Great Literature and Falling Off Furniture
Past Blather
Pop here, still mining the backlog. This is an e-mail from Anna dated 1-28-99, back when she was up to five N's:
Tuesday my Literature teacher offered extra credit to anyone who would act in a scene from Julius Caesar, which we were reading at the time. Mind you, not actually memorizing or rehearsing or anything, just reading from the book. I volunteered for every part as she handed them out, and eventually got assigned Mark Antony.
We were to put on the scene of Caesar's funeral, act III scene ii, I believe. I was going to make a toga, but all my sheets are inappropriate colors and too short anyway. I found a site that tells you how to build a better toga -- http://www.connect.net/ron/howtomakeatoga.html -- and planned to go buy some nice red fabric. Unfortunately, that would have involved actually leaving the dorm, so I ended up not doing it after all.
I managed to borrow a large white sheet from Liz, the one person in this wing with whom I have managed to converse successfully. She kept it for this very purpose. Preliminary draping indicated that it was a Bad Idea for me to wear a toga, particularly a white one. I folded the sheet and put it in my bag. If the guy playing Caesar (Dead) couldn't keep a straight face, we could put it over him.
Meanwhile, I decided to take the Elizabethan attitude towards costuming. Modern dress all the way. Except I found a box of red "Hello! My Name Is" tags when I was searching for a highlighter for my lines, so I wrote the main characters' names on 'em. Perfect.
Oh, yeah. I did read the lines a lot and practice saying 'em. It's not like I was totally preoccupied with the outfit.
So we all showed up for class, having decided not to meet a few minutes early and rehearse. Everyone liked the name tags, especially Plebes 1-4. Caesar (Dead) tied the sheet into a toga over his Hawaiian shirt and cowboy boots. Caesar (Dead) and myself went outside the classroom, waiting for our cue. Wait.
"You're dead. I have to get you in somehow."
Caesar (Dead) sort of panicked, but I quickly looked through the script and realized Plebe #4 had no lines until after Caesar's body entered. I opened the door slightly. He was right at the end of the mass of plebes. I bet they were in numerical order. Anyway, I yanked him out the door and explained the situation.
While Brutus was winning the crowd over with his oratorical skills, Mark Antony and Plebe #4 were in the hall, experimenting with different ways of carrying Caesar's body. We eventually decided that I would grab his legs and Plebe #4 would grab his arms. We also decided that he was not going on the table, but rather the floor in front of the table. We heard our cue, and picked up the Emperor.
He was a very good sport about it. The class suppressed a giggle as we tried not to whack him against anything. Plebe #4 went and stood next to (presumably) Plebe #3, and I did some crouching and half-sobbing while waiting for Brutus to wrap it up.
0<-< Caesar
____________
|TABLE |
| |
------------
|#| <--chair
Anyway, Brutus was standing on the chair. He finished, and I ascended.
"Friends, Romans, countrymen--"
And that's when I nearly fell off the damn chair. I did some pretty fancy gyrations and managed not to tip too far.
The rest went pretty well, except for the crowd. Whenever kids read Shakespeare out loud, the ones reading the crowd think they have to CHANT the crowd lines in unison, like some demented chorus.
EVERYBODY: Oh! Mur-der! We will burn their hou-ses! (pause, pause) Where is Bru-tus?
[Example. I don't have the book on me.]
Anyway, I was emoting the heck out of the lines and stuff, and started tearing up at one point. We finished the scene to thunderous applause, and Caesar (Dead) stood up and announced that our bungling had given him an Atomic Toga Wedgie and if we had run a minute longer, he would have scooted himself offstage and dealt with it. He then left the room and came back disheveled and toga-less.
During our 5-minute break, the professor wandered over to me and complimented my ACTING! I said something like, "Uh, was it real obvious when I nearly fell off a chair?" "Oh, no," she said, "I just thought you were being distraught."
She went on to praise my acting ability even more, which confused the hell out of me, because I seriously have about three acting styles: Shouty Person; REALLY Shouty Person; and Person Related to One of the Actors, Holding the Scenery Up but Not Actually in the Scene so Please Don't Notice Her.
I guess Shakespearean stuff is good for actors who only know how to enunciate, project their voices, and pronounce things well, even when they don't know what they mean. It would explain the percentage of Star Trek actors who are former Shakespeareans. It's not like talking about being foolish fond and about your bodkin is much different than announcing that the inertial dampers have altered the phase harmonics of the warp nacelles.
The professor said something to the effect of "If you ever decide to stir up a riot, tell me. I'd like to see it."
And the moral of the story is: If you can disguise the fact that you're about to fall off a small chair, you're probably a pretty good actor and can incite the masses to revolt.
Annnnna
Tuesday my Literature teacher offered extra credit to anyone who would act in a scene from Julius Caesar, which we were reading at the time. Mind you, not actually memorizing or rehearsing or anything, just reading from the book. I volunteered for every part as she handed them out, and eventually got assigned Mark Antony.
We were to put on the scene of Caesar's funeral, act III scene ii, I believe. I was going to make a toga, but all my sheets are inappropriate colors and too short anyway. I found a site that tells you how to build a better toga -- http://www.connect.net/ron/howtomakeatoga.html -- and planned to go buy some nice red fabric. Unfortunately, that would have involved actually leaving the dorm, so I ended up not doing it after all.
I managed to borrow a large white sheet from Liz, the one person in this wing with whom I have managed to converse successfully. She kept it for this very purpose. Preliminary draping indicated that it was a Bad Idea for me to wear a toga, particularly a white one. I folded the sheet and put it in my bag. If the guy playing Caesar (Dead) couldn't keep a straight face, we could put it over him.
Meanwhile, I decided to take the Elizabethan attitude towards costuming. Modern dress all the way. Except I found a box of red "Hello! My Name Is" tags when I was searching for a highlighter for my lines, so I wrote the main characters' names on 'em. Perfect.
Oh, yeah. I did read the lines a lot and practice saying 'em. It's not like I was totally preoccupied with the outfit.
So we all showed up for class, having decided not to meet a few minutes early and rehearse. Everyone liked the name tags, especially Plebes 1-4. Caesar (Dead) tied the sheet into a toga over his Hawaiian shirt and cowboy boots. Caesar (Dead) and myself went outside the classroom, waiting for our cue. Wait.
"You're dead. I have to get you in somehow."
Caesar (Dead) sort of panicked, but I quickly looked through the script and realized Plebe #4 had no lines until after Caesar's body entered. I opened the door slightly. He was right at the end of the mass of plebes. I bet they were in numerical order. Anyway, I yanked him out the door and explained the situation.
While Brutus was winning the crowd over with his oratorical skills, Mark Antony and Plebe #4 were in the hall, experimenting with different ways of carrying Caesar's body. We eventually decided that I would grab his legs and Plebe #4 would grab his arms. We also decided that he was not going on the table, but rather the floor in front of the table. We heard our cue, and picked up the Emperor.
He was a very good sport about it. The class suppressed a giggle as we tried not to whack him against anything. Plebe #4 went and stood next to (presumably) Plebe #3, and I did some crouching and half-sobbing while waiting for Brutus to wrap it up.
0<-< Caesar
____________
|TABLE |
| |
------------
|#| <--chair
Anyway, Brutus was standing on the chair. He finished, and I ascended.
"Friends, Romans, countrymen--"
And that's when I nearly fell off the damn chair. I did some pretty fancy gyrations and managed not to tip too far.
The rest went pretty well, except for the crowd. Whenever kids read Shakespeare out loud, the ones reading the crowd think they have to CHANT the crowd lines in unison, like some demented chorus.
EVERYBODY: Oh! Mur-der! We will burn their hou-ses! (pause, pause) Where is Bru-tus?
[Example. I don't have the book on me.]
Anyway, I was emoting the heck out of the lines and stuff, and started tearing up at one point. We finished the scene to thunderous applause, and Caesar (Dead) stood up and announced that our bungling had given him an Atomic Toga Wedgie and if we had run a minute longer, he would have scooted himself offstage and dealt with it. He then left the room and came back disheveled and toga-less.
During our 5-minute break, the professor wandered over to me and complimented my ACTING! I said something like, "Uh, was it real obvious when I nearly fell off a chair?" "Oh, no," she said, "I just thought you were being distraught."
She went on to praise my acting ability even more, which confused the hell out of me, because I seriously have about three acting styles: Shouty Person; REALLY Shouty Person; and Person Related to One of the Actors, Holding the Scenery Up but Not Actually in the Scene so Please Don't Notice Her.
I guess Shakespearean stuff is good for actors who only know how to enunciate, project their voices, and pronounce things well, even when they don't know what they mean. It would explain the percentage of Star Trek actors who are former Shakespeareans. It's not like talking about being foolish fond and about your bodkin is much different than announcing that the inertial dampers have altered the phase harmonics of the warp nacelles.
The professor said something to the effect of "If you ever decide to stir up a riot, tell me. I'd like to see it."
And the moral of the story is: If you can disguise the fact that you're about to fall off a small chair, you're probably a pretty good actor and can incite the masses to revolt.
Annnnna