The Beginnings of Theater

I just got back from Greece and had some heart throbbing experiences in theater. First of all my husband and I went to Delphi the home of one of the ancient oracles. There, there was a Greek theater nestled into the side of a mountain. It seated an audience of 5,000 which looked down on the orchestra where the chorus took place and looked out on a breath stopping view of the valley below. The Greeks liked to have the audience look down on the actors like the gods look on us and have the audience realize the foibles of mankind. It's kind of like the Buddhist blue skying technique where when you are mired in troubles you are supposed to spend time looking at the sky. Perspective. Perspective. What we loose so often. So I walked out onto the central spot of the orchestra and started doing one of my monologues from my play, a bit under my breath since I didn't want to impinge on other people who were there. I felt something I haven't felt in a theater before. I felt held, taken care of. The curve of the audience as it was placed in the hill was the perfect curve for the "stage". The proportions were perfect. I felt like I could do no wrong on that "stage". I made "mistakes", but they were ok and I took my time. My words came from myself from my being present in the moment. Now that's good acting, but here I didn't have to do any preparation to get there. The space did it for me. I didn't have to "do" anything.

The second theater I went to was in Epidaurus and that theater's capacity was 15,000 people though I heard that when Maria Callus sang there they squeezed in 17,000. There the ethos was for people to stand in the center spot of the orchestra and speak, sing, do whatever you wanted. I stood there and spoke with a sending out voice. Not pushing, or speaking loudly. Just sending my voice out to the audience. I spoke three monologues out loud and the acoustics were such that my voice both echoed back to myself and soared to the uppermost reaches of the audience. I was pulled into a heightened sense of theater that you can get from performing from a great play. The enormity of the theater plus it's astounding acoustics plus it's perfect shape created the physical container for drama. It's a place where every word is literally heard and literally supported. I sent my words out and they came back to me and fed me. Thrilling.

Later a guide came and struck a match on the center stone. It rang throughout. Imagine Maria Callas singing there.

The Greeks: no microphones no acting techniques. They used location and use of space in location to create the effects they wanted. Feng Shui experts.

In the Telling

I’m learning so much by memorizing Emily Dickinson's poems and saying them out loud. Yesterday saying the words “inebriate” I could feel a propulsion of breath bursting out of my mouth to be sucked in by the words “of air”. Leaning into the words and letting them create sensations and then feelings in the body. (Check the August 1 post for the poem: "I taste a liquor never brewed.")

I'm beginning to read a book by Cicely Barry called "From Word to Play: A Handbook for Directors." In the beginning she says there is no difference between words to action and action to words. Now I'm beginning to feel it. The body speaking is a moving instrument. Barry says we must bring sound back into theater. It reminds me of what I learned from studying with Shakespeare and Company in the Berkshires. They pointed out that before written language the sounds in the oral traditions were so graphic that the TELLING evoked intense feelings. That's why Shakespeare's language is so visceral and compelling. When really spoken the consonants clang, burst, throb, ssssss's slither and lisp; lll's be liquid lilting waves. Sounds go straight to the "body" of the audience.

Makes me understand why theater is so wonderful. To hear a live actor reverberating on stage with all the nuances and minute tellings...

Notes from fall: Search for the right director

September 4.

If I’m going to be in this play I’m going to have to find a director. It would be too splintering for me to have three different points of view: playwright, actor, and director. . (I’ve already run into arguments between the playwright and actor. The playwright finally had to say in a firm voice, “Trust the words and if after you’ve memorized the section and worked it and it still sounds off to you, get back to me.” So far there has been no discussion :)

So if you know a director who loves poetry, music, and movement/dance, give me a post. I’d love some suggestions.

--christina

Notes from summer: playing a part

August 2. I’ve decided that I’m going to play the part of Emily Dickinson at least in the staged readings so I’ve been working on imbuing myself even more with Emily Dickinson’s life. Have recently read “The Passion of Emily Dickinson” by Judith Farr and “The Gardens of Emily Dickinson” by the same author. Also I’m reading all of Dickinson’s poems (almost 2.0000) and picking ones to read out loud. The variety and complexity and subtlety and wisdom and strength of music is so dense and rich it’s like running into a wall.

I’ve read almost 400 poems so far and I’m starting to feel a thread of Emily Dickinson’s inner life. Nothing to be put into words, but to be felt. I need to add that part of the fun is I’m consulting the 1828 Dictionary first put out by Noah Webster which was almost Dickinson’s Bible. She loved this book and read it incessantly. It’s so much fun to have some of the poems get revealed by finding the definition of a word which has a slightly different meaning back in her day. I’ve also read that often she would take one of the more archaic meanings of the word and so I get to be a bit of a word sleuth.

In preparation for the reading and eventually doing a full production of the play I’m beginning to memorize the script and choreograph it. It’s helping me get into the nuances of the piece. In the beginning it was quite daunting, but I’m now reaching the stage of it being an exciting challenge and a joy. I’m sure this will continue to spiral around which is where the juice comes from, right?? There’s a deep familiarity in the rhythms and the sounds.

--christina

Skeleton Woman: a note from Ava Roy

July 20, 2006
A report from Ava Roy, the director who first used the prow of the ship: Oh, i'm so glad to hear of the prow's continuing performance journey! The base of the prow was hauled by a team of people from the farthest other end of the bulb and brought to the beach, where our crew installed it and built on it... Thank you for giving the prow another life in performance.

Note from Christina O'Reilly: Ava's theater group is We Players and can be reached through www.weplayers.org They used the prow for their production of The Tempest and had it right out on the beach in Emeryville. I met some of her actors and they were filled with such joy and enthusiasm I wish i could have seen the performance.

Skeleton Woman: midnight writing

July 20, 2006
Bob Engel:/What actors write at midnight when they come from rehearsal and can't sleep:/ I've been trying to understand for myself as an actor what is so moving and compelling about making theater. When it is good, it goes very deep. The heart must be open, but unattached. The mind must be attentive. You do not know, as you create a character and place that character in a scene, you do not know what you will find. You cannot know what you will find. A wondrous tension comes from being open to the creative while minding the details. Your preconceptions, even your intuitions, might prevent the entrance of the surprising gift of a constructed, artificial, and yet fully real reality. The witnessing of the creative moment is itself compelling and even spiritual. Every religion tells a creation story. Actors, like other artists, get to be present at the creation, but we have the special joy of having a creative moment which comes in a form very much like experience: characters and a story.