down the road from my apartment.  This year, I spent countless hours in the archive digging for buried treasure.  I handled broadsides from the shows affiliated with the Astor Place Riots.  I paged through the Johnson/Steevens edition of Shakespeare (published 1773).  I tried to decipher John Adam’s handwriting off a letter he wrote to dear Abigail.  I (nearly) touched a First Folio (we have two native to Boston – one housed at Brandeis, the other at the Boston Public Library Rare Books room).

At the San Diego Zoo, I made friends with this peacock

I traveled.  This year, I saw two cities for the first time as I conferenced within them: San Diego and Baltimore.  In San Diego, I got to go to the San Diego zoo.  In Baltimore, I had an afternoon at the National aquarium.  In both places, I met graduate students from around the country who were working on projects that I never would have otherwise known about.  I got to be part of the greater academic discourse and understand a bit better what my peers are doing in other areas of the ivory tower.

I connected with my work in the field.  I saw so much theatre this year and, more than just seeing it, I was able to critically engage with it.  I reviewed a great deal of it, but even that which I didn’t review was always discussed with a traveling companion or two.  It’s important to touch the ground now and again and really understand what you’re working on.  In the case of theatre, it’s so easy to bury your head in the book-history and never come up for air.  I’m proud to say that the book learning fueled my desire to see more theatre and really made me pursue productions in the greater Boston area.  This drive to connect with the tangible has introduced me to some amazing venues, some wonderful companies, and some very interesting people.

I accomplished some pretty neat things.  I translated an article from Diderot’s encyclopedia.  I started my quest to learn to read German.  I produced six graduate-level papers (all of which have potential to continue on as larger projects).  I found a way to become involved with a few nifty projects for next year (including dramaturging Measure for Measure and acting the dream role of Rosalind in As you Like it).  I made connections and met people who were not only interesting, but also important to theatre studies.  I wrote a book review which is going to be published in a professional journal (details to follow).  I maintained a blog that has tripled its following over the course of the past year.  Even though I’m only part way to my grand goal, the little victories along the way have helped to sustain me with how truly thrilling they are.

I suppose, as with anything, the payoff of academia is only worth what

and if all else fails, find a bunny to help you with your homework. This bunny’s name is Rory Pond. She’s a she bunny. My friends are a little weird.

you’ve gone through to get it.  So yea, you’ll find yourself in the tunnel sometimes.  Keep calm, remember where your towel is, pour yourself some earl grey, and remind yourself that this is all totally worth it.  And if you begin to doubt that, head over to the archive and pull the oldest thing in the collection.  I guarantee that one look at whatever it is will remind you that your life is pretty cool despite its extreme trials.