A summary of my IB theater experience so far (and the rough draft of my TPPP :p)

Early last year I was flipping through this book known as A Practical Handbook for the Actor, compiled by several authors, whom it would take too long to all reference here. Collectively, they stated the following:

« The only talent you need to act is a talent for working – in other words, the ability to apply yourself in learning the skills that make up the craft of acting. To put it simply, anyone can act if he has the will to do so, and anyone who says he wants to but doesn’t have the knack for it suffers from a lack of will, not a lack of talent. »

Curiously enough, as I’m nearing the end of my IB course this very same quote seems to sum up the essence of my experience: that most aspects of the theater arts are developed through trial and error, and the key to oiling any performance is indeed practice, practice, and more practice, and that no, there isn’t any way to around the inevitable failures and time consuming hurdles that you continuously encounter when exploring theater.

Alright, so perhaps all that may come across as rather mainstream and slightly wishy-washy, but the message (while a general conclusion) is heartfelt and honest.

We dissected classic texts such as Waiting for Godot, Doctor Faustus, Arms and Men, and Hedda Gabler, reading them and working on translating aspects of the texts into a visual image/ vision of a performance in accordance to the text. All the clues lay within the white pages, imprinted within the splattered ink figures, waiting to be noticed and interpreted.

It took working on a multi-lingual adaptation of Shakespeare’s Tempest for me to realize the extent of how culturally warped my interpretation of the aforementioned texts had been. We played with language, translating our characters’ text into another language we were fluent in (I suppose it really was a good thing that we were all bilingual), and the change of language entailed a change of context in certain lines or scenes. Not intentional, but through the translation and individual cultural interpretation, the text became warped.

Language is key to theater – but what I hadn’t originally fully comprehended was that there are many, many different languages, not just phonetic ones, but also physical and emotional which can all be equally impacting.

At the ISTA IB Workshop that I had the chance to attend last fall, I was privileged to watch another interpretation of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, which I thoroughly enjoyed despite the fact that it was practically entirely in Hindi – which I do not speak. As we had done in our own performance, the most important keywords were in English, but that was it. It took me a second to open my mind, but then I understood most of what was going on, and by the end of the play even could interpret the majority of the jokes. I do regret not being able to fully comprehend the dialect as it was obviously very well written, but the actors were fantastic and their movement, tone and facial expressions were a universal language.

It was later explained to me that the interpretation was really done as a traditional Indian folk tale would be represented in a rural northern village, and each of the characters represented a specific state in the country, which I found fascinating.

What I’m trying to highlight is that this performance, and ours, support the idea that you can take any text and perform it using almost any style and/or language, and while the details may warp, the essence will remain the same. One is not merely limited to the original cultural or performance context of the author and their era.

Almost as though to prove that concept, we performed an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet at the Ranga Shankara Theater for the 2013 Short and Sweet Festival. What was so special about it? It was first converted from Elizabethan English to that of the Modern day, and next disfigured into gibberish. It was also condensed into 10 minutes, and performed a la Comédia del’Arte style, complete with masks, and Indian kurtahs in honor of our audience’s culture.

Sound and music seem to be a language that is often demoted to a secondary level of importance when it comes to performance. We used a mix of sounds and modern music’s to accompany our Romeo and Juliet Remix, and the astounding impact of music in the background of a movement piece, an interlude or even during a scene has only been reinforced with each play and performance I have seen. It adds an entire new dimension, stimulating the audience and actors.

During the ISTA Workshop, I attended a workshop centered on the Arshingingor Project, which was basically a mixture of movement and willowy spiritual singing. We worked on listening and learned one high kick, as well as different positions verging on the martial arts and how to combine the unusual movement and sound. It was a curious course, but certainly left an imprint.

An actor must be in good physical condition, as they use their entire body to portray their emotions and character, as well as their voice.

Through various ISTA workshops, I’ve explored both forms of spatial movement (direct/ indirect – they’re pretty self-explanatory), discovered the difference between sustained and urgent movement, and realized the that ‘slow motion’ is only effective if it’s a sustained movement throughout your entire being – a single limb or action out of tempo with the rest can ruin the effect. Playing with the difference in our actions depending on their strength (or lack there-of), we then melded them in different combinations, thus discovering Laban’s eight analyzed effort actions:

Punch, Dab, Press, Glide, Slash, Flick, Wring, and Float.

These are the eight basic building blocks of all movement (on stage or off stage), and can be combined and twisted; in a way, they make up the equivalent of the alphabet of movement. They make an excellent guide to the language of motion, especially when working on developing a character’s particular movement.

Of course, there are other alphabets for the language of movement depending on the theatrical tradition involved – it was particularly interesting to explore the Kathakali mudras in parallel to Laban’s theory. A famous, relevant Kathakali quote is the following: “Where the hands go to present an action, there must go the eyes, where the eyes go, there must go the mind.”

This quote embodies the principles of Kathakali Theater. While ultimatums are rarely true, Kathakali is based on movement, not words. There is therefore a huge emphasis on motion in Kathakali, particularly on that of the hands, feet and face. The muscles of the actor are stretched to their limits, covering space in geometrical patterns; the dancers often add leaps and jumps to the performance as well. There's also an unusual amount of focus on the face of the actor in Kathakali compared to many other theater traditions.

The body is the tool, the main manner of communication, the base on which everything is built. With the immense precision of the body movements come precise extreme facial expressions, the eyes of the actors playing an important role. Hence, “there must go the eyes” – and in that train of thought, the mind – extremely focused on the task and actions at hand, will indeed follow.

This basically demonstrates the single-minded focus one often obtains, particularly during performance. How an actor can sometimes feel devoured by their character and said creation’s situation unfolding on stage – which is also very much in accordance to Stanislavski’s theories.

Kathakali is a practice that combines both dance and drama, and with the costumes and makeup, can appear almost larger than life. It is often referred to as Total Theater, since it combines the main five languages: literature (sahithyam), music (sangeetham), painting (chithram), acting (natyam), and dance (nritham).

Speaking of Kathakali evokes memories of another Asiatic practice we had the chance to explore – Kyogen, a form of traditional Japanese comic theater, developed alongside the Noh, but with the primary goal of making the audience laugh.

We had a workshop with the youngest Kyogen master ever, and had the privilege of watching a performance he performed with his sister. The fact that he had close to 400 years worth of traditions memorized within his head really brought home the fact that there is always an underlying meaning and purpose in theater – in this case, the man was a veritable living protection of their cultural oral theatrical traditions.

Surprisingly enough, I’ve heard of Kyogen compared to Comédia del’Arte on occasion, due to the abundant use of stock characters in both practices.

Speaking of Comédia del’Arte, we went through the messy, fun and time-consuming task of making our own masks for our Romeo and Juliet Remix. Not only did this enable a more in-depth study of the stock characters involved in this practice, but it also made us cross the boundaries between actor and tech crew.

Another workshop I attended during the ISTA experience (I really am so glad I went) focused on lights and the tech behind a performance, and how to create modern special effects by mixing in basic technology. This instilled the notion that you did not necessarily need fancy machinery or a large budget to create interesting effects – a concept which lodged itself firmly within my mind and later served as a springboard for my IPP.

We learned how you could project on a person, and have the image following them by using or hacking an Xbox and connecting it to the projector. To create a “loose” or “impressionistic” effect, it was suggested we could project onto different surfaces, such as bubble-wrap, sheets, walls, floors, mist or smoke, etc. The mystery behind Pepper’s ghost was explained to us – a combination of mirrors, angles and actors hidden in the wings. A personal favorite was something dubbed the ‘Phone Trick,’ wherein you record sounds on old android phones, save them and set them as the default ringtone. Then you attach small speakers and hide the devices under the audience’s seats, so that when you send a group text or something similar, you suddenly have in-house surround sound to compliment the performance on stage: simple, and yet remarkably effective.

Throughout the IB theater course, my interest has slowly but surely shifted from acting towards favoring directing. The soft thunder of applause can be addictive, popping a small bubble of elation you never knew existed within yourself at the end of a performance. Yet the feeling has almost nothing on the excitement and raw idealism and energy that spring to life when you’re creating something.

I took IB Theater to learn to act. Everyday, people act. We are all actors, to varying degrees and with varying amounts of conscious recognition of what our actions are. Everyone has a facade that they present to society, mannerisms they adopt in public and certain ways they must behave to blend into society. If that's not acting, I don't know what is.

So it's very useful to be able to slip into any character required, and present yourself in any way that the situation demands. One could even say it's a vital skill for survival in today's world – and when I started, that was primarily what I hoped to learn from this course.

Day to day practicalities aside, I did indeed learn how to cultivate a character – beginning with their personality, history and individual mannerisms rather than their physical appearance or characteristics. You need to find the things that make them tick – not that they’re ‘smart’ or ‘tall’, but rather that they wear toe rings or hate the color orange. By setting them apart you move away from the dreaded cliché. Personally, I’ve found it often works best when basing a character off someone or multiple someones that I know – it helps keep them realistic and adds depth to their image.

During another ISTA workshop, I was first introduced to Image Theater, and the concept of the concept of the Rainbow of desires – which is basically the variety of emotions/ different façades that can be portrayed by a human being. This technique is extremely useful and pertinent particularly when observing and learning about your character – it’s allows you to play them better as no character/ person is merely flat, and has only a single façade, opinion, nor view on life.

I’ve been told that an actor is an “Athlete of emotions.” During the ISTA workshop, we performed an exercise with a large square, divided into nine smaller squares, etched onto the floor in black tape. Each little square represented one of the eight main Indian emotions categorized: Sringara (love, lust, beauty), Raudra (anger, rage), Karuna (sadness, compassion), Bhayanaka (fear), Bibhasta (disgust), Vira (valor, bravery, heroic), Hasya (laughter, ridicule), and Adbhuta (wonder).

The 9^th middle square was dedicated to peace/ bliss, and left unmarked.

Apparently, each emotion has a designated facial expression as well.

We were told to embody each emotion as personally as possible. To make ourselves, through both your thoughts and physical position (frozen pose), take on and feel that emotion when we stepped into each square. It was surprisingly emotionally taxing as an experience.

But I shall always remember how love was one of the most difficult emotions for me to incarnate. I thought about it for a while because it caught me so completely off guard – after all, love is probably, out of all the emotions listed, the one that is most deeply rooted within me. I came to the conclusion that that’s perhaps the heart of the problem. It’s something so deeply rooted, and so personal - so private and complex I’m not inclined/ have difficulty sharing it.

Perhaps there are downsides to Stanislavski’s acting methods as well – you can get overwhelmed by the emotions, really become the character to the point that you become possessive of the emotions and are no longer inclined to share. It’s an interesting point to bring up, as when we used masks exploring Comédia del’Arte my inhibitions seemed to fade away as there was a clear distinction between myself and the character, so our emotions never got tangled, so to speak.

Some theorize that the mask lowers your inhibitions by shielding your identity – which it does. But primarily, I’ve found that it keeps a distance between actor and character, and if you are merely embodying a façade rather than presenting yourself, there are not inhibitions to lower.

I poured a lot of myself into my Independent Performance, and the entire performance I felt – raw, naked almost. Perhaps exposed is the best word – but not necessarily in a good way. I had to ‘character’ as such, as the entire performance was an exploration of the concept of time, and nothing to hide behind.

Perhaps that was one of the factors that encouraged my interest in directing. As a director, you’re putting yourself into the performance, but you’re not exposed in the same way, you know? And it’s really a lot of fun to stretch your imagination, to try to capture your visions and meld them into a tangible, visible reality.

“Art is not created in a vacuum – the idea, the form, the content, the technique, etc. can usually be traced to something or someone else.” – much like that quote. Past experience, culture, everything adds up and contributes to your interpretation. Frank Hauser compared a director’s role to that of an obstetrician – only interfering to make sure nothing goes wrong, but personally I feel as though there’s so much more to the role than that.

Directing is an interesting and rather complex notion. I'd assumes it would be rather simple, an easy enough task if you've got a bit of vision and a cast that'll listen - not so. To be completely honest, the majority of the time you’re floundering around without any real plan, pretty much making it up as you go along.

I’m working on being able to see the performance as a whole, and how to meld the different parts together to produce a finale complete picture, but that requires an in depth understanding of each of the separate components. In short, there’s still plenty for me to be learn J

I find myself in agreement with David Duchovny:

"My favorite parts of work as an actor and a director are those unplanned mistakes that do happen, because it's like catching lightning in a bottle. It's the best part of what we do.”

After co-directing the school’s Spring production of a Midsummer Night’s Dream – remixed and entitled the 70s Show – I found that while as an actress you may not always agree with the directions you’re given, or the interpretations taken of the performance, as a director there’s a lot of separate responsibilities and challenges, and the unexpected is to be more often expected than the expected.  

One of the questions that frustrated me to no end during the performance preparations was the inexplicable reluctance to sit down and memorize lines. Without having been on the other side of the scale for many years, I doubt my sanity would have survived the weeks of rehearsals.

There were four things that struck me right from day one: that practically everyone has projection issues, a habit of turning their back to the audience when speaking to another character (believe me, trying to get everyone to open-up was like rolling a stone up hill), that new actors have very space space-occupation intuition, and swarm around the stage like a clump of bees, constantly hiding behind pillars and upstaging each other, and finally that a musical requires singing, and being able to act does not imply the ability to carry a tune.

A couple weeks into the project, I realized that I had somehow managed to get myself involved in different ways in almost every aspect of the performance – I’d like to imagine that that’s a good trait for a director to have, to be concerned about the play in it’s entirety and not just the blocking of the actors. I can’t imagine blocking a scene if I’ve got no concept of the set, costumes and lighting that will be coming into play… but there’s a fine line between positive interference and spreading oneself too thin or becoming merely a hurdle for people focusing on specific sections to over.

I’ve also discovered that a good director is an excellent improv actor – for you're certainly put in unexpected situations more often than you would really care for. All the improvisation exercises I’ve done over the years turned out to be worth their weight in gold. It’s also important to have partners and people you can work with, to bounce ideas off and from with whom you can develop a sort of mutual support. I remember a rehearsal where Mallika and I were told to choreograph the new prologue dance with the new music, and I could not have done it alone.

Sometimes, though, too many heads or opinions can cause chaos. Coming from a rather pragmatic family, one of my Grandfather’s favorite sayings is that, “sometimes the best team is a team of one.” I will admit there were moments when I couldn’t agree more with that statement.
What I discovered was that that is particularly poignant is you have a specific vision of a certain scene, costume or set design or other element that you’ve set your heart upon. After hearing some of the various costume ideas thrown around for Nick Bottom’s donkey head, I asked for some chicken wire and made the paper mâché head myself. Now while I am no master sculptor, I’ve had enough experience playing around in the various arts to come up with something relatively similar to what I was imagining. And sure, it looked perhaps more like a warthog than a donkey, but painted and with sunglasses it looked pretty decent. When applying the paper mâché to the chicken wire frame, I found myself with multiple volunteer helpers – which resulted in half the dried paper getting layered on so thick it fell off after having dried, only for me having to redo it. Do you see my point?

So patience, organization, collaboration, a good dollop of flexibility and an ability to think laterally seem to be necessary director qualities (I stuck a (clean) baby diaper inside the chicken wire frame when Ian complained it poked his head – cheep insulation, and even scented to smell nice). Limited resources merely mean you need creative means to fulfill your goals, not that you have to suffocate imagination.

Yet it’s also important to checking yourself regularly, and to set goals that are realistic in your particular situation.

"There's a joy and a pain about directing where the dreams you have are becoming concrete but the attention to detail, the need for time is such that it's overwhelming at times, and the stream of responsibility." I cannot think how to phrase this notion better than William Shatner.

You are responsible, as a director, for coordinating a final production. Yet I found from working on both the Romeo and Juliet Remix and the 70s Show is that your vision of what the cast will produce, and what the cast actually produces, often differ. Every actor brings their own personal flavor to their character, and there is nothing you can do but work with it. You can’t change your cast’s personality, cultural background or natural reactions when placed in certain situations, so the best thing to do, it turns out, is to go with it. You have to let go of that premature vision of the final presentation, and succumb to the inevitable changes (both good and bad) that your actors bring.

If you try to fight it, you will drown in your own tears of frustration. If you accept it, and keep your plans modifiable, you will be able to mold them to your desires.

Once again, flexibility and open-mindedness really is key – not just when it comes to resources or props, but when working with your actors as well.

A director gets to know their actors in a way you rarely get to know others. You witness their moments of insecurity when they’re learning a script and getting used to their role, and a word can boost or destroy their confidence. What really took me by surprise was this power that seems to be a package deal with the title ‘Director’. Even inexperienced as I was, the cast looks to you for guidance, as if you have all the answers – it’s as though rather than being my peers, I was suddenly the teacher. And your cast, well, they sort of become yours. You want them to succeed, and you grow to care about each of them – regardless of ability or age.

At the end of their first performance (which I spent up by the tech panels, working sound with Alina and more nervous than prior to any other show in my life), the elation and pride I felt as I watched them take a bow had nothing on the emotions I experienced when I was the one bowing.

To see your actors succeed… it’s addictive. And it means so much more to you than to anyone else sitting in the audience and watching the show. You’ve struggled with the cast every step of the way; you’ve seen and can truly appreciate just how far you’ve all come, together. There is no “perfect” performance, or end result. There will always be last minute problems, things you wished you could have changed, and mistakes made on the night – but each performance holds a unique beauty their own unique brand of success.

Briefly broaching the subject of the audience, their importance was highlighted repeatedly to me throughout this course. After all, a performance is designed for a specific audience, aiming to impact the aforementioned audience in a particular manner. The Short and Sweet festival last spring really drove the point home that without an audience, there can be no successful performance – our Romeo and Juliet Remix was unique and a blend of techniques, but based on the unconscious assumption that the audience would be as familiar with the Shakespearean classic as we were. They weren’t. Having been born in England, it never even crossed my mind as a possibility prior to the performance – I’ve been studying Shakespeare’s texts since sixth grade.

Which leads me to my final point – that culture is incredibly important when delving into theater, on two fronts – well, three really: the audience’s culture, the playwright’s culture, and your own culture. Each will regard the same performance through a different lens, and it is important to be able to perceive the stage through the others eyes in order to portray the right interpretation to produce the wanted effect/ transmit the desired message.

Having at least a basic knowledge on the historical period from which the play you're witnessing was written in usually allows you to have a better understanding of the script and the meanings behind the phrases, particularly if using the original text. To put it simply, it basically allows you to put everything into context, and better grasp the subtler messages and meanings woven into the very fabric of the work of art. 

The humor, choice of costume and the character's behavior will often appear clearer, with a logic that you can trace and comprehend. Therefore your knowledge of historical periods enriches your experience as a spectator, actor, or even as a director. It allows you to set your sights in the right places, and watch/ act/ set the stage with the frame of mind that the author originally intended – or at least be fully aware of the modifications you make.

Theater is often regarded as a universal language, yet due to cultural differences in perception, interpretations of gestures and word connotations, I feel that it is not. Theater is, however, a universal movement, a universal art of many facades used to convey messages and trigger thought – a universal means of communication, a universal effort, and hope – one could almost claim a timeless for of expression, despite each representation being unique.

The language of the art is found in many different forms and expressions, but is not always understood nor transmitted in the same manner.

I started this course with Sean O’Casey and Shakespeare’s words in mind, that “All the world’s a stage, and most of us are desperately unrehearsed.” My goal was to learn the art of an actor to be able to apply any façade needed in the real world, yet I found so much more than I’d bargained for and have begun to discover the director’s world, and am completely enthralled. The subtle power that lines within a well-orchestrated production is an immense tool of mass-communication, a way to reach out and make a difference.

« It is remarkable how virtuous and generously disposed everyone is at a play. We uniformly applaud what is right and condemn what is wrong, when it costs us nothing but the sentiment. » (William Hazlitt)

It’s amazing how a performance can sway a public, spark thought or call for change, much as was the goal of the Theater of the Oppressed. Amazing, powerful, and perhaps just a little frightening – be it on the stage, in the streets, or on the screens of the modern world.

It's never ending….

(From the Meme Generator website).

It's all changed.

No, it's evolving, which I guess is a good thing.
I feel as though it's too long - we need to cut down, and make it more concise. There's too much.. empty space.

I still hate the topic. We have no right..

I'm too .. tired to write anything remotely coherent, unfortunately.

Rehearsals are getting harder. I don't want to do this anymore. The others seem excited to provoke, unafraid of backlash - they want to push borders, ... but for what purpose? To what end goal? Just for the hell of it?

I don't understand them.

It's a painful topic, and they seem to be able to just gloss the surface of emotions, and I .. can't.
For many different reasons, I can't just detach myself from the performance - can't detach myself from the scene.

I mix, blend. I am the character, the character is me. We're angry, confused, scared. But I'm more emotionally involved than my character.
She wasn't named. A nameless stranger to the victim, a random person from society.
And yet, partially me.

I guess that's my fault as I wrote the lines for her - me - us.

But she is but a random stranger, not I. It's hard. Each time we're on stage frankly I want to cry. Scream and rage that we have no right to toy with such a topic, cry out in frustration and tears of torn and turbulent emotions raging through me I can no longer distinguish clearly into boxes. I'm so mixed up - I hate it. I hate the topic.

And yet that's not to say I hate our IPP - far from it. I think if we cut down the 1st part, add lighting, music, costumes, make-up and candles, we'll have something that's really quite powerful.
The text will need careful editing to make sure we're not crossing too many boundaries, and offending too many people .. but they seem to seek to provoke.

It makes me ill.
It's all a performance, something they know that society - the media rage - tells them to be all angry about and 'spread awareness' of the topic - but they're detached. They don't know. We don't know, understand. We have no right.
None

why? !

I mean, if done right I stand by my original stance, I think it'll be a great performance. . .

I just almost wish that i had no part in it.



Almost. 

More thoughts.. Costumes :)

So… I said I'd post thoughts on costumes and sound at a later date. Hopefully all these thoughts will come in handy when I get down to compiling my IPP.

We'll see.

So.. costumes. 

The costumes will be relatively simplistic, going with the goal of highlighting the fact that the performance - particularly the subject of the performance - has it's roots buried in reality. An ugly, but very real, reality. 

Ok, so let's take this character by character:

* The mother.

From what I can understand, the mother is an embodiment of the traditional Indian mother. She is not stuck in the middle ages, yet her beliefs and life center around her family, she is a stay-at-home mother who had great hopes for her daughter to have a better future than her own. She sticks to tradition, but is not rejecting modern ways. Therefore, she is dressed in a _____ (the female equivalent of a kurtah) ___, of all white. This sort of outfit is something still very much worn today by Indian women, even in large cities such as Bangalore (some of our teachers even come dressed so) - the present day clothing helps to situate the performance in the present, and the relevance of the message to today. While Indian women usually dress in bright, colorful combinations, the white is the color of mourning. For her, the daughter she raised died the day that she was raped - and she mourns her loss. 

Her hair is plaited back traditionally, but she does not have and flowers coiled into it to decorate herself - she has nothing to celebrate.

She wears only a couple gold bracelets and earrings to mark her wealth and status, but not everything she owns and not her most fancy jewelry.

In her area of the stage, the only things around her is a small three-legged stool, and a couple vases of flowers. The simple, wooden, three-legged stool is a visual representation of her attachment to the home and her humble origins, as well as housework and the kitchen. The flowers in vases around her, however, are gifts. Traditionally, after a death flowers are not brought to the funeral but sent to the family's home. This is to highlight the social death the victim suffered due to being raped as well. 

The flowers are not obnoxiously bright to underline once again the somber tone of the performance, and the vases are white - both to better reflect the stage lights and to merge with the white clothing theme of mourning. 

* The boyfriend.

The boyfriend is also Indian, but a more modern young man who is not so grounded in tradition as the mother. Therefore, he is dressed as many of the young men of the modern era - in jeans. Dark ones, to reflect his mood - and his Indian roots shine through the white hoodie as he too mourns. 
This combination of colors has two reasons: he is not completely dressed in white, because unlike the mother he is more grounded in reality and mourns not the loss of the woman's life, for she still lives, but rather the loss of the relationship they shared which he fears has been damaged beyond repair.
He wears no jewelry, holds no accessories, and has no props to play with. He is presented simply as a man - any man - who truly cares, without material incentives. He is presented as a tattered soul, hiding his hurt as he shields his face with the hoodie.

* The politician.

The politician happens to be played by a female actress. While this is, in my opinion, a positive development for it will sooth some of the incredibly machoistic and callus quotes that are being repeated to the audience as it's coming from a female, and hence it's taken as almost a given that we do not actually believe any of what is being repeated, and are merely citing examples. No woman in their right mind would be in agreement with many of those quotes.

The politician is very neutral. A black suit, white shirt. The standard penguin uniform that most workers and politicians live in throughout their career. It's the universal dress code, and hence is useful when embodying multiple different politicians through their words. The shirt is white for tradition, and also (in keeping with the cultural identification of the color white as relating to mourning) a subtle message that we are mourning the politicians callousness and words - a shirt covers the heart, after all. 
India is generally full of life and color - the black of the suit highlights a clear ignorance towards / disdain for the general people the politicians are supposed to represent.

The politician will stand by a podium, highlighting that the statements they made are rarely spur-of the moment expressions that ought to be glossed over as they were not completely thought through. It underlines the formality of the event, and all the preparation that goes into them. There will also hopefully be a microphone - pushing forward the extent to which their words are broadcasted and how far their voice/ statements can really carry - particularly in comparison to the plebeans, even those directly affected by the event. 

The politician remains standing, stiff, as though untouchable by emotions. 
Her hair is pulled back tightly, matching the professionalism of her persona.

* The objective observer - stranger. 

The stranger is a foreigner. A regular woman who's recently moved to India, and is confronted with a reality she is really ready to face. She wears western every day clothing, with appropriate coverage for her new environment. Jeans, a pale-blue t-shirt, and a loose black sweater. Her hair is tied in a careless knot, and she wears only simple chain pendant necklace.

The jeans are once again a reflection to the modern era - one that the audience will easily be able to identify with. The fact that both her and the boyfriend are both dressed in jeans draws a parallel between their ages, and helps to highlight the differences and similarities between their reactions and personal levels of involvement. 

The pale blue t-shirt is worn to underline that the stranger is also mourning the girl's fate, but is not vested enough personally to wear white. This supports the effort to demonstrate to the audience just how widely spread the affects of a single incident are. The black sweater shows the lack of personal involvement and the detachment of a stranger - no matter how much their hearts may mourn the girls fate (light-blue shirt), strangers are protected to a certain level by a shell - a layer of distance from the event - a black sweater.

The single necklace reflects the young woman's foreign origins as it is clearly unlike the style of any of the heavier, Indian jewelry.  

Her hair is pulled back in a careless knot showing that she's just an average Jo, and this is just a day like any other to her, with no particular event or reason to dress up. 

She is seated on a desk, no only to allow each of the characters to be on a different level, but also to suggest that she is in an environment she is clearly comfortable in. One only sits on tables when one is at ease. She also has several props - a couple of local papers (showing she's living in India), and an Economist or two - showing that she's getting news from a global perspective as well … demonstrating just how far reaching the repercussions are. 

All the characters are barefoot, if for no other reason than the practical one - less noise is made moving around if the actors on stage are barefoot. 


As for the victim... I need to think a little more.

Planning... And thoughts.

If i were directing, I would start it off with a scream, a desperate, horrified plea for mercy.
In the dark.
Then silence
Only then would the play beginAnd I would make everything shorter - more concise.

If I did stage management, I would place everyone on a different level, give each their space in which to maneuver and a separate, unique dynamic.

If I had written the script, I would do it so that very next person speaking begins with a repetition of the last person's phrase. I would add humor, patches of light in the almost unbreakable dark.

I'll tell you what I do have control of - the music, lights and costumes. But we don't have the resources nor the equipment. 
So I'm going to have to get creative.


The play, although one continuous flow, can be sub-divided into two parts. 
In the first, it's a series of interlinking monologues - addressed to the audience and to themselves. 
It's black. 
There are four white spots, each positioned directly above the actors, so the light pools in a ring around them, falling over their heads and shoulders, illuminating most of their features - though the patches of darkness and uncertainty are there, flickering in and out of existence as the actor moves. The patches of ambiguity shrouding the character, the very ambiguity that allows for the message situation to be generalized for most rape cases. 
When one moves and talks, their light is on. The others stand frozen, unmoving shadows in the darkness - silhouettes, invisible to the untrained eyes. This draws the audience's focus to the speaker, ensuring audience's undivided attention. The mind is drawn to what the eye can see, and the eye is drawn to the light. 
This section reaches a climax as characters begin to talk over each other, mounting the tension until all four are talking over one another, yelling at the audience, moving agitatedly around their pool of light. 
Here, the second portion of the play begins.
The victim steps on stage, and yells out "Shut up! All of you, just shut the hell up!" As soon as she begins to speak - the others are cut off, and freeze in place, still as statues. 
Simultaneously triggered by her words, white and red floodlights illuminate the stage from both stage left and right, the light reflecting off the characters from bellow all of a sudden now instead of from above. Smoke would begin to roll across the floor, mixing the red and white lights in eery twirls as the smoke obscures the characters feet. 
As soon as the victim continues talking, the spots slowly fade out of existence, as the red light glows increasingly stronger with the victim's anger. 
Now allow me to explain - these aren't just lights positioned at random thing, well, this should look cool (although I would have to agree, it will look cool) - the spots from above, in the first part, are positioned to cast no shadows to represent each character's self-focus during the play, how they are talking to themselves, and are aware of none others around them as they are lost in thought. The audience, through this, appears to be merely an extension of themselves that they are addressing. The lights are also positioned from above in order to highlight that the struggle for the characters has to do with matters of the mind, and hence of a mixture of logic, thoughts, and emotions. 
Later, when the light shines from bellow, this highlights the characters legs, and with that their ability to move - putting emphasis on the character's actions. The victim rages about their actions, derived from their minds and emotions, have affected themselves, others - and her. 
The light is white for a duel purpose - one, to provide clarity, in the sense that as their is not excessive lighting being used due to limited resources available for the production, and this way the audience will be able to see the stage better. White also creates sharp contrasts between what is visible and what is not, reflecting the generalizations that one can draw from the performance and is applicable to reality, and what pertains to the ambiguous, our intervention and personal performance, and hence is fictitious and the translation may be ambiguous. 
In India, white also represents mourning - hence it is appropriate for such a serious, depressing, tragic and very real subject matter. 
The fog is a symbol of the Victim's inner turmoil, the mix of red and white light flooding the curling smoke representing her pain, blood and hurt (red) from what has occurred, and the white light her desire to move on, and continue living. The constant battle and mingling of the two visually illustrates her emotional turmoil for the audience to gape at, and brush the complexity of her feelings, visually viewing the mess being raped has led her to become. The fog and lights roll across the stage, flooding the entire stage, in an attempt to demonstrate how the victim's turbulent emotions affect everyone around her. As the stranger and politician are seated/ standing in slightly elevated positions, less fog reaches them - less of her emotions affect them, though they do not merely remain unaffected. 

I'll post sound and costumes a little later. But yep, that's my plan :)

A couple notes..

They wanted to include an on stage rape scene

Rhean had a story to tell

It got violent and soap opera like, mixed with the horror and gore of a greek drama

Topic : rape

- prevalent in india today, very much a current issue.

I felt - still feel - out of depth

Now: 

Episodic presentation

Stanislavsky acting? 

Beauty lies in the simplicity

Lights play a large role

Freezing when not speaking

Music soft in the background - contrast to the violent and turbulent emotions permeating the stage - cuts when mooli comes

Costumes are simple - realistic, they reflect reality to demonstrate that this is very much based in reality

We all reworked our portion of the script

In fact, i started out co-writing it, and drew up the general outline

I also was involved with lighting, sets, costumes and sound (.. In hindsight, that's a lot - i was trying hard at the beginning not to play director, but if no one stepped up or would volunteer, of course i'd do it.) 

But the conclusion, what I was responsible for on the day of the final performance, was the acting. And hence that's what I'm sharing, as it was the only thing I retained control over to the very end - myself. 

Just keep going, don't give up yet...

The strange thing is that I almost feel as though we should stop trying so hard, because the beauty of the work will lie within the simplicity of its design. If we do it right, that is. 
I still don't feel that we have the right to play with such material, but presenting it in an episodic fashion, we ought to at least make an impression. The text is being written (I am not going to comment that it was supposed to be done on monday… grr…), and then each part re-written by the characters. 
*sigh*
So I have to write anyways. 

I've noticed something - a fault if you will. There are moments when I feel I could do everyone else's job, and do it better. 1) That's just not true. 2) I don't have the time, and it's not my role. 
But I must admit, sometimes I volunteer for more work because then I know I'm doing it, and it'll meet my standards. 
Ok, so perhaps I'm not the best follower - but I am trying. Really. 
And I'm trying not to comment too much as well… Really.