There are limits

I think it was simply all around a bad day.

I wanted to cry, I nearly did. I felt ill, and the group dynamics just weren’t the same as they’d been yesterday. There was – or at least, I felt as if there was – a push to do something provocative. A want to be provocative – just for the sake of being provocative. Just because we could.

And I disagree.

Frankly, I think that when dealing with extremely sensitive subjects such as rape, we have no right to dabble with the emotions of the audience, no real reason to want to create a ‘shock’.

To make them think, yes. But there’s no need for such a ‘shock’ factor of vulgarity to trigger such thought – it can be expanded in many different ways.

They want to raise awareness. Yet everyone knows.

Who do we think we are to be permitted – able – to dabble and play with situations that for some people are all too real and vivid nightmares? We live incredibly sheltered, lucky lives – we have no right to make a mockery of such a serious situation.
And a mockery we would make of it – we’d come across as ignorant, stupid children playing with something they do not understand. The complexities of such situations, reading about them, and the emotional impact can only be glimpsed. But we cannot portray it in full. I cannot.

You see, when an actor plays a character far out of their depth, what do they rely on? The script. Trusting that the author knew their topic. (One of the most common threads of advice given to a writer is write what you know.) Yet we’re writing the script – I am, with Jed.

I can’t do that right. I won’t do the subject justice.

And I know I’m not a good enough actress to act it out either.

I’m frustrated, tired. I think everyone is really. The entire IPP is becoming dark and morbid without respite, and just talking about it I feel my innards twisting and clenching in sadness – for the characters story and the image portrayed of humanity.

There’s so much more to life than just death – why is it so hard to put that across?

It’s as horrid and twisted as an Ancient Greek Tragedy – or something Maupassant would have written.

I am not against a dark play – not at all. Done well, they leave a deeper message, and scenes of pain and grief are easier to act because – as Jed put it – pain, grief, sadness ad death are universal. But to have sad, you must have happy first. Sad to sad through sad doesn’t make the same impression as happy to sad with happy and sad moments intermixed. That’s more realistic – the good and the bad. To end in a tragedy a life that you can identify and draw some parallels with on this most basic level of good and bad moments will have more of an impact than a constantly dark situation – the audience will get bored, and think what an awful situation, but no one’s life is a constant dark.

Some people think of theater as having no limits – a place where you can do whatever you want. Yet to me, the actor and particularly director and playwright have only gained the right to be doubly careful what they portray. Yes, they are allowed to push boundaries – but only for a reason.
And there are certain things at are age that we are not yet equipped to face and deal with. We don’t have the experience or the expertise required. There are limits, and certain aspects we have neither right nor capabilities to properly address.  

IPP

I needed a night to sleep on it. “It” here refers to our muddled plan that’s starting to come together for the independent project proposal.

We’re doing it as a group of five – we know each other by now, and it’ll be fun to do this as a group.

I’m really excited about this – so many opportunities!

I’m not directing (I have to share, so I’ll just try to be extra supportive and make sure I don’t give too many opinions… may be tricky, but it’ll be good to learn to just shut up as well). I’m not even stage-managing.

I am, however, getting to write this thing with Jed! Yes!

Always wanted to write a play (although, I wanted to direct it as well – can’t get everything in life :p).

If I got to choose, I’d do it centered on time, death, truth and concepts of dreams and nightmares. Could be really weird and creepy – but also has a lot of potential to be really fascinating and interesting. Or perhaps (if we had to do social issues – which in my opinion are overdone and no longer really make a statement) on something we can relate to – I don’t know, family issues or breaking away? That transition period we’re all sort of going through right now, getting ready to leave, start out on our own.

Meh, don’t know really. Endless possibilities – anything could work!

Anyways, back on to the project we’re currently working on… it’s so exciting! Everyone’s so enthusiastic and it’s all going to work out, I just know it!

They seem to be getting a little to involved in the storyline and away from the content (getting a bit soap opera – ish and a little dark – like a Sophocles soap opera? I don’t know. But dark, and stuff, but oh well. Lots of character drama.

It’ll be interesting to see where this goes – and I get to do costumes!!!!!!!! Oh yea!! :D To be able to sculpt the visual aspects of the performance to my taste, yay! I get an excuse to improve my sewing skills – and hopefully I’ll even maybe get to work a bit on the sets! :D

Genuinely excited about a school project – what had the world come to? J

Verbatim Theater

Verbatim Theater - embodying another person and telling their story as them.

I opened my mouth, and my mind went blank. I mean, really, blank. I couldn't remember a thing. 
We were standing opposite each other, and she was telling a story. Something about food. I was watching her. Her hand movements, the way she gestured with her arms emphatically in certain places, the tone of her voice, and at which moments she got excited. She used her hands a lot, her head was never quite straight. "Repeat her story." I turned around, my mind went blank. My cheeks flushed. I was embarrassed. The others had all managed this without a hitch. I couldn't remember a thing. The others stared, incredulous. Perhaps I'd focused too much on her movements and not enough on her words?We did it again - for me. I was flustered, embarrassed. I tried to focus on her story - she talked about foods I'd never heard of. I could do this. "Repeat her story."I tried again. I faltered. My mind went blank. I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. I don't know why I couldn't do it. Eventually they gave up on me, and it was my turn to tell her a story, but I was so upset I couldn't even think of anything proper to say. It was patchy and dumb - something about being selfish about popcorn. Stupid. 
I love our group - they didn't make fun of me, or laugh at me. They just kept going, told me it was ok. I couldn't tell anyone's story, and barely managed to stumble through my own. Yet these are not strangers - the exercise ought be easy - we know each other. He rubs the back of his neck when he's feeling awkward, she talks really quickly and with a lot of emotion, and she uses large gestures to accompany her words. 
I don't know why I can't do this.

A sock

A sock.

Soft, elastic, stretchy. In movement, stretching laterally with each footstep as it is squished into the ground. Victim of fate, always moving forwards- a fixed center, a second skin to the foot.

As the music thrummed and swayed, a feeling of peace - acceptance - dripped from the melody. "Walk". We began to move. Become the sock... Now there's a really odd thought. I was self-concious; I felt dumb swaying/staggering around the room as the others walked at various paces. If I left myself slip, I wanted to dance. But we were in theater class. I was just a sock. Not a dancer. "Move faster.""Expand the movement!"The music made me feel like moving in an almost dance-like pattern, as the sock stretched and tightened with every step, tossed around by the winds of fate with no hands to take the reins. I still felt self-conscious, and had to be careful not to move to quickly because of my skirt (note to self: always wear pants to drama - I ought to know that by now!)."Faster!""Bigger!"I no longer had time to observe the others. I started to let go a little, moving to the music as it felt right, still struggling really hard to be a sock. Stretching, tightening. I fell into a pattern, then tried to break it."Talk!"And say what? For whatever reason, short of breath and still moving, I began to mumble the phrases, 'Just keep moving' and 'Everything's going to be ok'. Perhaps I could claim those were developed through the threads of the sock being tossed and thrown around life by factors beyond it's control, living one step at a time. More likely though were the words drawn from the movement and my own subconscious mind-frame. "Faster!""Louder!"I forgot to be self-concious, and I began to slip into the dance, my movements more fluid and open than before. It came to a point where I honestly wasn't thinking of anything in particular other than the word "sock", "sock", "sock" repeatedly within my head; just feeling the movement and hearing the music as I exhaled the phrases. The music stopped. Well, what a strange exercise... and why on earth did I pick a sock? I became once again hyper-aware of the others in the room again, though I have not a clue how whatever I was doing measured up against their movements. The line between dance and theater, just as between theater and literature, I seem unable to properly distinguish. Yet if I'm moving to the music, when have I lost the exercise and am simply dancing? What is the distinction between dance and theater?