And then, I started digging through my files (which are quite unorganized) and found this quote from A Director Prepares on the violence of art:
“To generate the indispensible excitement there must be something at stake, at risk, something momentous and uncertain. A sure thing does not arouse us emotionally. There is no disgrace in not knowing what you are doing and not having all the answers. But your passion and excitement about something will take you the distance through uncertainty. If you are insecure and do not really know what you are doing, it’s fine. Just try to work with an interest in exactitude. Be exact with what you do not know. Realism on the stage is generated, not by a general feeling for reality or truth, but, rather, it emerges in the act of exactitude and decisiveness with something that excites you.”
Tomorrow, we begin what's known as the "Turbo Project." Here are the specs:
- We have a week to rehearse.
- There are two cast (called Romulus and Remus) divided to make the load as even. Depending on the cast, some people are playing different characters, some are playing the same character. It just depends.
- We come off-book for the first rehearsal (tomorrow).
- We start rehearsals with a runthru. (and then another run for the other cast)
- This year, the show is Julius Caesar (it's heavily cut, but I'm guessing it'll clock at just under two hours).
- I'm playing Brutus in the "Remus" cast.
Needless to say, I've been working for the past three weeks to get these lines down. It's been tough. I think I've got them all more or less. But it's scary. I've dwaddled around. I've done quite a bit of procrastination like Bogart has described in her post and I think there's a lot of merit to the fear involved with putting a stroke on the canvas, a word on the page/screen, or moving and speaking within a space. But we do have an entire WEEK to work on this. To say that it's not terrifying to go up and run a classic Shakespeare play that thousands of high schoolers read every year in English class is to lie. But we're going to do it, and while it won't be perfect I will live through that day.
There's a great line that Brutus says toward the end of the show I feel is equally appropriate:
"O, that a man might know the end of this day's business ere it comes. But it sufficeth that the day will end, and then the end is known." Now, he's literally talking life and death in this line, but it's that same feeling of: "I wish I could know how this will all shape out. But there's some consolation in knowing that it will shape out."
So tomorrow, I won't really know what I'm doing. I don't have blocking. I'm still having a hard time visualizing which of my ensemblemates are playing which characters. I'll be taking swings (large swings, I hope) in an effort to make the play happen right off the bat. There will be a lot of crap, but that's what we can wade through in order to bring it to life for an audience next week. And unless we take these first dives into terror, we won't have ANYTHING with which to work.
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Addendum: If you thought a week wasn't long, check out the American Shakespeare Center's Rennaissance Season. They're putting up Much Ado About Nothing in two days, and they've got no director! You can read all about it in this fun intern blog post.
