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Jul. 6th, 2007 07:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
adiva_calandiaToday was CRAPTASTIC and ended with me in a rip-snorting, beat-things-into-submission temper, so I'm going to focus on yesterday, which was awesome and reminded why I like theatre.
Yesterday the director had to teach classes in the afternoon, so I ran rehearsal. Now, the thing is, a good third of the play is Antigone and Creon monologing at each other (and I may go into why Creon's monologues are so bloody cool, but that's for later), which means that five people of the seven person cast are left with nothing to do. Which sucks, in an educational program.
The other thing is that the director is extremely detail-oriented. Fair enough; some people direct like that, and sometimes the only way to get what you want onstage is to say "I want you to move down stage left on this line, pause, and turn back." Heck -- no joke -- she blocks specific gestures for specific lines. It robs the actors of a lot of potential creativity -- especially when that's what you do with every line, every monologue, for thirty pages.
So when I had a chance to give blocking and run rehearsal, I was super excited.
I started by sitting them down and giving them some Greek theatre history (which every thespian should know in any case, but it especially important if you're doing, say, a Greek show), and then got down to blocking. The director had already told me what she wanted to do, detail by detail.
". . . You know what?" I told the girls. "I want you to just read this page and do what's instinctive. I want to see what you come up with."
"Oh, thank you," said the girl playing Creon.
And I just beamed as, over the next hour, they proceeded to dig motion and emotion out of the text, as Creon and Antigone argued in front of me.
About halfway through, I mentioned that I was hoping to convince the company to let me direct a show next summer, if I come back up here; a little while later, Antigone's actress muttered, "I wanna be in your show." And at the end, both of them told me "I like it when you direct."
And I left smiling and bouncing and joyful.
Yesterday the director had to teach classes in the afternoon, so I ran rehearsal. Now, the thing is, a good third of the play is Antigone and Creon monologing at each other (and I may go into why Creon's monologues are so bloody cool, but that's for later), which means that five people of the seven person cast are left with nothing to do. Which sucks, in an educational program.
The other thing is that the director is extremely detail-oriented. Fair enough; some people direct like that, and sometimes the only way to get what you want onstage is to say "I want you to move down stage left on this line, pause, and turn back." Heck -- no joke -- she blocks specific gestures for specific lines. It robs the actors of a lot of potential creativity -- especially when that's what you do with every line, every monologue, for thirty pages.
So when I had a chance to give blocking and run rehearsal, I was super excited.
I started by sitting them down and giving them some Greek theatre history (which every thespian should know in any case, but it especially important if you're doing, say, a Greek show), and then got down to blocking. The director had already told me what she wanted to do, detail by detail.
". . . You know what?" I told the girls. "I want you to just read this page and do what's instinctive. I want to see what you come up with."
"Oh, thank you," said the girl playing Creon.
And I just beamed as, over the next hour, they proceeded to dig motion and emotion out of the text, as Creon and Antigone argued in front of me.
About halfway through, I mentioned that I was hoping to convince the company to let me direct a show next summer, if I come back up here; a little while later, Antigone's actress muttered, "I wanna be in your show." And at the end, both of them told me "I like it when you direct."
And I left smiling and bouncing and joyful.
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Date: 2007-07-09 02:13 pm (UTC)I'm not entirely surprised, from the sound of things, but that still sucks.
But as you say, you have a stick now! And pointy sticks, metaphorical or not, are always fun and useful.