A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage...
The end is near. We only have two weeks left, and for we Macbeth-ers, that means only four more shows. That makes me sad to think about. We've only just found out how this thing works. And each performance it grows deeper and better. And now we only get to do it four more times?
Last night in South Pasadena was a special show. I had my life-long friend Melanie there. I don't know when the last time she saw me act was, but the first time is when I was 13 in Tom Sawyer (as the rascally Huck Finn). I also had some SBTS friends from 14 years ago on hand (Karen, Matt, Eric and his pop). Had some of my New American Theatre family there (Jade, Elise and Mouncey all of whom I've known for 13 years or so). And also had some Barfly Shakespeare people there (Matt and my boy Luke who I directed in Henry IV a couple of years ago and who brought me to tears in a recent Pericles that he performed). It's often hard for me to show up to see all the things that I want. But I try. Because I know how much it means to me when people show up for me. It's so hard...especially in this city which is so spread out. And everybody is working all the time. And kids... But that only makes it that much more significant. So thank you to all those who were there on Friday night. And all of you who have made the journey along the way. It's a funny thing we do. It's ephemeral. It's an artform that exists only in the moment and in the memories of those who were there. Sure, it was filmed for local broadcast, but that isn't the same. It doesn't capture the essence of theatre. I'll post that link when all is done, but I'd much rather you came and shared the moment with us.
I was able to push all the voices out of my head last night. The demons that I battle every single time I put on the costume that whisper to me all the reasons that I can't play this part, or that it can't be played at all. My own voice that reminds me in hushed tones "don't play crazy" and "here comes that rhyming couplet that you don't know what to do with." The faint praise of actors who think they could have done it better. The beating I took 15 years ago when I played the part and people told me that I was really playing Richard. All the traitorous thoughts which fill my mind nightly were pushed away. For those glorious hours on Friday night, I banished all those thoughts and the others which I have written about here for the last several months. And I just played. I played for all of my friends in the audience. And the 700 others I never met. I played for all the moms out there: Jackie's, and Olivia's, and Melissa's, and Jessica's. Seeing all of them before the play did something to me. This parental love, that I know having two children of my own. And I played for the memory of my mom and for the memory of Mo's mom who has been gone for six months.
And I played for my dad. I was able to honor my mom with the Midsummer I directed three years ago. That was my tribute to her. My dad died a little less than a year ago. (But it was about a year ago right now that I found out that he was sick.) It happened so fast. And he died between a matinee and evening performance I did of "Moonlight and Magnolias" at the Rubicon. I saluted him that night at curtain call. But his absence is so palpable in my life. Every time I post something on facebook, I notice his absence. He was my number one fan. There wasn't a post that he didn't comment on. (Sometimes I would even have to erase some of the things he said because he was quite fiery about some things). But he was so proud of me. To hear him speak about me, you would think that I was the leading Shakespearean actor of this age. World renown. He thought I hung the moon. His belief in me was as ubiquitous as the oxygen I breathe. And it's been really hard to breathe for the last ten months.
When I played Macduff a few month ago to Jack's Macbeth (side note, BJ--my Macduff--is about to play Macbeth in another production...I can't tell you how delighted I am that there is a literal baton being passed from my mentor to me, to my dear BJ, who holds me in the same esteem that I hold Jack...I could write a whole blog on this...and maybe I will when I see it) the loss of my dad was still very present. (As it remains). Jack and I discussed the relationship of Macduff and Duncan being a father/son thing. So discovering his dead body offstage and coming on to deliver the news was infused with that. Now, I'm not a Strasberg-methody-indulgenty actor. (That sounds super judgemental of that system...and maybe I am a bit. Ultimately I don't care how any actor works to get a great performance...as long as it doesn't negatively affect the room...which very often those that are associated with this system do). However, backstage in the little theatre in Hollywood where we did Macbeth Revisited, I merely closed my eyes and the image of my dad lying in his death bed in hospice writhing while his friends played guitar and sang for him came to me. Every night. Like the ghosts that Macbeth sees. I didn't try to see it. But it came. Like my dad wanting to comment and be a part of what I was doing insisted on being a part of that too.
And so here we are nearing the end of our run. The poor player (me) strutting and fretting my hour upon the stage. Almost to be heard no more. And in that moment every night, Macbeth leaves and there is only me. This sad, aging man who has lost so much. Who never amounted to all that my dad thought I was. Naked emotionally. And even though I hack my way through two hours of this every night, hitting much right and much falsely. I know that when I look out into the audience during the "Tomorrow..." speech, for at least the moment that is the title of this blog, that there is no acting, no artifice. It is simply me coming clean. And people have responded to that. Because that's the thing about this game. When you are authentically alive in the moment, the audience recognizes truth.
Of course, now it will be shit from here on out because I have dared to claim it. Hell, last night I wept. It's not something I planned. It was just something that happened in the moment. I don't even know if that's right for the super-objective of the play. But it happened. And like I told all those people who said I didn't play "Macbeth" fifteen years ago, but rather was playing "Richard": "Well I said all the Macbeth lines, so clearly I was playing Macbeth." So, Macbeth wept at the loss of everything last night instead of being devoid of all emotion and bleak. It happened, so it was Macbeth.
This blog went a lot deeper (and far afield) from where I thought it would go. But I'm ok with that. Hell, the four people that read it probably appreciate that. I know my dear Trisha does. (My LA actor spirit animal.) She's a quarter of my audience, so if it pleases nobody but her, I'm good.
Next Friday night we do the show at Polliwog Park in Manhattan Beach. This venue is very special to me for a few reasons. I took Olivia there often when she was younger. Also, the last time I played Macbeth it had rained the night before, and the runoff from the hill gathered in a pool downstage and I had a spontaneous moment where I jumped into it to try to wash my bloody hands after killing Duncan (spoiler alert). And it was one of those things that can only happen in live theatre, where the audience gasped and knew that this was just for them.
I will continue to try to make the entire play a moment to moment experience if you come. It may be a fool's errand. But I'm still fighting the fight.
Love to you all.
Last night in South Pasadena was a special show. I had my life-long friend Melanie there. I don't know when the last time she saw me act was, but the first time is when I was 13 in Tom Sawyer (as the rascally Huck Finn). I also had some SBTS friends from 14 years ago on hand (Karen, Matt, Eric and his pop). Had some of my New American Theatre family there (Jade, Elise and Mouncey all of whom I've known for 13 years or so). And also had some Barfly Shakespeare people there (Matt and my boy Luke who I directed in Henry IV a couple of years ago and who brought me to tears in a recent Pericles that he performed). It's often hard for me to show up to see all the things that I want. But I try. Because I know how much it means to me when people show up for me. It's so hard...especially in this city which is so spread out. And everybody is working all the time. And kids... But that only makes it that much more significant. So thank you to all those who were there on Friday night. And all of you who have made the journey along the way. It's a funny thing we do. It's ephemeral. It's an artform that exists only in the moment and in the memories of those who were there. Sure, it was filmed for local broadcast, but that isn't the same. It doesn't capture the essence of theatre. I'll post that link when all is done, but I'd much rather you came and shared the moment with us.
I was able to push all the voices out of my head last night. The demons that I battle every single time I put on the costume that whisper to me all the reasons that I can't play this part, or that it can't be played at all. My own voice that reminds me in hushed tones "don't play crazy" and "here comes that rhyming couplet that you don't know what to do with." The faint praise of actors who think they could have done it better. The beating I took 15 years ago when I played the part and people told me that I was really playing Richard. All the traitorous thoughts which fill my mind nightly were pushed away. For those glorious hours on Friday night, I banished all those thoughts and the others which I have written about here for the last several months. And I just played. I played for all of my friends in the audience. And the 700 others I never met. I played for all the moms out there: Jackie's, and Olivia's, and Melissa's, and Jessica's. Seeing all of them before the play did something to me. This parental love, that I know having two children of my own. And I played for the memory of my mom and for the memory of Mo's mom who has been gone for six months.
And I played for my dad. I was able to honor my mom with the Midsummer I directed three years ago. That was my tribute to her. My dad died a little less than a year ago. (But it was about a year ago right now that I found out that he was sick.) It happened so fast. And he died between a matinee and evening performance I did of "Moonlight and Magnolias" at the Rubicon. I saluted him that night at curtain call. But his absence is so palpable in my life. Every time I post something on facebook, I notice his absence. He was my number one fan. There wasn't a post that he didn't comment on. (Sometimes I would even have to erase some of the things he said because he was quite fiery about some things). But he was so proud of me. To hear him speak about me, you would think that I was the leading Shakespearean actor of this age. World renown. He thought I hung the moon. His belief in me was as ubiquitous as the oxygen I breathe. And it's been really hard to breathe for the last ten months.
When I played Macduff a few month ago to Jack's Macbeth (side note, BJ--my Macduff--is about to play Macbeth in another production...I can't tell you how delighted I am that there is a literal baton being passed from my mentor to me, to my dear BJ, who holds me in the same esteem that I hold Jack...I could write a whole blog on this...and maybe I will when I see it) the loss of my dad was still very present. (As it remains). Jack and I discussed the relationship of Macduff and Duncan being a father/son thing. So discovering his dead body offstage and coming on to deliver the news was infused with that. Now, I'm not a Strasberg-methody-indulgenty actor. (That sounds super judgemental of that system...and maybe I am a bit. Ultimately I don't care how any actor works to get a great performance...as long as it doesn't negatively affect the room...which very often those that are associated with this system do). However, backstage in the little theatre in Hollywood where we did Macbeth Revisited, I merely closed my eyes and the image of my dad lying in his death bed in hospice writhing while his friends played guitar and sang for him came to me. Every night. Like the ghosts that Macbeth sees. I didn't try to see it. But it came. Like my dad wanting to comment and be a part of what I was doing insisted on being a part of that too.
And so here we are nearing the end of our run. The poor player (me) strutting and fretting my hour upon the stage. Almost to be heard no more. And in that moment every night, Macbeth leaves and there is only me. This sad, aging man who has lost so much. Who never amounted to all that my dad thought I was. Naked emotionally. And even though I hack my way through two hours of this every night, hitting much right and much falsely. I know that when I look out into the audience during the "Tomorrow..." speech, for at least the moment that is the title of this blog, that there is no acting, no artifice. It is simply me coming clean. And people have responded to that. Because that's the thing about this game. When you are authentically alive in the moment, the audience recognizes truth.
Of course, now it will be shit from here on out because I have dared to claim it. Hell, last night I wept. It's not something I planned. It was just something that happened in the moment. I don't even know if that's right for the super-objective of the play. But it happened. And like I told all those people who said I didn't play "Macbeth" fifteen years ago, but rather was playing "Richard": "Well I said all the Macbeth lines, so clearly I was playing Macbeth." So, Macbeth wept at the loss of everything last night instead of being devoid of all emotion and bleak. It happened, so it was Macbeth.
This blog went a lot deeper (and far afield) from where I thought it would go. But I'm ok with that. Hell, the four people that read it probably appreciate that. I know my dear Trisha does. (My LA actor spirit animal.) She's a quarter of my audience, so if it pleases nobody but her, I'm good.
Next Friday night we do the show at Polliwog Park in Manhattan Beach. This venue is very special to me for a few reasons. I took Olivia there often when she was younger. Also, the last time I played Macbeth it had rained the night before, and the runoff from the hill gathered in a pool downstage and I had a spontaneous moment where I jumped into it to try to wash my bloody hands after killing Duncan (spoiler alert). And it was one of those things that can only happen in live theatre, where the audience gasped and knew that this was just for them.
I will continue to try to make the entire play a moment to moment experience if you come. It may be a fool's errand. But I'm still fighting the fight.
Love to you all.
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