Behind-the-Scenes: THE CAUCASIAN CHALK CIRCLE

0 CommentsFriday • April 26, 2013 • by Elizabeth A. Davis

Elizabeth A. Davis

April 7th

So, this is the part in the process when you scrunch up your face for a third of the rehearsal as you hear lines come out of your mouth and doubt every instinct you possess. It’s the part when you feel scratchy from the inside of your skin and like your shoes are two sizes too big for your feet as you stumble through charting out your character’s physical life in the plotted-out rehearsal stage. You ask premature questions like, “Would Grusha do this?” Then you remember, “I’m the actor and should probably not be asking the room to do my homework for me.”

You’re losing it. Or maybe you should just chill out. Both are options.

On the 3 Train as you ride home, one irrational part of your brain might ask the other part, “ARE WE GOING TO GET FIRED?!” It might say that. I’m not confirming this happens one way or the other, of course. But if it did, the sane part of your brain would probably then shut yourself up with thoughts of thankfulness, joy and remembering that, “Oh yeah. This happens EVERY TIME.”

Welcome to the crunchy bits.

These bits and bobbles of rehearsal, strangely enough, despite my seemingly unstable neurosis, are my favorite part of the process. I adore the wading in the unknown of what could possibly happen in this tenuous season, letting the discoveries wash over me like sandy water over a cranky oyster. We’ll get to that pearl one way or another, I trust. The future Grusha glory is in the tide that will come in and out with each passing rehearsal. I watch as each of my castmates do the same, letting the waves of discovery crash over them. It’s a glorious sight to behold, this thing we do.

Despite this being my favorite part of the process, as aforementioned, I’m angsty. So I’m a contradiction in the rehearsal room. I’m not very good at giving myself the space to make a mess and let the mess stand for a while. I like to get to results quickly. I like to get off book immediately (even though I don’t) because I know my real work doesn’t happen until that’s done. I forget that it’s about process not product in reality, even though I know it in theory; that the truest discoveries happen in the messes I make.

Perhaps this contradiction is tied to my previously referenced Competiton vs. Empathy. Or perhaps I’m just human in need of grace.

Regardless, if graduate school taught me anything (and it did teach me many things), it affirmed that FAILURE IS MY FRIEND. So shall I remember this now as I’m feeling scratchy from the inside out and with shoes two sizes too big. If one can learn to fall down and turn to the Failure and shake its hand, smile and say, “Thank you, Failure. You have taught me much. I’m now going to move on with persistence because of you,” that person has won. They’ve figured out what a majority of the population has not.

This business (Heaven, help us), this craft, these rooms that consistently bring me face to face with my own patterns and ways of being and process and fear give me the opportunity to look at potential Failure, shake its hand and say, “I’m so glad you’re here. We’re gonna toe off and if I fall down, I’m gonna get back up. Cause that’s how this works. I know that now.”

I don’t suggest that one can truly fail in art, as it is a subjective organ and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, of course. That’s part of what makes what we do remarkable: 2 + 2 can = 5 in art. And it can be RIGHT. Just as well as 2+2=7. Even the failure is art.

But, let’s be honest. How many auditions have I gone on that I haven’t booked? How many rehearsals have I left where I felt like I still didn’t know what I was doing with a scene? Or what was the scathing review an actor received that finally made them stop reading them altogether? Is this classified Failure? Perhaps.

But even with that, I rejoice. The trick is to welcome the fiend with open arms into the room. In facing the fear we are free.

With that, I’ll climb off the soapbox and let you into a bit of the realities of this week’s personal joys and challenges.

#1. Absentee Scene Partner.

Grusha loves the baby, Michael, and all. She climbs mountain passes for him, goes without food, risks her life crossing rickety bridges and marries near-dead men for this kid. But… as for a scene partner? Michael sort of sucks. Not gonna lie.

He doesn’t talk back or really look at you. His eyes are glossed over and you can forget about trying to get Michael to play Meisner games with you. Not gonna happen.

You see, our Michael (another spoiler alert) is a gorgeous, hand made puppet which is most certainly a superior artistic decision.

My Grusha, however, is having a tricky time in the short monologues wrapping her head around what it really means to talk to him, handle him, simply be with a baby that isn’t a baby. Act, are you suggesting? Good idea.

Even still, I find myself doing this vague talking AT him instead of trying to look into his painted on eyes and really talk TO him. Working on it. Reversion to a four-year-old’s tea parties when I would talk to my imaginary friends and my doll, Sarah, is probably about to kick in. I KILLED those tea parties. Advanced Acting was being thrown down. Childlike-ness: much to be gleaned from it.

#2 Laugh lest we cry? Or is the other way around? A word on TONE:

We’re finding that this play is actually lots of little plays put together. Isn’t that what every play is, you ask? Yes and no. It’s more than just the classic distinction of ‘French Scenes.’ THE CAUCASIAN CHALK CIRCLE has a deceptively large amount of mini scenes and transitioning sinew. Though perhaps smaller/shorter than a meatier courtroom scene, say, they still want the same attention. In addition to the complexity of that, each scene and mini scene may require a very distinct tone and un-apologetically require an about-face to get there. Thus: mini scenes and potential tone blind spots along the pathway. The job is not for the weak of heart, or those without Brian Kulick as tour guide.

Brecht has given us the beautiful task of building characters who feel what they feel, when they feel it, and sometimes no segue. In truth, it’s very liberating for an actor: Now, Grusha is a kitchen maid. Now, Grusha is a sexual being. And now, Grusha is a mountain climber. Those are concrete tasks that any actor would be thankful to hang their hat on in building a character. Navigating the twists and turns of the road, however? That is the next challenge of the week. How did she emotionally get over there so suddenly? What is my bridge from ‘here’ to ‘there’? The key is knowing that there doesn’t have to be a bridge. Just pick up and plant. Simply: I was ‘here’ and now I’m ‘there.’ Let that be and enjoy the simplicity of it.

From a dramaturgical and/or theatre history perspective, or perhaps from one that just enjoys Brecht, this is the very thing that makes him brilliant and why we continue to love and enjoy him. When I step back, I see the tapestry for what it is and admire it from afar. In the midst of the strings strung all over me right now, however, I feel more crunchy bits and floppy shoes than anything. Even still, this is my favorite part and this cranky oyster is loving the discovery crashes.

Ok. I’ll stop mixing an obscene amount of metaphors and go to rehearsal.

Talk soon, y’all.