My Motivation

Stagecraft. It's harder than it looks. Or rather, it's hard to make it not look like it's not hard.

The theater program was set up like a conservatory: voice class, movement class, acting class and then, of course, the nitty-gritty such as Greek comedies/tragedies, Shakespeare 101, etc. We rotated through our sessions and spent our down time rehearsing for student productions or sitting around smoking in the student lounge of the Performing Arts Center (or the PAC, as we called it).

Never did we deign to mingle with the rest of the student population. We were different. We were artsy - that's how we saw ourselves. Everyone else regarded us as stuck-up weirdos. Which was fine. Actors don't want to "fit in."

Compared to my fellow thespians (who would get wasted at parties and have sex on the coats with the bedroom door open - yes, it happened), I was pretty mainstream (read: tame): long, natural brown hair, no piercings, no tattoos, petite and innocent-looking (thanks big eyes). I was a serious student; and perpetual designated drive. So when the role of Juliet came up, I looked the part - and I got the part.

Everything was rolling along just fine, until the big scene, where Juliet drinks the "poison." I could not get it right. It felt so stilted and contrived, that I was lost. Surely it had to be me. Shakespeare couldn't have written a scene that didn't work. Could he?

Out of frustration, I went to the library and listened to a recording of the great Claire Bloom performing the scene for a London audience - and I hated it. She sounded hysterical to the point that I wanted to tune her out. I couldn't listen to the screeching, panting, verbal writhing. I thought to myself, "If she can't pull it off, how the hell am I supposed to do it?"

So took a different tact. I held back. Way, way back. My acting coach had drummed it into our heads, "Don't cry for the audience!"

So I didn't.