acting? thank you! part deux
It's been a while since I posted about my acting class, hasn't it? Fear not, I did not drop out. I'm still enrolled and going strong... save for the occasional absence to attend highfalutin fancy pants fashion shows.
Even though the class scares the bejesus out of me, I'm really loving it. I feel invigorated after I leave each week, similar to an endorphin rush after a good workout or something. I only have a few more classes to go, which is hard to believe. Not sure that I'll be running out on auditions or anything afterwards but still, I'm grateful for the experience and proud of myself for doing what was once the unthinkable. Perhaps my inner ham will once again cry out for some training and refinement. We'll see.
Over the past two months, I've been working on various exercises from Uta Hagen's A Challenge for the Actor. There are 10 exercises total and I've completed three of them so far.
Oh man, I just got a nervous twinge in my belly inspired in part by guilt for using this free time to blog instead of preparing the fourth exercise for tomorrow's class. The rest of the nervous flutter comes courtesy of my deeply-entrenched fear of performing in front of people. Yup, that's still intact. I don't know that I'll ever conquer it but I have been kicking its ass and then some in the past few attempts.
In addition to performing these exercises, I've been doing a bit of improv in the class, which seems to be my real strength. The practiced exercises make me nervous because I have too much time to think and worry about what I'm doing, whereas the whole fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants element of improvisation doesn't give me time to freak out in advance. And bonus! Improvisation really complements my disdain for preparation.
Preparing and practicing my exercises and arranging for props ahead of time is like homework and it totally bums me out. I used to be really conscientious about school stuff but I've found that I've regressed as I've gotten older. I'm all unmotivated, resentful of authority and I automatically lose interest in stuff whenever it becomes mandatory.
Oh sweet Jesus, it would appear that I've turned into a Eddie Haskell/Mallory Keaton/Willie Oleson/John Bender/The Gooch from Diff'rent Strokes hybrid. Now that's attractive.
Anyhoo, the improv exercises in class are my real bread and butter. We've recently begun doing études, in which two class members are called up on stage and each given a very short script. The actors quickly look over the text and decide who will be Part A and who will be Part B. Once the roles are decided, bam! Off they go right into a cold reading.
At first the lines make no sense as the actors are basically reciting words off a piece of paper to each other. But after repeated readings, the lines start taking shape. The approach, emphasis and inflection are varied each time. Eventually, there's a noticeable change in body language, posture and stance. A relationship develops and becomes apparent to the actors and audience. The lines are delivered with new purpose and meaning again and again until an improv naturally springs forth from the last delivered line.
It's exhilarating and frightening because you have no idea where you're going with it. You can only hope that the actor opposite you won't choke or lead you down a dead end scrambling for a way to salvage the exercise.
In my last class, I had a very spirited back-and-forth with a nice fella named Abe. I can't quite tell how old he is. At first glance, I thought he was about 24. I sized him up as a cocky and only in the class to meet girls. I won't say that I instantly disliked him but my impression of him was flagged for further review. Upon closer inspection, I decided it was wise to abandon any attempt to guess his age. He has no visible wrinkles or lines but there was something about his face that said "older than you think." And I realized that when he chats up the ladies (myself included), it seems to be coming from a genuinely social and well-meaning place. I am happy to retract my earlier notion that he was there to scam on chicks.
Abe's also a fun scene partner. Our exercise ran the gamut from a quiet, painful discussion between two people clearly in love to me being a knocked-up 18-year-old spouting off about my freedom of choice and accusing him of slipping me a roofie in order to get me pregnant. He disputed the paternity and suggested we take our case to Jerry Springer. I retaliated with an insult about his prowess (or lack of) in the sack, among other things.
The air crackled with energy. We never broke character but I could tell he was enjoying it as much as I was. The rest of the class just ate it up, giggling and sucking air through their teeth as Abe and I dealt each other low blow after low blow. I was pretty much called a whore without a discernable baby daddy and it.was.awesome. Even better was when the knock-down-drag-out scene ended, Abe and I shook hands and congratulated each other with warm words of praise and big smiles.
On a related theatrical note, I went to see The Little Dog Laughed today. I loved it. Wonderfully written, imaginatively staged and brilliantly performed. Oh, and I want to marry Julie White. She was phenomenal. If that high praise is not incentive enough, you get to see Johnny (David from Roseanne) Galecki's weiner and Tom Everett Scott's bum. I know I'm a lesbian and stuff but still, I was impressed. Good work, Johnny and Tom. Good work.
The show is closing on February 18 so if you're in the NYC area and in need of a play recommendation, consider this one. Enjoy!
Even though the class scares the bejesus out of me, I'm really loving it. I feel invigorated after I leave each week, similar to an endorphin rush after a good workout or something. I only have a few more classes to go, which is hard to believe. Not sure that I'll be running out on auditions or anything afterwards but still, I'm grateful for the experience and proud of myself for doing what was once the unthinkable. Perhaps my inner ham will once again cry out for some training and refinement. We'll see.
Over the past two months, I've been working on various exercises from Uta Hagen's A Challenge for the Actor. There are 10 exercises total and I've completed three of them so far.
Oh man, I just got a nervous twinge in my belly inspired in part by guilt for using this free time to blog instead of preparing the fourth exercise for tomorrow's class. The rest of the nervous flutter comes courtesy of my deeply-entrenched fear of performing in front of people. Yup, that's still intact. I don't know that I'll ever conquer it but I have been kicking its ass and then some in the past few attempts.
In addition to performing these exercises, I've been doing a bit of improv in the class, which seems to be my real strength. The practiced exercises make me nervous because I have too much time to think and worry about what I'm doing, whereas the whole fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants element of improvisation doesn't give me time to freak out in advance. And bonus! Improvisation really complements my disdain for preparation.
Preparing and practicing my exercises and arranging for props ahead of time is like homework and it totally bums me out. I used to be really conscientious about school stuff but I've found that I've regressed as I've gotten older. I'm all unmotivated, resentful of authority and I automatically lose interest in stuff whenever it becomes mandatory.
Oh sweet Jesus, it would appear that I've turned into a Eddie Haskell/Mallory Keaton/Willie Oleson/John Bender/The Gooch from Diff'rent Strokes hybrid. Now that's attractive.
Anyhoo, the improv exercises in class are my real bread and butter. We've recently begun doing études, in which two class members are called up on stage and each given a very short script. The actors quickly look over the text and decide who will be Part A and who will be Part B. Once the roles are decided, bam! Off they go right into a cold reading.
At first the lines make no sense as the actors are basically reciting words off a piece of paper to each other. But after repeated readings, the lines start taking shape. The approach, emphasis and inflection are varied each time. Eventually, there's a noticeable change in body language, posture and stance. A relationship develops and becomes apparent to the actors and audience. The lines are delivered with new purpose and meaning again and again until an improv naturally springs forth from the last delivered line.
It's exhilarating and frightening because you have no idea where you're going with it. You can only hope that the actor opposite you won't choke or lead you down a dead end scrambling for a way to salvage the exercise.
In my last class, I had a very spirited back-and-forth with a nice fella named Abe. I can't quite tell how old he is. At first glance, I thought he was about 24. I sized him up as a cocky and only in the class to meet girls. I won't say that I instantly disliked him but my impression of him was flagged for further review. Upon closer inspection, I decided it was wise to abandon any attempt to guess his age. He has no visible wrinkles or lines but there was something about his face that said "older than you think." And I realized that when he chats up the ladies (myself included), it seems to be coming from a genuinely social and well-meaning place. I am happy to retract my earlier notion that he was there to scam on chicks.
Abe's also a fun scene partner. Our exercise ran the gamut from a quiet, painful discussion between two people clearly in love to me being a knocked-up 18-year-old spouting off about my freedom of choice and accusing him of slipping me a roofie in order to get me pregnant. He disputed the paternity and suggested we take our case to Jerry Springer. I retaliated with an insult about his prowess (or lack of) in the sack, among other things.
The air crackled with energy. We never broke character but I could tell he was enjoying it as much as I was. The rest of the class just ate it up, giggling and sucking air through their teeth as Abe and I dealt each other low blow after low blow. I was pretty much called a whore without a discernable baby daddy and it.was.awesome. Even better was when the knock-down-drag-out scene ended, Abe and I shook hands and congratulated each other with warm words of praise and big smiles.
"Sorry I suggested that you have to spike drinks in order to get women."Ooooh... cocky AND self-deprecating. It's official: I love Abe.
"Hey, don't be sorry. I go with what works, you know?" Abe quickly countered.
On a related theatrical note, I went to see The Little Dog Laughed today. I loved it. Wonderfully written, imaginatively staged and brilliantly performed. Oh, and I want to marry Julie White. She was phenomenal. If that high praise is not incentive enough, you get to see Johnny (David from Roseanne) Galecki's weiner and Tom Everett Scott's bum. I know I'm a lesbian and stuff but still, I was impressed. Good work, Johnny and Tom. Good work.
The show is closing on February 18 so if you're in the NYC area and in need of a play recommendation, consider this one. Enjoy!
posted by curly mcdimple @ 7:01 PM :: permalink :: ::
