January 18th, 2010   

There are two basic things I love about acting.

One is: the constancy of change.

This is most notable in the development of a role. I feel like I have come so far in the development of Mrs. Wilkinson, and that though there is a consistency in the “product” that the audience views every night, there is a perpetual shifting from within. A ceaseless searching. How long will this last, I wonder? Or is it possible that it will be ongoing, even cyclical, much as is our own growth as human beings? Is theatre ever a finished product?

This week I had a rehearsal with Stephen Daldrey and Phil (oh no, here we go again, I don’t even know Phil’s last name yet!!) who is replacing Greg Jbara while he is on a leave of absence. Now Stephen has been working on this play for how long? Six years or so? And the film before that. And yet, he came into rehearsal on Thursday, fresh as a daisy, and as he said, “completely re-directed the scene” that Dad and Mrs. Wilks have in the second act. Now Phil is a very different actor than Greg, and that alone makes up a good deal of the change. (Phil played the role on the West End for a time.) But we looked at intentions and minute internal shifts that left me with a complete sense of newness, not only for that scene, but for Mrs. Wilks as a character! That is a saving grace. Insightful notes. Fresh approaches. And the unique ability of this creative team to allow (and more importantly, to DESIRE) the continuing re-VISION of this piece of theatre.

The second thing is: the unknowable.

I am a creature of ritual. I come to the theatre an hour and half before curtain for every show. I do a physical warm-up with the Billys, then a vocal warm-up, then a tap warm-up. I go upstairs to my dressing room to put the kettle on, then have a chat with Carole Shelley, or with “the boys” (Greg Jbara, Will Chase, and Joel Hatch). At the half hour I make chamomile tea, then begin the process of make-up, microphones, and costumes (with my guardian angel and dresser, Margiann Flanagan). When Big Davey says “Oi, breakfast!” I make my way down to the stage, where the ballet girls are gathering, and we await our cue light. I throw open the doors after the girls, and... I have no idea what will happen next! It is all so determined, and yet so undetermined. And indeterminable. I can not be what I want to be out on that stage, I must simply accept what I am on that day, and at that moment. (Very Eckhart Tolle!) It’s true. It’s LIVE! Tempos change, props fall, muscles hurt, children laugh, even time and space can seem outrageously elastic. But it is not the physical differences from show to show that make up this truly unknowable experience. It is an internal quality, an energy that is completely ineffable. Sometimes frustrating, sometimes miraculous. But always impossible to grasp. I love this thing I can never have.

Man. I love my job.