Blithe Skip
One of the dangers of live stage performance is you really never know what is going to happen. My favorite story about skipping around in the text of a play is from “Blithe Spirit”. If you’re not familiar with the show, there are movies available, and this is a play which is produced in local theatres frequently.
The basic story is about a man who is haunted by his first wife while his second wife can’t hear what is going on. Mix in a séance, a mystic, an older couple and a maid, and you have the plot. As the haunting goes on, there are mix-ups and some really hilarious dialogue, especially when the husband is talking to the first wife while the second wife thinks he is talking to her.
Usually in a play, there is plenty of exposition at the beginning to get everyone on the same page. I’ve even noticed that in most plays there is a significant part of the beginning which is really unnecessary. Even Shakespeare begins his plays with some throw-away scenes and characters. Why would this be?
I have a theory. I don’t think the audiences in Shakespeare’s day were all that different than today’s audiences. One common problem with audiences in every theatre I’ve acted in is latecomers. I’ve probably acted in 20 or 30 different venues, and every show there are five or ten people who are late.
So what does a playwright do? Make the beginning unnecessary for the rest of the show. Think about Hamlet. There is a scene with the Ghost of Hamlet’s father and a couple of guards. They decide to tell Hamlet, and a couple of scenes later, we are back with the ghost.
It’s the same with Blithe Spirit. My character and the girl playing my wife ask a bunch of questions which the husband answers. We are to discuss what is coming up later in the show and give the background about the two wives and the husband.
I was standing on stage with the male lead and the girl playing my wife. She looks at me and has that “deer in the headlights” kind of look, and skips seven pages of the script. I knew what had just happened, and the woman who was to make the next entrance, which wasn’t supposed to happen for seven more pages, heard her cue. She was galloping to her entrance from the back corner backstage, and since the actress who usually plays this part is, how can I say this diplomatically, supposed to be a larger actress. I could hear her running as fast as her short legs could carry her. The audience was treated to a ferocious pounding backstage, but had no clue why.
I had the most stage experience of the three of us, and both of the other actors on stage looked at me with a strange helpless look that told me I was now in charge. They really had no clue what to do, so I did my best to get us back to the details we had just skipped.
Of course the audience had no idea what had just happened. But it made it look like I had just forgotten my lines. I struggled to get the other actors back on track. Every minute or so, I had to initiate another section to remind them where we were going.
So after a torturous 10 minutes or so which seemed like an hour, we arrived back at the point where we had begun. The proper cue was given, and the entrance was made at the right time. I think this is one of the great benefits of being an actor, and doing live theatre.
Think about it this way. If you can deal with this kind of pressure on a stage with hundreds of people watching you, do you really think someone can walk up and surprise you? I have students who try their best to catch me off guard with some strange statement, and all it makes me do is quickly respond with the perfect comeback. Most of my students know not to challenge my superiority in the quick response which turns the table. I have actually accused some people of being the best foil or “straight man” I could ever want, since most of what they say seems like a set up for a joke. Here’s a lame example.
“Did you get a haircut?”
“Nope, I got them all cut. It’s more economical.”
I know it’s not clever. It’s what my daughter calls “Dad humor”. Here’s a better one.
When someone asks me if they “can” go to the bathroom, I tell them, “I don’t know. Go find out.”
They usually can, but I don’t want to know about it.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment