… And I Don’t Want to Say Goodbye

The End.  Yes, I begin this blog with “the end,” for the show is over.  Today I had to say goodbye to Annie.  I don’t want to.  I really don’t want to.

Cathy (Kate Keller) tonight told a friend that she’s ready for the show to be over.  She enjoyed it, but she’s ready to move on.  I can’t blame her.  That’s how I feel most of the time.  It isn’t that I don’t enjoy the experience, but by the time the last performance rolls around I feel that it has run its course, and I’m ready to move on.  For me, with this show, though, it’s so different.  I truly loved Annie.  There’s no telling how long I could have played her before getting tired and ready to move on.

I can’t believe it’s over.  There were points today when I had flashbacks to the early rehearsals.  The culmination of all that work into performance seemed so far away.  Now, it’s so far past.

Time is such a silly contrivance.

A few of us … a very few … met at El Giro’s tonight after strike for a last gathering.  It was so nice.  We talked about the show and other random things.  I wasn’t emotional.  I verged on it once or twice, but I wasn’t emotional … until I came home.  Something about the thought of setting down my bag in its usual spot, knowing I’d never again pick it up again to go recreate Annie, struck me so hard.  I cried like I lost a living person.  That one line from the show still haunts me.  “… and I don’t want to say goodbye.”  It’s amazing to me.  I’ve been spit on nightly, kicked, slapped, and doused with water, but I don’t want it to end.  I’ve never known a play to be so rewarding.

It deserved so much more than it got.  Not a single house was sold out.  I expected this weekend to be packed, at least for one of the nights, based on word of mouth alone.  Even a non-cast member/regular theatre-goer said she had expected the same.  Not a single performance was, though.  I don’t know what to think of it, except that it fell through the cracks, in that unfortunate black-hole-spot in the season.  Shows in this seasonal slot always get overlooked for some reason.  I have no explanation for it, only I usually end up in these very shows.  Go figure.

I’ll be fine.  Life goes on, and I’m not a basketcase.  But I will grieve the loss of Annie, which is fine.  She very much deserves to be grieved.  I’m just so very grateful I ever had the chance to know her in this way.  The blessings I’ve gained from doing this show will be carried with me throughout the rest of my life.  They are so great that I find it hard to believe there was ever a life before this.  My poor Annie.  She thought she was only teaching Helen, and Helen ended up being her only pupil in all of her life.  She didn’t know she was teaching me, as well.  At one point in her letters, she said that she needed a teacher as much as Helen.  Well, I feel that I’m her pupil as much as Helen.  In a very different way, of course, but profound nonetheless.

Thank you so much, Annie.  I wish you could have known God the way that I know Him, but one thing is certain for me.  He knew YOU, and He placed you there, not only for Helen’s sake, but for all of us.  You are a glorious gift to me for which I am immeasurably grateful.

In The Zone

I am home winding down after tonight’s performance.  I finally had Annie with me.  I was so pleased.  Many nice remarks followed, for which I was grateful, but I didn’t need them.  It was enough just feeling that naturalness of being in the moment and knowing that everything coming out of me was genuine.  What a blessing!  During intermission, John (Capt. Keller) asked me how I felt about tonight. I told him I felt really good about it.  When the show was over, he again turned to me and said he didn’t feel like he had such a good night, but he could tell I was in the zone.  Now that it’s nearly all over, I finally reached my goal for Annie.  Isn’t that how it always works.

Tomorrow (or today, by the time this is posted) it all ends.  I started tonight’s show a little emotional just thinking about it, and I really did lose it on the line “… and I don’t want to say goodbye.”  In fact, I don’t even know if that line was coherent.

My sister brought me the most beautiful arrangement of roses tonight.  My boss brought me roses last night, and my parents brought me some last weekend.  I also received the sweetest little arrangement of hydrangea and carnations from my friend Jo Ann on opening night.  I have now officially run out of vases.  Not a bad problem to have.

Before the show tonight I was able to spend a little time reading some of Annie’s letters.  I am constantly amazed at how true to life the playwright was able to create this script.  In the particular letter I read last, Annie gives an account of battling Helen over her table manners which is the source of the “breakfast scene.”  William Gibson lifted most of the actions, and the sequence for them, right out of her letter.  It’s awe inspiring and humbling to realize we really are recreating history.  It’s not just someone’s interpretation of it, but the very real thing.

I suppose the blog should naturally end tomorrow, but I have a feeling it won’t.  There is still a little more to say.  Besides, I have pictures.

Approaching The Final Three

I can’t believe it, but we’re now officially past the halfway mark.  Only three performances left.

How strange to say “only.”  I’m usually happy to do a show, and happy to finish it, as well.  Not so when I was a kid.  I remember crying when a show would end.  I wanted the experience to go on and on.  I wanted to see my new friends every night, as I had grown accustomed.  Mainly, though, I usually loved my character, loved the challenge of making her real, and I didn’t want that to end.  Then I entered college.  I took on roles that meant nothing to me in shows I didn’t particularly like.  I learned that not every production is a good experience.  I learned how it was to feel unappreciated in what you’re doing no matter how hard you try.  I also learned that no matter how much I enjoyed doing a show, it’s ending was always met with a new show, a new role, and seeing my cast mates in class the next day, same as usual.  I grew in college.  I don’t mean to knock it.  I credit my professors for breaking some of my old bad habits and breaking me out of my shell.  I think I got what I needed there, but I also feel that somewhere along the line I lost the magic.  I still loved acting and wanted to make it my life, and I had many good experiences, too.  But in the process of becoming more professionally minded, the spark I had as a child was stifled, perhaps.  Since returning to theatre a few years ago, I’ve observed others get emotional as a play came to a close and regarded it with some indulgence.  It’s usually the newcomers or the young.  Those of us who’ve been around a while know there will be another play, another role, another chance to play dress up and hopefully dazzle an audience.  The ending of a show isn’t an end for us.  Not really.  Even the prospect of losing touch with newly found friends doesn’t phase us because we know our paths will cross again in some other show down the line.  But the truth here is that I’ve never before had the opportunity to play a role which meant so much to me, and I don’t know if I ever will again.  Even if I am ever again so privileged, it’s doubtful that I’ll again have the privilege of playing Annie, and I dread telling her goodbye.

“But with all the fights and all the trouble I’ve been here, this place taught me what help is and how to live again, and I don’t want to say goodbye.”    ~Annie Sullivan

One of the greatest joys in theatre is having the chance to “try on” different personalities, different lifestyles, different outrageous, courageous, romantic or intense situations, but like any real attribute, it can turn into a fault.  Sometimes you want a little more time than to just “try on” a character.  You get to know her, make her your friend, or you at least want to continue getting to know her, and it’s hard to say goodbye.

Yesterday was a special performance for area school children.  The deaf/blind school was there, and the theatre provided interpreters for the performance.  I’ve been so proud of this production on so many levels.  I’m proud of the play itself for being so worthy a story and so masterfully told.  I’m proud of the cohesiveness in the cast.  I had a blip of conflict with Morgan (Helen), but I’m fond of her, and she has truly worked hard.  It has been so fascinating to watch her grow into Helen.  Toni (Viney) is in her first show … ever!  It’s been an emotional ride for her, and I’m so proud of her for stepping out of her comfort zone.  Michael (James Keller) has driven from Gulf Shores every day to attend rehearsals.  John and Cathy (Capt. and Kate Keller) have poured their hearts in their roles.  I’ve performed with John before and grew very fond of him then.  I love seeing him strut around on the stage as the bombastic Captain.  I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him in a bad mood.  Cathy is someone I’ve known and loved for years, but this was our first time to share a stage.  I was so excited for the chance to finally work with her after seeing her obvious talent and professionalism displayed in other productions.  One of my favorite moments on stage is between her and me, when she holds out her hand and I surprise her by placing in it my fist.  She looks me in the eye with confusion on her face, and I say, “A.  The first of many.  Twenty-six.”  She squeezes my hand with a look of understanding, hope, and gratitude.  I love us in that moment for the connection we share.  And the kids!!  Oh my goodness, how fond I have grown of Everett (Percy) and Lee (Jimmie).  Two more well-behaved and quiet mannered boys you could not find.  Amber (Martha) has entertained all of us to no end with her 9-going-on-19 dramatics.  I’ve never seen a child quite like her.  And I all the “blind girls” I just adore.   I can’t name them all, and some I’ve spent more time with than others, but they all fascinate me in one way or another.  I’m so grateful all the work offstage, too.  Our set is just fantastic. Sean gives 110% without ever losing his cool.  He and Vicky have a lot of props and set dressing to contend with, so I just can’t get over how even and agreeable their attitudes remain when nitpicking requests are made.  Have I forgotten someone?   Ha ha!  Ivan.  Ivan has let his affection for this show be known.  I’m so proud of him for pouring his heart into it, for truly loving Helen and Annie, and seeing the richness available in each character, making sure we see it, too.

I am most proud, however, of how much this show has inspired our theatre to reach out into our community.  Often in community theatre we expect the community to reach out to us.  “Come work on our sets!  Come see our shows!!  Come audition for us!  Come, donate money!”  Almost immediately from this play being scheduled, people began finding ways to make it accessible to more people.  Allyson worked on getting schools booked for a special performance.  Our entire cast and crew took vacation time and stayed out of school to do it.  Danette arranged to make the show accessible to the deaf by providing sign language interpreters for a couple of performances, one being yesterday’s.  This is art as it was truly intended by the greatest Artist of all.  Maybe there are those whose greatest aspiration is to create art that perfectly reflects life, warts and all.  For me, the greatest aspiration is to create art that inspires.  That is art which goes beyond life, and I don’t think there can be anything greater.

When I arrived at the theatre yesterday morning, one of the children from a local school had just arrived.   He was wearing the crested jacket that is his school’s uniform, though I couldn’t recognize the school.  His father had just let him out of the van parked in front of the theatre.  He was in a motorized wheelchair.  I was so proud that he came to see this play about hidden possibilities, perseverance, and the truth about disabilities.  I hoped it would speak to him, as I hope it speaks to everyone.  I’m not often one to heavily promote a show I’m in.  I mean, I want people to come see my shows, but I don’t want anyone to feel obliged just because I’m in it and asked them to come.  However, this is a show I wish everyone could experience, much like a girl who falls in love wants everyone to meet her new beau.  I am so charmed with this play that I want everyone to meet it.  I wish everyone could come see what I see and be moved by it as I’ve been moved.  Please come and be uplifted, moved, and inspired.  You deserve it.

And The Result Is….

Success!!!  A standing ovation and one extra bow.  The comments during the lobby party when we greeted the audience were all complimentary, as they always are.  The deviation from the norm came in the remarks on how many tears were shed during the performance.  Even the men were admitting to shedding a token tear.  Comments like those are the kind which let you know the compliments are more than mere politeness.  One woman approached me having already spoken to our Helen and someone else … our Jimmie, maybe? … because she just had to tell me how impressed she was with the show, and tell me at length she did … with tears in her eyes.

I’d forgotten how hard it is to get any food at a lobby party when you’re in the cast.  Everybody wants to talk to you.

Oh, and if you were wondering, our Helen did really well last night.  She finally found her focus.  Also, Cathy (Kate Keller) reached a new level with Kate at our final dress and is still on fire.  I also had never seen Michael (James Keller) perform his role so well before.

Now, how do I feel about my performance last night?  Okay.  It was okay, but I’m still not satisfied.  I haven’t yet accomplished the connection with the character I want to achieve.  Maybe I do have something substantial in common with Annie.  I’m not as bold and brash, but I am rather relentless in trying to make the connection I want.  She was driven to make a connection with a little girl caged in perpetual silent darkness, and I’m driven to connect with my characters, each and every one, caged in a script and depending on me to find a way of releasing them.   My performance last night was fine; I just know that I can do better, and I want to do better.  I don’t know what anyone else saw, but I know how I felt, and it’s not there yet.  Not yet.

You might think opening night would be the natural dramatic conclusion of this blog, but there is still too much to say.  There are old thoughts I want to catch up on during our few days off from the show, and there is still the challenge out there ahead of me.  Six more performances.  One of them will give me what I’m looking for.

“I need only time to push one of them into her mind.  One, and everything under the sun will follow.  Don’t you see what she’s learned here is only clearing the way for that?”             ~ Annie

Anticipation

It’s the big day!!  Opening night is tonight!!  Woh!  I thought it would never get here.  I have eaten up every moment and run the gamut of emotions.  It seems an eon ago when I first dove into my research and met with a sign language interpreter from the Alabama Institute for Deaf and Blind for pointers.  Helen Keller’s autobiography still rests at my bedside, abandoned once rehearsals demanded that my full attention be given to the script and left me no time for extracurricular reading.  I hope to finish it before ending the show’s run.

I expected this role to challenge me, and it certainly has, only not in the way I expected.  I had eagerly anticipated exploring the rich emotional terrain of this gloriously complex woman, but the greatest challenge has been to my endurance and fortitude, my resolve, my focus, my adaptability, and my boldness.  Isn’t it funny how the challenges found in a particular role will reflect the challenges one is finding in real life at a given moment?  The last week has revealed to me just how far I am from possessing some of the traits I find most admirable in Annie.  Yet, Annie is forcing me to face this, and, more than that, to start adopting them in the course of this very show.  I am often far too accommodating … a pushover, you might say … and I’m afraid this unfortunate trait may have been a source of my difficulty with the child this last week.  I wanted her to like me in order to feel comfortable with me on stage and develop that crucial level of trust we needed.  Instead, she came to see me as an equal, more like another child than an adult.  I get frustrated with the girl, but I have a feeling it’s my own bed I’m lying in.  So, now I am forced to be more like Annie, not caring if the girl likes me as long as we can accomplish our goals within the show.

People always ask me before an opening night if I’m nervous, and the answer is always “no.”  It’s not the answer they expect, but if I know what I’m doing, it doesn’t matter who is watching, and that’s what rehearsals are for.  I have had a case of the butterflies this time around, though.  It started out as genuine fear as we entered the 1st dress rehearsal.  I felt unprepared.  Then it became a fear of the unknown in what distractions the little girl would throw at me.  Last night I was finally able to kick off our final dress rehearsal with confidence in what I was doing and what I would face.  I feel like I have a good foundation underneath me now, but when we blocked the curtain call heavy sensation fell over me … and a new thrill.

I approach each production as a collaboration, and the bigger my role, the heavier my responsibility to the rest of the cast.  It may be a great honor, but the responsibility is more important.  An actor cast in a leading role should appreciate it and feel honored, but cannot afford the indulgence of pride.  As we entered the week of dress rehearsals I certainly felt the weight of that responsibility, and much of the nervousness I felt could be attributed to wondering whether I would be up to meeting expectations.  The weighty feeling as we blocked the curtain call, however, was the flip side of that coin.  It was complete awe.  I’ve had big roles before and enjoyed the final position in a curtain call, but most have been in ensemble shows or shared with other leads.  As I came on stage for the first walk-through,  I felt the focus being clearly pointed at me and realized this was a whole new ballgame.  What a thrill — What an honor — What a truly humbling experience.

Never Work With Animals or Kids

That was W.C. Field’s philosophy.  Not only do they steal your limelight (which, I believe, was the joke), but they can be extremely difficult to work with.  Not only is their comprehension limited, they have no concept of teamwork and are driven by their baser desires.

Kids are little egos walking around on two legs.  Come on!  They don’t have to have an important lead in a play to think the world revolves around them.  And when it comes to following a routine, they will vacillate between stretching its boundary to encompass their whims and being critical of you for deviating from it in the least.  So, in a play I’d say that kids are great! –but they aren’t much fun.

Our little Helen is an intelligent little girl, and I took to her right away.  I determined early on that I wanted to earn her trust because we would be going through a lot together through the course of this show.  A lot would be demanded of both of us, so we needed to trust one another.  Of course, I can only control my own trustworthiness.  I can do nothing about hers.

A couple of days ago Cathy (Kate Keller) and I had to finally approach the director individually and insist something be done about the girl’s behavior on stage.  She had developed the dual bad habits of talking incessantly under her breath at us on stage and doing her best to gobble up as much of the food during dinner table scenes until she completely lost focus and left us little food with which to work by the scene’s end.  In Monday night’s dress, I was so frustrated by the breakfast battle scene that it was very, very real.  Unfortunately, her attitude became even more indignant with me, complaining the whole way through at me for pulling loose her pinafore ties, or telling me to give her this food /not that food, or trying so hard to get at some food that she forgets a step in the fight.  I was exhausted at the end of the fight and miserable by the end of the night.  So much so, that I dreaded the next rehearsal.

We took a break for Mardi Gras, for which I was extremely grateful.  I escaped into a little revelry, but I’m afraid it wasn’t enough to dispel my sourness over the last week’s hellacious  rehearsals.  I knew Ivan (the director) had corresponded with the girl’s mother and received an apology along with a promised apology and correction of behavior from the girl.  I expected some improvement, but how much?

Last night went much more smoothly, although she’s still a kid and still gets lost in the novelty of having running water on stage, wanting to see if she can pump it enough to make it overflow the washtub, or getting too worried about missing out on a pickle to notice her cue to drop a napkin.

I knew this role would be a challenge, but I had no idea how much.  I really had no idea.

*Sigh*

Posted via email from traicetrak’s posterous

A Few Rehearsal and Publicity Pics

That of which I speak….

See and download the full gallery on posterous

Can I Not Finish a Post?

I’ve begun two since the last one was published.  I just can’t seem to get one finished to save my life … and there was so much I wanted to say!!  I wanted to talk about the show’s multi-layered themes and the social aspects of the story which are so relevant today.  Things are moving quickly now, though, and before I can finish a post, it seems, we’ve moved on and it all becomes irrelevant.  The j-o-b has become hectic lately, too, on top of being in a show swiftly moving toward production.

We had pictures taken yesterday in costume for publicity, and today I was interviewed over the phone by the Mobile Press.  It should appear in this Sunday’s edition.  Keep your eyes peeled!

In The Thick Of Things

Well, we are now into … let’s see … the third week of rehearsal, and just a couple of days ago we crossed the threshold of a month until opening.

I don’t get emotional with gratitude anymore because I’m so bogged down with the minutiae of remembering choreography and learning lines.  Character research has taken a back seat to mapping out the very complicated blocking.  There are so many small details written into the paragraphs and even pages of stage direction, and each one adds so much to characterization, I’m having to be vigilant to not accidentally skip anything.

I have two big bruises on the tops of my knees.   From whence they came, I have no idea.

I’m learning creative eating on the go.  Last night’s schedule: Get off work 25 mins. until church Bible study.  Stop by Chik-Fil-A® drive-thru for a sandwich and lemonade.  Eat 1/4 of sandwich on rest of the drive to church.  After an hour at church, have 30 mins. until rehearsal.  Eat 1/2 of the sandwich while driving by the house to let the dog out and change shoes.  Take the lemonade with me to rehearsal.  Come home 2 1/2 hrs. later to eat last quarter of the sandwich.

I may end up losing weight in this part after all, between my abbreviated meals and the physically involved scenes.  Woohoo!

I’ve been concentrating so hard on getting the physically intricate scenes with Helen to flow more smoothly that I’ve completely neglected the scenes of heavy dialogue with the Kellers.  Last night I had the joy of stumbling all over my “asylum monologue” with my nose stuck firmly in my script.  My subtext consisted of:  “Why the heck did I end that sentence in that pitch? … Ooh, there’s a comma.  Missed it.  Shucks. … I’m just rambling.  I sound like an idiot.  Get on track now!  Pay attention. … Shoot!  I did that vocal thing he just told me I do!  Back up and fix it?  No, I can’t! … Oh, John just sneezed.  And there went Cathy, too.  I can’t concentrate!  This is hopeless!!”

I dreaded getting notes on that one.  He (the director) has been going pretty easy on me in the notes department, choosing to tweak what the other actors more often.  Or so it has seemed.  I knew it couldn’t last.  Ai, me….

He didn’t critique me as much as I expected, but it’s always funny to watch myself receive the criticism from the inside.  I think I’m pretty poised on the outside.  I usually describe myself as being able to handle it rather well, without taking anything personally.  Criticism goes with the territory with being an actor.  You have to toughen up, develop a thick skin and learn how to take it!  Otherwise you’ll let it make you miserable or a failure.  Or a miserable failure.  I sit there taking in his critiques (always well said, I must say) about line delivery and characterization, and as soon as I hear one, my mind starts trying to digest it by finding the reason I hadn’t already come up with that.  Then I soothe my ego by telling myself that I probably would have come up with it on my own, given time.  “Once I’m not so bogged down in technicalities, that would have come to me,” I’ll say to myself.  Usually to myself.  I fortunately manage to hold my tongue from making such excuses most of the time.  So what if I would have discovered it on my own somewhere down the line?  I don’t have to, now, because the director did it for me.

Actors and their darn egos, eh?  Actors are some of the most annoyingly insecure people you’ll ever meet, always needing validation.  They can also be among the bravest.  The ones willing to touch that vulnerability I spoke of last time, risking the exposure of their own through that of a character, have something brave about them.  I think everyone sees it, too.  True acting isn’t about convincing an audience that you’re something you’re not.  It’s about exposing everything you truly are from behind the eyes of a character.  It’s truth wearing a disguise, which isn’t the same as a lie, because everyone is in on it.  That’s why some of our best loved and respected actors have a wild side.  There’s something dangerous and edgy about letting just anyone see that you hurt and how deep the wounds may be.

Discovering Strength

The scene I’m working on at this moment is the climactic dinner scene, and amazing things are revealed to me.  The most fascinating discovery as I work over the lines is fear.  I didn’t really expect that from Annie.  She’s so bold and brash.  As I said before, she isn’t concerned with acceptance when she arrives at Ivy Green, and it carries through in her whole struggle to effectively teach Helen.    So here, in this climactic power struggle between Annie and the Kellers, I’d pictured her indignant, plucky, and unrelenting in her focus on what needed to be done for Helen’s sake.  I was surprised to find her so vulnerable.

But then, why should I be surprised?  In every strong character I’ve ever studied, as well as every strong person I’ve ever known, the humanity of their strength is hidden in their vulnerability.

While studying lines, I’m visualizing the scene as though I’m in it.  It helps with the memorization, but it helps with characterization as well.  This is where my childhood tendency towards daydreaming comes in handy.  I’ll find myself immersed in the moment, maybe for only a couple of seconds … for a couple of lines, but I am fully there.  I saw myself as Annie staring into the eyes of Mrs. Keller (Cathy Bouler) as the family bombards me with pleas to ignore Helen’s little faux pas meant to test my authority in order that the whole family may peacably enjoy her homecoming, and suddenly, although the words remaining strong, I feel my eyes pleading with her.  Annie’s worst fear is on the verge of coming true.  It all hangs in the balance of Kate’s decision:  allow her emotion for her daughter to rule or fully entrust her to Annie.   In this one moment, all that Annie has built up in Helen is threatening to come crumbling down around her and all she’s sacrificed to be for naught.   So, it’s no wonder I felt such harsh urgency at the scene’s conclusion during rehearsal several nights ago as Annie hisses out at them, “Don’t get up.  Don’t smooth things over for me.  Don’t undo what I do.”  By that point she’s nearly like a cornered animal (a comparison I frequently make in performing anger such as this), lashing out at whomever comes near for the sake of self-preservation.  The focus narrows down to one, sole purpose: survival.  For Annie, her own survival means the survival of her work.  She won’t be able to identify herself through any relationship until after Helen discovers language.  At this point, all she has is her work.

I find this affirmed the more I work.  Be brave enough to find, experience, and truly know a characters vulnerability, and their strength will develop naturally.  Yin and Yang.  One doesn’t exist without the other.