Between volunteering as Actor's Shakespeare Project and ushering, I've seen the show about four times. For any theatre student -- and I consider myself an eternal student -- this has been a great education. The show has evolved and deepened -- my last time there was Saturday. There is a level of trust and cohesion among the actors that has expanded tremendously.
I want to talk about a supporting character today, Alcebaides, the soldier. He evolves and grows as Timon declines. Timon abandons Athens -- Alcebaides conquers it. Timon, in his rage, calls for destruction and Alcebaides in his triumph brings justice.
It's gotten to the point with this play that it has me in its teeth and keeps chewing at me. It annoys the hell out of me but it won't let me go. Each viewing gives me new realizations. I don't agree with everything I see but since it all makes me think, I'd say the director and actors have done their job well.
Timon is a play that clearly highlights the lead actor and it's probably one of the most text-heavy plays Shakespeare ever wrote. The danger of a tour-de-force play is that the central character is frequently the only one fleshed out --look at Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac for example. Cyrano is the only multi-dimensional character in the play - the other parts are more or less cardboard cutouts, woefully underwritten. Don't get me started on Roxane who only function is to be the unattainable romantic object! Even in the original French, it's a bitch of a part. I've seen about ten versions and only one actress - Anne Brochet, in the film - really brought the character to three dimensional life as an intelligent, willful and passionate woman. She, however, had the advantage of several non-verbal scenes. Sinead Cusack did very well - I saw her on stage in NYC in the 80s and she was the first Roxane who seemed to have a brain. So did Jennifer Garner in her Broadway debut but it's a badly written, disjointed part. For an educated, articulate woman, most of the time she - Roxane, not Garner - speaks in sentence fragments. As I said, don't get me started!
Timon on the other hand, fleshes out its other roles, which gives strong support to the lead. Flavius the steward, Apemantus the misanthope and Alcebiades the conqueror are all given depth and passion. This in turn brings out more nuance in Timon. It all works.
Timon is represented as a military leader and we first see Alcebaides as his servant/subordinate. From the beginning there is a deep affection bewteen them and a strong respect. They spar like puppies until Alcebaides gets in an unexpected jab that both winds and delights Timon, who is clearly mentoring him. They are at once mirrors for each other - both are betrayed by the corrupt government, both are enraged. They are also counterpoints - Alcebiades grows and advances as Timon progressively unravels. Alcebaides is activated while Timon self-destructs.
Alcebaides is played by Daniel Berger-Jones who is one of those actors that could, if he wanted to, simply coast by on his looks. However, as an artist, he has too much integrity. There is a depth to his work and a grasp of the character's inner life that he brings to this character. He has a tremendous attentiveness to the other characters - there is an alertness, a watchfulness toward them, especially in the scene where he is speaking on behalf of a condemned friend. His responses are mercurial, each giving way to the other, from earnest pleading to incredulity to rage. The court scene is both a personal disagreement bewteen the characters but also archetypal as a confrontation between idealistic youth and rigid, conservative rage At the end of the scene, as he cradles the body of his executed friend with unexpected gentleness, the first line of his monologue - "I'm worse than mad!" - escapes from him with a dangerous growl.
His biggest challenge is holding his own in his final meeting with Timon. I would say this is one of the hardest scenes, because it is very easy to lose the stage to Timon. But he an d Allyn Burrows play off each other with power, Berger-Jones holds his own. But the mock-sparring has turned to real conflict and we can see the injury that Timon's rejection causes him is more painful than the recent wound in his side. He plays the scene, he told me, as a final loss of an important father-figure, recognizing and grieving this loss but also grateful for what he has received.
In many ways, Timon of Athens is a play of extremes - from the lead character's extreme wealth to his fall to extreme poverty. From his overwhelming need to give to his ultimate need to reject. It is his symbolic son, Alcebaides that brings the healing. He does conquer Athens but instead of destroying it as Timon urged, he punishes only specific enemies. He is the new order, rational and balanced. In most mythologies the son comes into his own when the father dies. Loss of the father, either actual or symbolic loss, is part of a man's growth, of coming into his own destiny.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Timon Now On His Feet
The great thing about volunteering with a theatre company is you get a deeper look at their work than the average spectator. You go deeper into the text and make discoveries that you would miss by just seeing the show once. For a theatre student, this is invaluable.
Timon of Athens is now on his feet. That is, the play is on its feet, Timon himself falls apart during it.
It's really something to see the progression from running lines and hearing an actor's insights, to seeing the show on its feet. So far I've seen the dress rehearsal and ushered a preview performance and the show has developed in ways I couldn't have predicted. I've been chewing this text over and over -- for a play I didn' t initially like I now find it haunting me.
Once again I saw the importance of good casting -- each actor brought their part to life with nuance and elegance. This production seems to have more ensemble work than the others I've seen. The minor characters emerge from the ensemble and dissolve back again, with just touches of costuming to differentiate -- voice and body posture primarily signal the transformations. This gives a contemporary feeling to the show. At times it's like Shakespeare meets the Marx Brothers with the Three Stooges thrown in.
There's also an unintentional hommage to Buster Keaton at the end of Act One that triggers one of the most amazing scene changes I've ever seen in live theatre. I'm not one to go out "whistling the scenery" but I was impressed. And in a show as well done as this, it is not a reason to see the play, but it's a nice bonus.
John Kuntz, who was so brilliant as Peter Quince in Midsummer, was playing the poet, among other characters. He balances between mastery of the verse and total irreverence. He is clearly one of our sacred clowns, in his willingness to play he guides us into the text so we can understand it without being overwhelmed.
The tragedy of Timon is not that he loses his wealth, by this point I feel the core tragedy is he becomes incapable of recognizing the ones who truly love him. He loses his wealth, he finds new wealth. The money is not the point. And it illustrates one of my favorite prosperity points -- money comes from known and unknown sources. He finds enough of a fortune to restore his lifestyle -- and chooses not to. He seems to engage in a process of purification. He is harsh and unsparing in his hatred of the flattering courtiers who disappointed him. The three people who geniunely care for him show up - Captain Alcibaides, Apemantus and Flavius the steward (changed to a woman's role for this production) cannot break through his isolation. Flavius almost succeeds -- there is a genuine affection between the two. Timon appears to acknowledge it but ultimately sends her away. He gives her gold, which she rejects, throwing it back to him. He gives it to her again and she rejects it again.
Personally I think that's a mistake. I don't know whether it's the direction or the actress' choice. From the director's point of view (which is usually how I look at things) I honestly don't think that Flavius would/should reject the gold. I agree that she would put up an initial struggle. But the gold is ultimately a token of Timon's affection toward her and I would think she would accept it under those terms. She should accept it for Timon's sake, not out of greed. If nothing else, the wounded look on Timon's face should change her mind.
But nobody asked me.
It dawned on me -- it was not rejection, Timon is not about rejection, but purification. He is on the path of non-attachment. First he was at the effect of his wealth (his constant avoidance of Flavius' warnings shows that he never really mastered it) then at the effect of his bitterness. He suffers because he was attached to the wealth and flattery. Then, at the end, he is free - "Nothing brings me all things" -- he has attained an almost Zen attitude.
I was pre-disposed to enjoy Allyn Burrows' performance as Timon after all the work we'd put in. I thought - mistakenly - that it would hold few surprises. I had forgotten that the process of running lines is largely intellectual and a performance will take on a life of its own - especially with Shakespeare. It was a perfect counterpoint - the humorous, frequently manic ensemble provides a backdrop for Allyn's Timon to unravel against. And unravel he does -- from dignified affluence down to the depths of bitter madness. There are flashes of danger in his performance along with the Shakespearean attitude of joy through all emotions. Another lesson for me that acting is not about the words - even when the words are this important. That acting takes place through the words and in the silences.
Timon of Athens is now on his feet. That is, the play is on its feet, Timon himself falls apart during it.
It's really something to see the progression from running lines and hearing an actor's insights, to seeing the show on its feet. So far I've seen the dress rehearsal and ushered a preview performance and the show has developed in ways I couldn't have predicted. I've been chewing this text over and over -- for a play I didn' t initially like I now find it haunting me.
Once again I saw the importance of good casting -- each actor brought their part to life with nuance and elegance. This production seems to have more ensemble work than the others I've seen. The minor characters emerge from the ensemble and dissolve back again, with just touches of costuming to differentiate -- voice and body posture primarily signal the transformations. This gives a contemporary feeling to the show. At times it's like Shakespeare meets the Marx Brothers with the Three Stooges thrown in.
There's also an unintentional hommage to Buster Keaton at the end of Act One that triggers one of the most amazing scene changes I've ever seen in live theatre. I'm not one to go out "whistling the scenery" but I was impressed. And in a show as well done as this, it is not a reason to see the play, but it's a nice bonus.
John Kuntz, who was so brilliant as Peter Quince in Midsummer, was playing the poet, among other characters. He balances between mastery of the verse and total irreverence. He is clearly one of our sacred clowns, in his willingness to play he guides us into the text so we can understand it without being overwhelmed.
The tragedy of Timon is not that he loses his wealth, by this point I feel the core tragedy is he becomes incapable of recognizing the ones who truly love him. He loses his wealth, he finds new wealth. The money is not the point. And it illustrates one of my favorite prosperity points -- money comes from known and unknown sources. He finds enough of a fortune to restore his lifestyle -- and chooses not to. He seems to engage in a process of purification. He is harsh and unsparing in his hatred of the flattering courtiers who disappointed him. The three people who geniunely care for him show up - Captain Alcibaides, Apemantus and Flavius the steward (changed to a woman's role for this production) cannot break through his isolation. Flavius almost succeeds -- there is a genuine affection between the two. Timon appears to acknowledge it but ultimately sends her away. He gives her gold, which she rejects, throwing it back to him. He gives it to her again and she rejects it again.
Personally I think that's a mistake. I don't know whether it's the direction or the actress' choice. From the director's point of view (which is usually how I look at things) I honestly don't think that Flavius would/should reject the gold. I agree that she would put up an initial struggle. But the gold is ultimately a token of Timon's affection toward her and I would think she would accept it under those terms. She should accept it for Timon's sake, not out of greed. If nothing else, the wounded look on Timon's face should change her mind.
But nobody asked me.
It dawned on me -- it was not rejection, Timon is not about rejection, but purification. He is on the path of non-attachment. First he was at the effect of his wealth (his constant avoidance of Flavius' warnings shows that he never really mastered it) then at the effect of his bitterness. He suffers because he was attached to the wealth and flattery. Then, at the end, he is free - "Nothing brings me all things" -- he has attained an almost Zen attitude.
I was pre-disposed to enjoy Allyn Burrows' performance as Timon after all the work we'd put in. I thought - mistakenly - that it would hold few surprises. I had forgotten that the process of running lines is largely intellectual and a performance will take on a life of its own - especially with Shakespeare. It was a perfect counterpoint - the humorous, frequently manic ensemble provides a backdrop for Allyn's Timon to unravel against. And unravel he does -- from dignified affluence down to the depths of bitter madness. There are flashes of danger in his performance along with the Shakespearean attitude of joy through all emotions. Another lesson for me that acting is not about the words - even when the words are this important. That acting takes place through the words and in the silences.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The Italian for Window
Teaching Chekhov/Stanislavski at Brookline Adult Ed has forced me to revisit the works of both these men and I have tried to do so with "beginner's mind". I have found that Stanislavski has very little to do with "Method Acting" to the point where I consider "The Method" at worst a corruption and at best an entirely different technique. Method seems to go after emotions, grab them by the throat and shake them till they give over their secrets.
Stanislavski is more subtle -- focusing on one's tasks, on one's goals, the emotions are ignored until, like cats, they come to demand attention. I agree with his opinion that emotions and other elements of the psyche belong to the subconscious and cannot be controlled or forced. They must be wooed. I had a friend in college who was convinced that Chekhov was a comedy writer. There is a key moment in Chekhov's Three Sisters when Irina, the youngest, starts running around screaming "I've forgotten the Italian for window!"
"How can you take that seriously?" she asked me. I already had an issue with Three Sisters, finding the main characters rather whiney, and I readily agreed with her. Chekhov, played for laughs. I had no idea how to deal with this character, who seemed to enjoy a lot of advantages but somehow treated life like a huge crisis.
There was also my other, rather pompous friend who said with great authority, "It's not about three women who don't go to Moscow, it's about three women who fight like hell to get there."
He was quoting someone, I forget who. And I think he was mistaken about what the play means, but more on that later.
Returning to the texts after some distance has helped me understand them better. We are working with three of the plays: The Seagull, Three Sisters and Uncle Vanya. And, yes, we are doing the "I've forgotten the Italian" scene.
I understand now that my classmates were wrong -- Chekhov does not sit easily on one team or another. His works are neither deep tragedy or rollicking comedy. I think what makes them so modern, what makes them part of the foundation of modern theatre is their ambiguity. They are a series of truthful moments, some funny - some sad, like our lives. They can lead us to scorn or compassion depending on how we look at them. And, unlike Shakespeare where the characters tell the audience about themselves, these plays reveal themselves slowly. People speak indirectly and sometimes not very honestly.
Re-examining these plays I am amazed at their hold on us. I think initially a lot of us study these plays because we have to, a good theatre student knows Chekhov and Stanislavski. We frequently pretend to like them, privately wondering what makes them so great. We watch the productions with forced attention and then forget about them. I think it's because we don't really know how to study them. These plays reveal themselves slowly, you need to spend time with them. Working the scenes in class has given me a deeper perspective, as the students become more adept at creating the moment-to-moment reality of the characters. I see that what is written on the page is only a fraction of the communication between them.
For example, in one of our Uncle Vanya scenes, when Vanya took Yelena's hand, our Yelena said, "You're disgusting" - which was the line - and began to giggle. This was not indicated anywhere in the script but rang perfectly true. It revealed Yelena's ambiguity perfectly.
The most powerful lesson I've had about Chekhov was not in a theatre or classroom at all. I was working in the corporate world at the time, as a financial advisor and I was telling a colleague about a play I had worked on. I started to tell her that a character came on from "stage left" but was suddenly unsure which side stage left was. For the record, it is the actor's left, but in that moment I felt a sudden panic, a loss of what I'd always considered an intrinsic piece of information, a part of myself.
It was the same loss that drives Irina when she can't remember her Italian vocabulary. And in my own panic I suddenly understood her, understood her battle and her frustration. I suddenly knew I could direct the play, having had a gut-level understanding of it.
Looking at the play this year, it also revealed a new meaning to me, one that has nothing to do with Moscow. Yes, the sisters all whine about Moscow. But I think the truth of the play is in Irina when she talks about a sense of benediction she feels as she sits for her teacher's exam. And at the end of the play, when her fiance (who she didn't love anyway) is dead, she says,
"Tomorrow I shall go to the school and be a teacher. I will give my life to those who need it."
The core of the play is Irina finding her mission. Who cares if she makes it to Moscow?
Stanislavski is more subtle -- focusing on one's tasks, on one's goals, the emotions are ignored until, like cats, they come to demand attention. I agree with his opinion that emotions and other elements of the psyche belong to the subconscious and cannot be controlled or forced. They must be wooed. I had a friend in college who was convinced that Chekhov was a comedy writer. There is a key moment in Chekhov's Three Sisters when Irina, the youngest, starts running around screaming "I've forgotten the Italian for window!"
"How can you take that seriously?" she asked me. I already had an issue with Three Sisters, finding the main characters rather whiney, and I readily agreed with her. Chekhov, played for laughs. I had no idea how to deal with this character, who seemed to enjoy a lot of advantages but somehow treated life like a huge crisis.
There was also my other, rather pompous friend who said with great authority, "It's not about three women who don't go to Moscow, it's about three women who fight like hell to get there."
He was quoting someone, I forget who. And I think he was mistaken about what the play means, but more on that later.
Returning to the texts after some distance has helped me understand them better. We are working with three of the plays: The Seagull, Three Sisters and Uncle Vanya. And, yes, we are doing the "I've forgotten the Italian" scene.
I understand now that my classmates were wrong -- Chekhov does not sit easily on one team or another. His works are neither deep tragedy or rollicking comedy. I think what makes them so modern, what makes them part of the foundation of modern theatre is their ambiguity. They are a series of truthful moments, some funny - some sad, like our lives. They can lead us to scorn or compassion depending on how we look at them. And, unlike Shakespeare where the characters tell the audience about themselves, these plays reveal themselves slowly. People speak indirectly and sometimes not very honestly.
Re-examining these plays I am amazed at their hold on us. I think initially a lot of us study these plays because we have to, a good theatre student knows Chekhov and Stanislavski. We frequently pretend to like them, privately wondering what makes them so great. We watch the productions with forced attention and then forget about them. I think it's because we don't really know how to study them. These plays reveal themselves slowly, you need to spend time with them. Working the scenes in class has given me a deeper perspective, as the students become more adept at creating the moment-to-moment reality of the characters. I see that what is written on the page is only a fraction of the communication between them.
For example, in one of our Uncle Vanya scenes, when Vanya took Yelena's hand, our Yelena said, "You're disgusting" - which was the line - and began to giggle. This was not indicated anywhere in the script but rang perfectly true. It revealed Yelena's ambiguity perfectly.
The most powerful lesson I've had about Chekhov was not in a theatre or classroom at all. I was working in the corporate world at the time, as a financial advisor and I was telling a colleague about a play I had worked on. I started to tell her that a character came on from "stage left" but was suddenly unsure which side stage left was. For the record, it is the actor's left, but in that moment I felt a sudden panic, a loss of what I'd always considered an intrinsic piece of information, a part of myself.
It was the same loss that drives Irina when she can't remember her Italian vocabulary. And in my own panic I suddenly understood her, understood her battle and her frustration. I suddenly knew I could direct the play, having had a gut-level understanding of it.
Looking at the play this year, it also revealed a new meaning to me, one that has nothing to do with Moscow. Yes, the sisters all whine about Moscow. But I think the truth of the play is in Irina when she talks about a sense of benediction she feels as she sits for her teacher's exam. And at the end of the play, when her fiance (who she didn't love anyway) is dead, she says,
"Tomorrow I shall go to the school and be a teacher. I will give my life to those who need it."
The core of the play is Irina finding her mission. Who cares if she makes it to Moscow?
Saturday, May 8, 2010
The Trouble with Timon
For the last month or so, I've been meeting with Allyn Burrows at the Somerville headquarters of Actor's Shakespeare Project to run lines. He is opening later this month in the lead role in their production of Timon of Athens.
Timon of Athens has never been my favorite play. My first encounter with it was at age 10 in the Lambs "Tales from Shakespeare" where, after I finished reading it, thought, "huh?" put it out of my mind and avoided it whenever I could.
I'm way north of 10 now but I literally cringed when I heard that Actor's Shakespeare Project, my favorite place to volunteer, was planning a production of Timon. I had just ushered for Othello, their latest show. I was on the bus from Tremont, headed to the Hynes subway with one of the other ushers. Together we griped about this decision. He acknowledged it was one of Shakespeare's "problem children." But he pointed out that he'd never seen A.S.P. do a mediocre production of anything, so if anyone could bring out the best in Timon, it would be them.
I agreed with this point, but silently resolved to sit this one out. Then I was asked to help the lead actor run lines. In spite of my antipathy toward the play, I agreed. By this point (way, way north of 10 years old!), I've learned that if I dislike a play that intensely, I probably have something to learn from it.
Also, as a theatre teacher, having the opportunity to witness an actor's process has been a rare treat. Since I'm primarily a director, working with an accomplished actor has provided me with fresh insights. Allyn did not require me to like the play -- in fact he completely validated my initial reaction to it. But having the text under such focused scrutiny and hearing his insights began to change my attitude. It became like having a mini-tutorial on this difficult play.
Timon is a challenging character -- a wealthy, generous man who gives beyond his means and is surrounded by false friends.
I started to see some patterns emerge that related to my prosperity training -- Timon gives and gives, but never accepts anything in return, not even repayment that is due him. There is a sense of discomfort with his wealth - he's not happy unless he's feeding or gifting everyone. There are some disturbing declarations about desiring to be poorer so that he would be closer to his friends. As Catherine Ponder often reminds us our reality is created by our words. And when he does become poor, he himself warns his servant to hold a positive attitude. This is all in keeping with a prosperity practice.
Then, for Timon, it all falls apart. It's like a prosperity lesson gone horribly wrong. And more and more, I asked myself, what did he do wrong?
It seems that Timon's fall is not so much from his financial reversals but from his loss of faith. When his friends disappoint him, his trust in humanity is shattered. By the time he finds a fortune in gold, in one of the biggest moments of serendipity ever (literally, since serendipity means finding gold when you're digging for worms - or in Timon's case, roots) he's so far gone in bitterness, he can't even let it in.
And what's funny is that this is exactly how a prosperity practice works -- what we give out returns to us in unexpected ways. The challenge has always been to remain trusting and receptive. Not to man - which is Timon's error - but to the Universe, to Source.
And this is where Timon goes wrong - not just in his bitterness and curses, but also in being closed off from his fortune, not being receptive. Allyn had pointed out that this is a tragic play and I agree that the fatal flaw of the character -- the inability to receive -- is what brings his downfall. He puts his faith in his friends instead of Source and when they disappoint him -- as people invariably will -- he is heartbroken. To me the tragedy is not his bankruptcy but the rejection of his windfall.
At the end, Timon seems to achieve a kind of satori. Even the rage is gone. He has wisdom and detachment.
The production is shaping up nicely -- I went to an open rehearsal today. We saw the banquet scene with Timon at the crest of his wealth and then two monologues from the second half of the play. It was the first time I'd seen it on its feet and I have to say the work was excellent. It's different hearing the lines practiced and experiencing them acted, a revelation of sorts. To actually hear concern for Timon in the voice of his steward, actually witness the unspoken affection between Timon and his former war-buddy, the cynic Apemantus -- the play is taking on a richness for me that it didn't have before. And the unexpected, wild laughter of Timon when he finds the gold was shocking. While the scenes we saw were more or less a "tease-taste" of the production in the works, I could see a strong foundation had been set.
Timon of Athens has never been my favorite play. My first encounter with it was at age 10 in the Lambs "Tales from Shakespeare" where, after I finished reading it, thought, "huh?" put it out of my mind and avoided it whenever I could.
I'm way north of 10 now but I literally cringed when I heard that Actor's Shakespeare Project, my favorite place to volunteer, was planning a production of Timon. I had just ushered for Othello, their latest show. I was on the bus from Tremont, headed to the Hynes subway with one of the other ushers. Together we griped about this decision. He acknowledged it was one of Shakespeare's "problem children." But he pointed out that he'd never seen A.S.P. do a mediocre production of anything, so if anyone could bring out the best in Timon, it would be them.
I agreed with this point, but silently resolved to sit this one out. Then I was asked to help the lead actor run lines. In spite of my antipathy toward the play, I agreed. By this point (way, way north of 10 years old!), I've learned that if I dislike a play that intensely, I probably have something to learn from it.
Also, as a theatre teacher, having the opportunity to witness an actor's process has been a rare treat. Since I'm primarily a director, working with an accomplished actor has provided me with fresh insights. Allyn did not require me to like the play -- in fact he completely validated my initial reaction to it. But having the text under such focused scrutiny and hearing his insights began to change my attitude. It became like having a mini-tutorial on this difficult play.
Timon is a challenging character -- a wealthy, generous man who gives beyond his means and is surrounded by false friends.
I started to see some patterns emerge that related to my prosperity training -- Timon gives and gives, but never accepts anything in return, not even repayment that is due him. There is a sense of discomfort with his wealth - he's not happy unless he's feeding or gifting everyone. There are some disturbing declarations about desiring to be poorer so that he would be closer to his friends. As Catherine Ponder often reminds us our reality is created by our words. And when he does become poor, he himself warns his servant to hold a positive attitude. This is all in keeping with a prosperity practice.
Then, for Timon, it all falls apart. It's like a prosperity lesson gone horribly wrong. And more and more, I asked myself, what did he do wrong?
It seems that Timon's fall is not so much from his financial reversals but from his loss of faith. When his friends disappoint him, his trust in humanity is shattered. By the time he finds a fortune in gold, in one of the biggest moments of serendipity ever (literally, since serendipity means finding gold when you're digging for worms - or in Timon's case, roots) he's so far gone in bitterness, he can't even let it in.
And what's funny is that this is exactly how a prosperity practice works -- what we give out returns to us in unexpected ways. The challenge has always been to remain trusting and receptive. Not to man - which is Timon's error - but to the Universe, to Source.
And this is where Timon goes wrong - not just in his bitterness and curses, but also in being closed off from his fortune, not being receptive. Allyn had pointed out that this is a tragic play and I agree that the fatal flaw of the character -- the inability to receive -- is what brings his downfall. He puts his faith in his friends instead of Source and when they disappoint him -- as people invariably will -- he is heartbroken. To me the tragedy is not his bankruptcy but the rejection of his windfall.
At the end, Timon seems to achieve a kind of satori. Even the rage is gone. He has wisdom and detachment.
The production is shaping up nicely -- I went to an open rehearsal today. We saw the banquet scene with Timon at the crest of his wealth and then two monologues from the second half of the play. It was the first time I'd seen it on its feet and I have to say the work was excellent. It's different hearing the lines practiced and experiencing them acted, a revelation of sorts. To actually hear concern for Timon in the voice of his steward, actually witness the unspoken affection between Timon and his former war-buddy, the cynic Apemantus -- the play is taking on a richness for me that it didn't have before. And the unexpected, wild laughter of Timon when he finds the gold was shocking. While the scenes we saw were more or less a "tease-taste" of the production in the works, I could see a strong foundation had been set.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Timon, the Teacher
Timon of Athens is easily the most difficult of Shakespeare's plays. One gentleman I know has even referred to it as "one of the problem children."
So many times in the past I've gotten halfway through the script and closed it with grimace. But I've been revisiting Timon lately and have developed a new, if somewhat grudging, respect for it. Both Timon and Alcibiades, another major character, were actually historical figures. Timon was a philosopher noted for his misanthropy (Apemantus, a philosopher who appears in the play, foreshadows Timon's fall) and Alcibiades, another major character, was an Athenian military leader of rather mutuable patriotism. But it goes deeper than mere biography.
The play on one level is a depiction of Timon's fall from wealth and generosity to bitter, impoverished exile in the woods outside Athens. I initially found this storyline alienating so I had never really explored it in depth. Now as I review it, I see not just the objective process by which Timon lost his wealth but the thought processes as well.
On the esoteric level, I think Shakespeare was using the text of the play as a prosperity lesson. Timon behaves like a prosperity student gone horribly wrong. He starts out fine -- wealthy and generous, he shares all he has. But there are flaws and problems inherent in his thoughts -- he refuses repayment when it is due and expresses poverty thought throughout the beginning of the play. Toni Stone, my prosperity teacher, would point out that Timon is literally turning money away.
In prosperity training, we learn to manage our thoughts and words. In this light Timon's very words are suspect - to his friends he says:
Later on he says to his friends,
This is one of his fatal flaws -- he cannot be in relationship except when he is needed or when he needs. But deeper than that, he seems to wear his wealth with discomfort and there is an underlying anxiety to his generosity. This reflects in his words -- try as he may to manage his thoughts, saying, --
It's not even that his friends are untrustworthy, the problem is with his focus, it's way too narrow. He expects his generosity to come back from these very people, a score-keeping mentality, whereas in reality you never know where the answer will come from. This is where the problem frequently gets worse before it gets better, a process called "chemicalization" by Emilie Cady, a writer affiliated with Unity Church. Emilie Cady was a Christian theologian, but I find her ideas correspond well with any philosophy.
Chemicalization, as the prosperity teachers explain it, is actually part of the process, the problem working itself out, rather like a pimple that becomes bigger before it pops. This is the challenge, to stick to the action, thoughts and words that create value.
Timon, on the other hand, falls into poverty thought and vengeance. This is the fall from grace that destroys him. It's a complete and total loss of faith. He stages a mock-feast, raging against his former friends, then embraces a self-imposed exile. Before he leaves, he delivers a series of scathingly bitter curses outside the walls of Athens, full of imagery that disrupts the natural order.
Even when he finds gold later on, he's so destroyed that he cannot turn from his course of action. The gold he gives away to the enemies of his former home. Even in his misanthropy, he cannot keep anything for himself.
Timon has proven himself to be one of my deeper teachers. Even the "problem child" plays have something valuable to say.
So many times in the past I've gotten halfway through the script and closed it with grimace. But I've been revisiting Timon lately and have developed a new, if somewhat grudging, respect for it. Both Timon and Alcibiades, another major character, were actually historical figures. Timon was a philosopher noted for his misanthropy (Apemantus, a philosopher who appears in the play, foreshadows Timon's fall) and Alcibiades, another major character, was an Athenian military leader of rather mutuable patriotism. But it goes deeper than mere biography.
The play on one level is a depiction of Timon's fall from wealth and generosity to bitter, impoverished exile in the woods outside Athens. I initially found this storyline alienating so I had never really explored it in depth. Now as I review it, I see not just the objective process by which Timon lost his wealth but the thought processes as well.
On the esoteric level, I think Shakespeare was using the text of the play as a prosperity lesson. Timon behaves like a prosperity student gone horribly wrong. He starts out fine -- wealthy and generous, he shares all he has. But there are flaws and problems inherent in his thoughts -- he refuses repayment when it is due and expresses poverty thought throughout the beginning of the play. Toni Stone, my prosperity teacher, would point out that Timon is literally turning money away.
In prosperity training, we learn to manage our thoughts and words. In this light Timon's very words are suspect - to his friends he says:
"...more welcome are ye to my Fortunes
Than my fortunes are to me."
Later on he says to his friends,
"Why I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you."
This is one of his fatal flaws -- he cannot be in relationship except when he is needed or when he needs. But deeper than that, he seems to wear his wealth with discomfort and there is an underlying anxiety to his generosity. This reflects in his words -- try as he may to manage his thoughts, saying, --
"...Never speake, nor thinke,
That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sinke."
It's not even that his friends are untrustworthy, the problem is with his focus, it's way too narrow. He expects his generosity to come back from these very people, a score-keeping mentality, whereas in reality you never know where the answer will come from. This is where the problem frequently gets worse before it gets better, a process called "chemicalization" by Emilie Cady, a writer affiliated with Unity Church. Emilie Cady was a Christian theologian, but I find her ideas correspond well with any philosophy.
Chemicalization, as the prosperity teachers explain it, is actually part of the process, the problem working itself out, rather like a pimple that becomes bigger before it pops. This is the challenge, to stick to the action, thoughts and words that create value.
Timon, on the other hand, falls into poverty thought and vengeance. This is the fall from grace that destroys him. It's a complete and total loss of faith. He stages a mock-feast, raging against his former friends, then embraces a self-imposed exile. Before he leaves, he delivers a series of scathingly bitter curses outside the walls of Athens, full of imagery that disrupts the natural order.
Even when he finds gold later on, he's so destroyed that he cannot turn from his course of action. The gold he gives away to the enemies of his former home. Even in his misanthropy, he cannot keep anything for himself.
Timon has proven himself to be one of my deeper teachers. Even the "problem child" plays have something valuable to say.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Tooth Fairy, Othello and Dr. Shakespeare
I can say with conviction that the Actor's Shakespeare Project's current production of Othello is worth getting up early the day after a tooth extraction because I just did it. I was scheduled to usher for the 10 am performance and my dentist suddenly rescheduled my appointment. I couldn't say no to this dentist because God knows when I'd get a new appointment and I couldn't strand my house manager.
It was worth it, it was so worth it!
Part of it was my dentist and her team had done a great job so I had minimal pain and drama. The other part was that the production of Othello was so absorbing that it overrode every other consideration.
Othello is one of my favorite plays and I've seen it done several times. And we all know it, we know how it ends. It takes a great deal of craft to bring a classic play to life in a fresh way, in a way that restores its sense of surprise. Judy Braha, the director, made excellent choices so that many of the familiar moments took us unawares. Even the fight choreography, seamlessly folded in to the staging by Robert Najarian, was character-driven and appropriate to each personality.
Jason Bowen brought a stern sense of command to the title role within the first few minutes of his entrance. This was clearly a seasoned military man, not easily disturbed, a big-hearted, courageous man. Portrayed by Bowen, it is these vitues and his integrity that makes him a pawn for Ken Cheeseman's Iago who plays him like a fish on a hook. But it's like landing a marlin -- this Othello is not an easy mark. This Iago has to work for his prey -- the watchfulness in Cheeseman's eyes makes us wonder if maybe this time Othello will get away. And because Iago has to work for it, we lose our certainty of the outcome - it's like seeing the play with fresh eyes. The sense was not that we were here to see a great albeit well-worn classic, but rather to see something that has never happened before.
The craftsmanship in Bowen's Othello revealed the process of his destruction -- we could literally see the moment where he began to doubt Desdemona. His Othello spoke to the universal experience of jealousy and loss -- anyone who had every been betrayed in love could bleed with him.
For an Othello of this power to fall, the actor playing Iago must be equally strong and much, much subtler. It's no accident that the phrase "heart on my sleeve" comes from this play -- although the line belongs to Iago, this is exactly what Othello does. Othello is not a subtle man, he is a man of heart and action. Ken Cheeseman's Iago, on the other hand, seemed to be following the advice from another well-known play, appearing like the innocent flower while being the serpent underneath it.
There was a worn quality to this Iago, we could see a man who had worked long and hard then been denied in a way that fueled his rage. Standing in formation with the rest of Othello's officers he was perhaps a bit less crisp and polished than they were, revealing a weariness of long-standing discipline in his body language. His military mannerisms were deeply ingrained and the product of long habit. Another facet he revealed was an earthy glee reminiscent of a Dennis Leary, a bad-boy sense of delight. He could even be...likeable. He was dangerous, even to the audience, because he could enroll us in his cause.
The supporting characters are usually treated as an afterthought, pawns in Iago's game. Even Desdemona, who is so pivotal but has very little stage-time -- as most of Shakespeare's women. Here she was played with passion and a good deal of lively spine by Brooke Hardman. When Othello's affections suddenly turn, her shock and confusion is so truthful, she brings a truthfulness beyond the standard Shakespearean heroine and reveals a living, breathing woman who can understand why her relationship has suddenly turned abusive. But this is no delicate flower -- Ms. Hardman's Desdemona is playful, willful -- one kick-ass lady who fights first for her convictions, later for her life in the final confrontation. Between her spirit and Othello's moments of ambivalence, we think she might pull through. So again, an old story becomes suddenly new and when we see the choice, it comes as a shock.
Paula Langton was also a suprise -- it wasn't until I read the program that I realized she was cast in dual parts. As the Duke, she carried her authority with grace and held such polish, I didn't recognize her as the same actress when she reappeared as Emilia, Iago's wife. Where Desdemona is dealing with the shock of her man's behavior suddenly turning, Ms. Langton's Emilia shows us a survivor of long-standing abuse and neglect who somehow still hopes it will change. There is an undercurrent of sadness to her, a woundedness. Her theft of the hankerchief holds a sudden logic, it becomes something that could possibly earn her some emotional currency -- or at least attention -- from her husband. She is clearly caught between the remnants of her love for her husband and her protective affection for Desdemona. Ms. Langton walks the tightrope of loyalties with tremendous elegance.
Then there is Cassio, played by Michael Forden Walker. Usually Cassio is just a pretty boy. Walker's Cassio has a touch of darkness -- we sense he has a drinking problem, rather than a naive unused to liquor. In the scenes with Bianca (the sinuous Denise Marie) we see that he is feeling more than he would like to for a powerful, playful woman as well a touch of inappropriate attachment to Desdemona. Since he seems much more self-aware than the average Cassio, these blind spots give him more depth.
With these characers so well fleshed out, Iago's job becomes harder and he becomes more interesting. Ken Cheeseman definitely rose to the task. This is a play about shattered trust and its victims. The set echos Othello's splintered self and fluidly leads us from one scene to the next. It's playing till the end of this week and I recommend it highly.
It was worth it, it was so worth it!
Part of it was my dentist and her team had done a great job so I had minimal pain and drama. The other part was that the production of Othello was so absorbing that it overrode every other consideration.
Othello is one of my favorite plays and I've seen it done several times. And we all know it, we know how it ends. It takes a great deal of craft to bring a classic play to life in a fresh way, in a way that restores its sense of surprise. Judy Braha, the director, made excellent choices so that many of the familiar moments took us unawares. Even the fight choreography, seamlessly folded in to the staging by Robert Najarian, was character-driven and appropriate to each personality.
Jason Bowen brought a stern sense of command to the title role within the first few minutes of his entrance. This was clearly a seasoned military man, not easily disturbed, a big-hearted, courageous man. Portrayed by Bowen, it is these vitues and his integrity that makes him a pawn for Ken Cheeseman's Iago who plays him like a fish on a hook. But it's like landing a marlin -- this Othello is not an easy mark. This Iago has to work for his prey -- the watchfulness in Cheeseman's eyes makes us wonder if maybe this time Othello will get away. And because Iago has to work for it, we lose our certainty of the outcome - it's like seeing the play with fresh eyes. The sense was not that we were here to see a great albeit well-worn classic, but rather to see something that has never happened before.
The craftsmanship in Bowen's Othello revealed the process of his destruction -- we could literally see the moment where he began to doubt Desdemona. His Othello spoke to the universal experience of jealousy and loss -- anyone who had every been betrayed in love could bleed with him.
For an Othello of this power to fall, the actor playing Iago must be equally strong and much, much subtler. It's no accident that the phrase "heart on my sleeve" comes from this play -- although the line belongs to Iago, this is exactly what Othello does. Othello is not a subtle man, he is a man of heart and action. Ken Cheeseman's Iago, on the other hand, seemed to be following the advice from another well-known play, appearing like the innocent flower while being the serpent underneath it.
There was a worn quality to this Iago, we could see a man who had worked long and hard then been denied in a way that fueled his rage. Standing in formation with the rest of Othello's officers he was perhaps a bit less crisp and polished than they were, revealing a weariness of long-standing discipline in his body language. His military mannerisms were deeply ingrained and the product of long habit. Another facet he revealed was an earthy glee reminiscent of a Dennis Leary, a bad-boy sense of delight. He could even be...likeable. He was dangerous, even to the audience, because he could enroll us in his cause.
The supporting characters are usually treated as an afterthought, pawns in Iago's game. Even Desdemona, who is so pivotal but has very little stage-time -- as most of Shakespeare's women. Here she was played with passion and a good deal of lively spine by Brooke Hardman. When Othello's affections suddenly turn, her shock and confusion is so truthful, she brings a truthfulness beyond the standard Shakespearean heroine and reveals a living, breathing woman who can understand why her relationship has suddenly turned abusive. But this is no delicate flower -- Ms. Hardman's Desdemona is playful, willful -- one kick-ass lady who fights first for her convictions, later for her life in the final confrontation. Between her spirit and Othello's moments of ambivalence, we think she might pull through. So again, an old story becomes suddenly new and when we see the choice, it comes as a shock.
Paula Langton was also a suprise -- it wasn't until I read the program that I realized she was cast in dual parts. As the Duke, she carried her authority with grace and held such polish, I didn't recognize her as the same actress when she reappeared as Emilia, Iago's wife. Where Desdemona is dealing with the shock of her man's behavior suddenly turning, Ms. Langton's Emilia shows us a survivor of long-standing abuse and neglect who somehow still hopes it will change. There is an undercurrent of sadness to her, a woundedness. Her theft of the hankerchief holds a sudden logic, it becomes something that could possibly earn her some emotional currency -- or at least attention -- from her husband. She is clearly caught between the remnants of her love for her husband and her protective affection for Desdemona. Ms. Langton walks the tightrope of loyalties with tremendous elegance.
Then there is Cassio, played by Michael Forden Walker. Usually Cassio is just a pretty boy. Walker's Cassio has a touch of darkness -- we sense he has a drinking problem, rather than a naive unused to liquor. In the scenes with Bianca (the sinuous Denise Marie) we see that he is feeling more than he would like to for a powerful, playful woman as well a touch of inappropriate attachment to Desdemona. Since he seems much more self-aware than the average Cassio, these blind spots give him more depth.
With these characers so well fleshed out, Iago's job becomes harder and he becomes more interesting. Ken Cheeseman definitely rose to the task. This is a play about shattered trust and its victims. The set echos Othello's splintered self and fluidly leads us from one scene to the next. It's playing till the end of this week and I recommend it highly.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Starting Stanislavski
It's official - I got the call from BACE today. My Chekhov & Stanislavski class is going forward tomorrow night with 5 students.
My goal in doing this is not to turn out perfect Stanislavski actors -- that takes semesters of intensive work. My goal is to give them a taste of the technique, to encourage them to explore this work in detail. I've had at least three or four solid Stanislavski-based teachers - all totally different - and learned a great deal from all of them. You can take the same technique, any school of acting you choose, hand it over to four teachers and they will each find something different in it. The Stanislavski system itself is a prime example - it gave rise to Meisner, Adler, HB and, to some degree, Strasberg. All different, all have their point of view and their value. I don't absolutely love them all. For example, I'm not mad for Method myself -- I much prefer Meisner -- but I have colleagues I respect who swear by it. And my attitude is, whatever works.
Of the four, I freely admit I'm most partial to Meisner. The best teachers I've had were Meisner-influenced and Meisner principles. Over the years I've discovered that most of the actors I admire studied with him.
The thing is, it takes many teachers and many ideas to bring a student to mastery. As I'm putting the finishing touches on my lesson plans, my overall question is - what is useful here? What will inspire them to go deeper on their own? How can they take these ideas and own them?
And there will be some who are shocked that I'm irreverent to this great master. I will admit I'm a fairly irreverent person. My second Estragon from my NYC production of "Waiting for Godot" quit halfway through rehearsals with the complaint that I wasn't treating Beckett with the appropriate reverence. I was lucky enough to replace him - and quickly - with absolute clone of Bert Lahr (the resemblance between the two was eerie) who was as irreverent as I was.
I'm almost done with Stanislavski's book and do not intend to follow it slavishly. My first goal is to create a safe environment for my class, so I will start with the exercises for physical awareness and set up a protocol for feedback. This is not just to safeguard egos, but to train them in observation. It may seem structured at first but I've had good results with it in other classes. Also, this process keeps the students in the audience invovled in what they're seeing. They know they'll be questioned at the end of each scene. What qualities does X have? What did you see? What did they do? What works?
These are important questions. And these are the questions we will all be limited to. The magic is not in the question themselves, but in how each student answers them, in how they hone their own process of observation.
I have tomorrow's class mapped out already - intros, presentation of each student onstage, then some exercises. Also, the prepared monologues. There will probably be some discussion about Stanislavski and why he was so important, but this will mostly be a class about doing.
We also have to create physical safety, so we will start with the focus on the Actor's Instrument which as you all probably know, is the voice and body.
After all, I don't want any would-be Kolyas breaking glass props in their hands.
My goal in doing this is not to turn out perfect Stanislavski actors -- that takes semesters of intensive work. My goal is to give them a taste of the technique, to encourage them to explore this work in detail. I've had at least three or four solid Stanislavski-based teachers - all totally different - and learned a great deal from all of them. You can take the same technique, any school of acting you choose, hand it over to four teachers and they will each find something different in it. The Stanislavski system itself is a prime example - it gave rise to Meisner, Adler, HB and, to some degree, Strasberg. All different, all have their point of view and their value. I don't absolutely love them all. For example, I'm not mad for Method myself -- I much prefer Meisner -- but I have colleagues I respect who swear by it. And my attitude is, whatever works.
Of the four, I freely admit I'm most partial to Meisner. The best teachers I've had were Meisner-influenced and Meisner principles. Over the years I've discovered that most of the actors I admire studied with him.
The thing is, it takes many teachers and many ideas to bring a student to mastery. As I'm putting the finishing touches on my lesson plans, my overall question is - what is useful here? What will inspire them to go deeper on their own? How can they take these ideas and own them?
And there will be some who are shocked that I'm irreverent to this great master. I will admit I'm a fairly irreverent person. My second Estragon from my NYC production of "Waiting for Godot" quit halfway through rehearsals with the complaint that I wasn't treating Beckett with the appropriate reverence. I was lucky enough to replace him - and quickly - with absolute clone of Bert Lahr (the resemblance between the two was eerie) who was as irreverent as I was.
I'm almost done with Stanislavski's book and do not intend to follow it slavishly. My first goal is to create a safe environment for my class, so I will start with the exercises for physical awareness and set up a protocol for feedback. This is not just to safeguard egos, but to train them in observation. It may seem structured at first but I've had good results with it in other classes. Also, this process keeps the students in the audience invovled in what they're seeing. They know they'll be questioned at the end of each scene. What qualities does X have? What did you see? What did they do? What works?
These are important questions. And these are the questions we will all be limited to. The magic is not in the question themselves, but in how each student answers them, in how they hone their own process of observation.
I have tomorrow's class mapped out already - intros, presentation of each student onstage, then some exercises. Also, the prepared monologues. There will probably be some discussion about Stanislavski and why he was so important, but this will mostly be a class about doing.
We also have to create physical safety, so we will start with the focus on the Actor's Instrument which as you all probably know, is the voice and body.
After all, I don't want any would-be Kolyas breaking glass props in their hands.
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