Laura Collins-Hughes, in this Sunday's New York TIMES, interviews various actors appearing on Broadway, in Shakespearean roles. The crux of the article is that performing Shakespeare, for anyone, can be a daunting trek.
Big surprise, eh?
It isn't just about being "on Broadway", either. It is about stepping out, that first time, when you are doing Shakespeare. The role may be something as simple as a guard on the palace parapet or a soldier on the battlefield. Or, it may be Romeo, or MacBeth or Juliette's Nurse...playing any character, from the tragedies to the comedies and back, requires a toolbox of multiple compartments. Playing Shakespeare, in any form, also marks the moment when you know: I am an actor.
I know.
Back in 1977, I was King Lear's "Fool". (I've never been the same, since...)
It was an all female production at an all-female college in a time when females were struggling to define new roles for themselves. Of course we understood the irony: in Shakespeare's day, NO FEMALES were allowed--even playing the very-feminine roles. (How many snide giggles rendered in High School English classes, across the world, at this historic revelation?) But, we were all fired up, and ready to take on the Bard's Ghost, himself, if need be, in hand-to-mouth combat atop the proscenium stage at Wells College.
Luckily, it never came to that.
An African American Senior, who we were all positive would become the first female president of the United States, was cast as King Lear. She was tall. She was talented. She could spit syllables like a classically trained actor. More importantly, she could memorize the Bible, if need be. (I was sure she was related to Maya Angelou and Teena Turner...such was her stage presence and vocal range...) She towered over me, putting the fear of Zeus into me, as I cowered at her slippered feet. Only a Junior at the time, I had longed to be cast next to her, after we played in "Godspell". (She was the controversial "Judas" character and I, a mere "Apostle"-who-juggles...) Perhaps that pairing opened the Director's imagination. A year later, I found myself walking, slightly hunchbacked, and carrying a rat's skull rattle, behind the raging "Lear".
Our biggest scene together was on the moors--in a thunderstorm. (It was also my most intimidating.) In previous Acts, I get to come across as mouthy, but wise. (Perhaps the only member of the household who gets to tell Lear the truth of his life without losing my own.) Not so in this dramatic turning point of the play. Lear has gone, truly mad. The elements conspire (elementally) to give him a wet wake-up call. (I am, it seems, no longer really needed.) All I can do is try to lead him out of the storm and towards some kind of shelter--our height difference, as well as our gravitas--cruelly outlined against the raging lightning bolts. My wit serves neither of us. Not only do I lose all "power" to the storm, the greatest help I can muster is a trembling voice and a silly "Hey Nonny No" as we disappear into the night.
For me, learning the Bard's poetry via dialogue was not so difficult.( Like "Lear", herself, my mind was still bright and well-tuned to such diversions.) However, unlike "Lear"s trained alto, my own singing voice had been compared to Chinese half-tones. (Sounds seldom heard on English speaking stages. Even far less in American college theatre.) I was terrified!
"Practice in the shower, in bed, when you are running between buildings!" our esteemed Director had directed me.
Dorm-mates rushed into the shower-room, sure I was being attacked, at my first "rehearsal". My entire floor began a petition: to have Minns- silent- by- ten p.m.- each night, and got the Resident Advisor to post it on the main floor. I scared grounds- crewmen (as well as small animals) if I sang between the buildings, on my way to various classes. So, it was only, in the wee hours when everyone else was asleep, that I could sneak into the theatre, via a cracked basement window, and crawl through the boiler room, to the stage, above, to practice. The building, itself, was not so old as some on the very old campus, but it was old enough. And, it was a theatre. Legit. Filled with haunted dreams, if nothing else. My voice cracked, at the slightest weird sounds in the shadowed hall. There were many...
Even though I'd done well in "Godspell", the year before, it was more or less based on my juggling ability and my recorder solo in the show, not on my vocalizations. Not being a dancer of any sort, even my dancing exceeded my singing ability.
"Some of us can sing; others can dance; still others find their way onstage because of their 'presence' in a production. Let's leave it at that, shall we, Minns?" our Director had announced to the entire company.
So, I did. (Never questioning the "how" of my theatre career--only now, questioning the "why"?)
The self-same Director had suddenly cast me as "Lear's Fool".
"She knows you can act. It IS funny: you and Lear are so physically...mismatched..." my best friend, herself a dance major at the time, assured me. "Look, I'm only cast as this "male suitor" that gets killed, stupidly...and she wants me to play him as a gay guy! Clearly, she isn't casting for looks!"
(My quick intake of breath alerted my friend to her faux pas.)
"Oh come on, I didn't mean it like that! You know what I mean! You can act. That's what she wants!
And you get to be one of the big roles--the Fool! I'd give ...something...to have landed the part; it's classic; it's, it's SHAKESPEARE, Minns!"
Seeing as we had both been in the cast of "Godspell", I forgave her. She was right: it WAS Shakespeare!
(She was also the person that gave me a shot of Jack Daniels, each night, about an hour before we hit the stage.)
It loosened me up for the first scene, and lubricated my throat for the storm.
I threw up after each performance.
(Sometimes, I threw up before.)
Lear, herself, as "King", was magnificent. (While still not president, she is, however, doing something "very big" in Washington, D.C.)
My friend, the dance major, continues to sing, dance and act, to this day, even as her full-time occupation is as a psychologist. She never again played a gay, male character, though.
And I made it through "King Lear" with decent reviews.
(Years later, I even had some lead roles on-stage, in southern California--though never singing, and never in Hollywood.)
Reading the actor interviews, today, in the Sunday TIMES, I am thrown backwards. Yes. Yes. I, too, was "there":
all the acrobatic warm-ups: the sit ups; the stair running and yoga positions; the vocalized animal sounds; all of it that the Broadway Shakespearean actors utilize, I did make use of, back in my day.
I was similarly terrified.
(Worked just as hard.)
And waited, with bated breath, for what the audience would remember.
For me: not a single line of the play sticks in my brain. (However, the bite of the whiskey, the roar of the thunder sheet, and the flop-sweat of the King, remain lodged, as if it were yesterday.)
Some things remain priceless.
Big surprise, eh?
It isn't just about being "on Broadway", either. It is about stepping out, that first time, when you are doing Shakespeare. The role may be something as simple as a guard on the palace parapet or a soldier on the battlefield. Or, it may be Romeo, or MacBeth or Juliette's Nurse...playing any character, from the tragedies to the comedies and back, requires a toolbox of multiple compartments. Playing Shakespeare, in any form, also marks the moment when you know: I am an actor.
I know.
Back in 1977, I was King Lear's "Fool". (I've never been the same, since...)
It was an all female production at an all-female college in a time when females were struggling to define new roles for themselves. Of course we understood the irony: in Shakespeare's day, NO FEMALES were allowed--even playing the very-feminine roles. (How many snide giggles rendered in High School English classes, across the world, at this historic revelation?) But, we were all fired up, and ready to take on the Bard's Ghost, himself, if need be, in hand-to-mouth combat atop the proscenium stage at Wells College.
Luckily, it never came to that.
An African American Senior, who we were all positive would become the first female president of the United States, was cast as King Lear. She was tall. She was talented. She could spit syllables like a classically trained actor. More importantly, she could memorize the Bible, if need be. (I was sure she was related to Maya Angelou and Teena Turner...such was her stage presence and vocal range...) She towered over me, putting the fear of Zeus into me, as I cowered at her slippered feet. Only a Junior at the time, I had longed to be cast next to her, after we played in "Godspell". (She was the controversial "Judas" character and I, a mere "Apostle"-who-juggles...) Perhaps that pairing opened the Director's imagination. A year later, I found myself walking, slightly hunchbacked, and carrying a rat's skull rattle, behind the raging "Lear".
Our biggest scene together was on the moors--in a thunderstorm. (It was also my most intimidating.) In previous Acts, I get to come across as mouthy, but wise. (Perhaps the only member of the household who gets to tell Lear the truth of his life without losing my own.) Not so in this dramatic turning point of the play. Lear has gone, truly mad. The elements conspire (elementally) to give him a wet wake-up call. (I am, it seems, no longer really needed.) All I can do is try to lead him out of the storm and towards some kind of shelter--our height difference, as well as our gravitas--cruelly outlined against the raging lightning bolts. My wit serves neither of us. Not only do I lose all "power" to the storm, the greatest help I can muster is a trembling voice and a silly "Hey Nonny No" as we disappear into the night.
For me, learning the Bard's poetry via dialogue was not so difficult.( Like "Lear", herself, my mind was still bright and well-tuned to such diversions.) However, unlike "Lear"s trained alto, my own singing voice had been compared to Chinese half-tones. (Sounds seldom heard on English speaking stages. Even far less in American college theatre.) I was terrified!
"Practice in the shower, in bed, when you are running between buildings!" our esteemed Director had directed me.
Dorm-mates rushed into the shower-room, sure I was being attacked, at my first "rehearsal". My entire floor began a petition: to have Minns- silent- by- ten p.m.- each night, and got the Resident Advisor to post it on the main floor. I scared grounds- crewmen (as well as small animals) if I sang between the buildings, on my way to various classes. So, it was only, in the wee hours when everyone else was asleep, that I could sneak into the theatre, via a cracked basement window, and crawl through the boiler room, to the stage, above, to practice. The building, itself, was not so old as some on the very old campus, but it was old enough. And, it was a theatre. Legit. Filled with haunted dreams, if nothing else. My voice cracked, at the slightest weird sounds in the shadowed hall. There were many...
Even though I'd done well in "Godspell", the year before, it was more or less based on my juggling ability and my recorder solo in the show, not on my vocalizations. Not being a dancer of any sort, even my dancing exceeded my singing ability.
"Some of us can sing; others can dance; still others find their way onstage because of their 'presence' in a production. Let's leave it at that, shall we, Minns?" our Director had announced to the entire company.
So, I did. (Never questioning the "how" of my theatre career--only now, questioning the "why"?)
The self-same Director had suddenly cast me as "Lear's Fool".
"She knows you can act. It IS funny: you and Lear are so physically...mismatched..." my best friend, herself a dance major at the time, assured me. "Look, I'm only cast as this "male suitor" that gets killed, stupidly...and she wants me to play him as a gay guy! Clearly, she isn't casting for looks!"
(My quick intake of breath alerted my friend to her faux pas.)
"Oh come on, I didn't mean it like that! You know what I mean! You can act. That's what she wants!
And you get to be one of the big roles--the Fool! I'd give ...something...to have landed the part; it's classic; it's, it's SHAKESPEARE, Minns!"
Seeing as we had both been in the cast of "Godspell", I forgave her. She was right: it WAS Shakespeare!
(She was also the person that gave me a shot of Jack Daniels, each night, about an hour before we hit the stage.)
It loosened me up for the first scene, and lubricated my throat for the storm.
I threw up after each performance.
(Sometimes, I threw up before.)
Lear, herself, as "King", was magnificent. (While still not president, she is, however, doing something "very big" in Washington, D.C.)
My friend, the dance major, continues to sing, dance and act, to this day, even as her full-time occupation is as a psychologist. She never again played a gay, male character, though.
And I made it through "King Lear" with decent reviews.
(Years later, I even had some lead roles on-stage, in southern California--though never singing, and never in Hollywood.)
Reading the actor interviews, today, in the Sunday TIMES, I am thrown backwards. Yes. Yes. I, too, was "there":
all the acrobatic warm-ups: the sit ups; the stair running and yoga positions; the vocalized animal sounds; all of it that the Broadway Shakespearean actors utilize, I did make use of, back in my day.
I was similarly terrified.
(Worked just as hard.)
And waited, with bated breath, for what the audience would remember.
For me: not a single line of the play sticks in my brain. (However, the bite of the whiskey, the roar of the thunder sheet, and the flop-sweat of the King, remain lodged, as if it were yesterday.)
Some things remain priceless.
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