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.
Showing posts with label Shakespeare. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shakespeare. Show all posts
Saturday, May 8, 2010
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 9, 2010
Serving the Muse
There are many good arguments for volunteer work in any walk of life. It's recommended for career changers who want to experience a new industry, for the underemployed to beef up the resume and to learn new skills. There's the obvious do-gooder aspect to any kind of volunteer work and while I agree it's good to help any worthy cause, that's not what I'm talking about. Volunteering is an elegant and efficient method for expanding our own prosperity.
We can so easily get a little locked into ourselves - not just artists, but anyone. And any artist will tell you we don't necessarily do it deliberately. It can happen simply because it's big challenge for artists is to hold their own vision on a daily basis in the face of opposition. Volunteering increases our community of like-minded people and gives us a wider circle to hold intention with us. And a wider community increases our own prosperity as well - we can't establish prosperity in a vacuum.
Anyone familiar with prosperity practice knows that another big rule is that we can only receive what we are willing to give. Supporting another's dream through volunteering creates support for our own. To help a theatre group with their shows creates audience for ours. To go in as a volunteer is to make someone else's work a priority for the time you are there, an offering of time rather than money. There is a healing quality to this, an antidote to the tendancy to see so much of life as an exchange. It's a form of surrending, surrendering the immediate gratification of a paycheck to see a deeper result manifest in our lives.
I've volunteered a few times this year at The Actors' Shakespeare Project. They honor the plays as Shakespeare wrote them while exploring their relevance to the modern audience. I love their work - they did Midsummer Night's Dream a few weeks ago and are opening this week with Othello. I show up for a few hours and do what ever they need me to do, things I've done on any number of "B" jobs. I'm more than happy to offer these administrative skills in service of the muse. This is a group I admire and respect, one that resonates with my own passion for Shakespeare. I'm just grateful they took me on as a volunteer, just to be around their work -- beyond that they always make me feel so appreciated, I carry that feeling along with me into the rest of my life. I'm also looking at my (non-theatre) skills with more of a sense of value, because they've been "offered to the muse."
I think the most valuable lesson I've learned as a volunteer is about surrender. Surrender new ways of doing things, new priorities. Ideas that are not one's own. Trying on a different method. As a director and theatre teacher, it is too easy to hook into wanting to be in control all the time. Surrendering to another's lead shows me different points of view, making me a better leader as well. It keeps me flexible.
We can so easily get a little locked into ourselves - not just artists, but anyone. And any artist will tell you we don't necessarily do it deliberately. It can happen simply because it's big challenge for artists is to hold their own vision on a daily basis in the face of opposition. Volunteering increases our community of like-minded people and gives us a wider circle to hold intention with us. And a wider community increases our own prosperity as well - we can't establish prosperity in a vacuum.
Anyone familiar with prosperity practice knows that another big rule is that we can only receive what we are willing to give. Supporting another's dream through volunteering creates support for our own. To help a theatre group with their shows creates audience for ours. To go in as a volunteer is to make someone else's work a priority for the time you are there, an offering of time rather than money. There is a healing quality to this, an antidote to the tendancy to see so much of life as an exchange. It's a form of surrending, surrendering the immediate gratification of a paycheck to see a deeper result manifest in our lives.
I've volunteered a few times this year at The Actors' Shakespeare Project. They honor the plays as Shakespeare wrote them while exploring their relevance to the modern audience. I love their work - they did Midsummer Night's Dream a few weeks ago and are opening this week with Othello. I show up for a few hours and do what ever they need me to do, things I've done on any number of "B" jobs. I'm more than happy to offer these administrative skills in service of the muse. This is a group I admire and respect, one that resonates with my own passion for Shakespeare. I'm just grateful they took me on as a volunteer, just to be around their work -- beyond that they always make me feel so appreciated, I carry that feeling along with me into the rest of my life. I'm also looking at my (non-theatre) skills with more of a sense of value, because they've been "offered to the muse."
I think the most valuable lesson I've learned as a volunteer is about surrender. Surrender new ways of doing things, new priorities. Ideas that are not one's own. Trying on a different method. As a director and theatre teacher, it is too easy to hook into wanting to be in control all the time. Surrendering to another's lead shows me different points of view, making me a better leader as well. It keeps me flexible.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Noticing Ebb & Flow, New Cheese and In Praise of Former Students
Everything changes.
At this point, I've lost a total of four students -- all for good and proper reasons, like out of town moves and schedules. Tonight I have another one down with a sprained ankle. The weather's a bit dicey, but that by itself is not a problem. But, combining that with all the other issues, I have cancelled class for tonight.
I see that it would be easy to go a little crazy at this point. Losing students is usually considered "bad" from the business point of view. However, I recognize that the world (probably the Universe itself) is built on a rhythm of ebb and flow -- tide in/tide out, breathe in/breathe out, increase/decrease. Cycles. We humans are definitely not OK with change, as a species - have you read Who Moved My Cheese anyone? But change, inevitably, happens. The issue is not to avoid it, or to be afraid of it, the issue is to recognize that this is part of the universal rhythm and what it really means.
My weekly class grew out of a Shakespeare class I taught at Brookline Adult and Continuing Education last fall. When the class ended, many of the students wanted to keep going. So we just kept it going at one of the student's (actually two students, because it was one of two married couples in the class) house, once a week.
I can see that my class has been a good stepping stone for the students who have moved on. The very first one, Norah Dooley, from my semester at Brookline Adult and Continuing Ed, went on to a TV internship that conflicted with class. You may have heard of her - she is one of the founders of Massmouth and organizes the storytelling slams (similar to poetry slams) in the Boston and Cambridge area and has a busy performing schedule. She is also a published writer. Let's be blunt here: she is the Renaissance woman.
I can admit this freely now - I've even told her - I was actually a bit afraid of Norah when she turned up in my class. (OK, I was freakin' terrified!) She is an accomplished performer, well known in the Boston area and beyond. If she'd chosen to, she could have given me a very hard time and challenged me at every point. I know this because I've had a couple of students who have - they take a class to prove it wrong. Instead, she totally jumped into the class, participating full-out and became my strongest ally. Her interpretation of Lady Anne in the "courtship" scene from Richard III was fierce! Unlike the many I've seen who play Anne as a fragile weepy victim, Norah took a fresh take on the part, playing her with passion and outrage that gave Richard III a run for his money.
Another student was from the business world and had a tremendous breakthrough in self-expression. He's now back in his busy life of international meetings and clients, expressing his vision with more passion. The third was a young scientist, originally from China. She took my class to improve her English (after all, if you can do Shakespeare, you can pretty much do anything!) and made huge strides. All her friends, she told me, were jealous of her verbal improvement. For the record, she did not start incorporating archaic language into her daily life. Instead, the demands of Shakespeare trained her speech to a higher level of fluency in regular English. She's moving to Seattle to join her fiance.
My most recent departing student is Norah's husband, Robert Fairchild. Robert's theatrical passion is Improv and he is a seasoned performer. By his own admission, scripted acting was never his favorite, but he still brought a tremendous willingness to explore to our class. In the semester at BACE, he called us all to battle as Henry V (we would have followed him in a heartbeat!) and, with our Asian student as a delightful Ariel, he plotted vengeance as Prospero. We didn't know at the time that last week's class would be his last, but I'd say he went out on a win, with a blood-curdling interpretation of Marc Antony's "Cry Havoc" monologue.
I refuse to say this is "bad". I actually think it's pretty great. These four people played full-out in class, had their breakthroughs and are now on to new challenges. I have grown from working with them and now they are on to new dreams. I also know that they are no longer my students, they are my friends for life.
Toni Stone, of Wonderworks in Vermont, says "You get what you say you are getting." So I say that their leaving, although a bit sad, makes room for new students to come in. And if the freelance class does end, that just means the space is open for the next adventure.
I can't wait to see the good that comes out of this.
At this point, I've lost a total of four students -- all for good and proper reasons, like out of town moves and schedules. Tonight I have another one down with a sprained ankle. The weather's a bit dicey, but that by itself is not a problem. But, combining that with all the other issues, I have cancelled class for tonight.
I see that it would be easy to go a little crazy at this point. Losing students is usually considered "bad" from the business point of view. However, I recognize that the world (probably the Universe itself) is built on a rhythm of ebb and flow -- tide in/tide out, breathe in/breathe out, increase/decrease. Cycles. We humans are definitely not OK with change, as a species - have you read Who Moved My Cheese anyone? But change, inevitably, happens. The issue is not to avoid it, or to be afraid of it, the issue is to recognize that this is part of the universal rhythm and what it really means.
My weekly class grew out of a Shakespeare class I taught at Brookline Adult and Continuing Education last fall. When the class ended, many of the students wanted to keep going. So we just kept it going at one of the student's (actually two students, because it was one of two married couples in the class) house, once a week.
I can see that my class has been a good stepping stone for the students who have moved on. The very first one, Norah Dooley, from my semester at Brookline Adult and Continuing Ed, went on to a TV internship that conflicted with class. You may have heard of her - she is one of the founders of Massmouth and organizes the storytelling slams (similar to poetry slams) in the Boston and Cambridge area and has a busy performing schedule. She is also a published writer. Let's be blunt here: she is the Renaissance woman.
I can admit this freely now - I've even told her - I was actually a bit afraid of Norah when she turned up in my class. (OK, I was freakin' terrified!) She is an accomplished performer, well known in the Boston area and beyond. If she'd chosen to, she could have given me a very hard time and challenged me at every point. I know this because I've had a couple of students who have - they take a class to prove it wrong. Instead, she totally jumped into the class, participating full-out and became my strongest ally. Her interpretation of Lady Anne in the "courtship" scene from Richard III was fierce! Unlike the many I've seen who play Anne as a fragile weepy victim, Norah took a fresh take on the part, playing her with passion and outrage that gave Richard III a run for his money.
Another student was from the business world and had a tremendous breakthrough in self-expression. He's now back in his busy life of international meetings and clients, expressing his vision with more passion. The third was a young scientist, originally from China. She took my class to improve her English (after all, if you can do Shakespeare, you can pretty much do anything!) and made huge strides. All her friends, she told me, were jealous of her verbal improvement. For the record, she did not start incorporating archaic language into her daily life. Instead, the demands of Shakespeare trained her speech to a higher level of fluency in regular English. She's moving to Seattle to join her fiance.
My most recent departing student is Norah's husband, Robert Fairchild. Robert's theatrical passion is Improv and he is a seasoned performer. By his own admission, scripted acting was never his favorite, but he still brought a tremendous willingness to explore to our class. In the semester at BACE, he called us all to battle as Henry V (we would have followed him in a heartbeat!) and, with our Asian student as a delightful Ariel, he plotted vengeance as Prospero. We didn't know at the time that last week's class would be his last, but I'd say he went out on a win, with a blood-curdling interpretation of Marc Antony's "Cry Havoc" monologue.
I refuse to say this is "bad". I actually think it's pretty great. These four people played full-out in class, had their breakthroughs and are now on to new challenges. I have grown from working with them and now they are on to new dreams. I also know that they are no longer my students, they are my friends for life.
Toni Stone, of Wonderworks in Vermont, says "You get what you say you are getting." So I say that their leaving, although a bit sad, makes room for new students to come in. And if the freelance class does end, that just means the space is open for the next adventure.
I can't wait to see the good that comes out of this.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
We Won't Melt...
Class is on for tonight, in spite of the severe Boston rain. We have two scenes scheduled for tonight: Antony & Cleopatra ("Seek no color for your going but say goodbye and go") and the infamous Scottish Play -- yes, MacBeth, that delicious post-murder scene ("MacBeth shall sleep no more!").
I found this here There were a number of well-documented mishaps though history that befell actors and technicians that were performing the play Macbeth. Some of them include...
"During the first performance of Macbeth, William Shakespeare himself was forced to play Lady Macbeth when the boy designated to play her suddenly became overcome with sickness and died. King James was so displeased with the play that it was banned for five years. In Amsterdam in 1672, the actor playing Macbeth substituted the blunt stage dagger with a real one, and with killed his co-actor playing Duncan right in front of the live audience. There was even an incident in 1721 where the army had to be called in. Some hecklers were annoying some of the actors on the stage. The actors responded by attacking the hecklers with their swords. During its 1849 performance at New York's Astor Place, 31 people were trampled to death in a riot that had broken out. In 1934, British actor Malcolm Keen turned mute on stage, and his replacement developed a high fever and had to be hospitalized. In 1937, a 25 pound stage weight crashed within an inch of him Laurence Olivier (who was playing Macbeth). Not only that, but his sword broke on stage flew into the audience, hitting a man who later suffered a heart attack. And if you think that was enough bad luck for one production, think again. Both the director and the actress playing Lady Macduff were involved in a car accident on the way to the theater, and the proprietor of the theater died of a heart attack during the dress rehearsal. In the 1942, three actors in another production of Macbeth died, and the costume and set designer committed suicide. Diana Wynyard sleepwalked off the rostrum in 1948 and feel down 15 feet. In Bermuda, 1953, Charlton Heston suffered severe burns in his groin and leg from tights that were accidentally soaked in kerosene. Rip Torn's seemed to be unable to get away from the curse no matter how many times he tried. An actor's strike struck his 1970 production in New York City, two fires and seven robberies plagued the 1971 version, and finally J. Kenneth Campbell, who played Macduff, was mugged soon after the play's opening in the 1981 production. And finally, it was Macbeth that Abraham Lincoln chose to take with him on board the River Queen on the Potomac River one afternoon. The president was reading to a group of friends passages of the play that happened to follow the scene in which Duncan was assassinated. Within a week, President Lincoln himself was assassinated."
There are also those who believe that hearing talk about MacBeth backstage meant the show would be cancelled and replaced with it, because it was supposedly such a moneymaker. (Personally, I believe that this rumor came from Elizabethan press agents trying to drum up attendence.)
Would love to see if there are other sources, ideas, for this superstition.
On a lighter note, here is a clip from the 1981 Antony and Cleopatra for you to enjoy. It features Jean Lapotaire as a rather western Cleopatra but she is captivating all the same. I'd seen her as a scrappy, rather vulgar Piaf in a video of that play and have always enjoyed her work. Although this is not the scene we are working on, a lot can be learned from watching the way she listens during the scene. She is alive in her silence, an important skill to have.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
