aha! duh.
I had a terrible audition. Not terrible horrible, but terribly uninspiring, which any actor will tell you is worse. I'm guessing directors will tell you that too. Anyway, admidst my relative boringness came a cool reminder of why I love the puzzle of working on good plays with smart and talented people.
I had read the play thoroughly once and skimmed it once or twice more. And I worked on the one scene a bunch, alone and with Monkey's help. I can tell you from years of experience that the scene is funny; you can just tell. It's written funny - the rhythms, the spikes, the language, the pace - but it didn't seem that way coming out of my mouth. I knew that it was supposed to be, but couldn't figure out why it wasn't. Frustrating as hell but I figured, ah fuck it; maybe I'm wrong. Just do it faster and bigger, that makes everything funny!
I was not wrong. Which became clear in an infinity of awkwardness while I read the scene for the director. I was not funny, but she was sweet. "Okay, um. Let's start again, and this time think about this ..." And in a very lovely and efficient explanation showed me that I had played the character about as opposite as one could've and still been in the same play. It was so obvious, and I couldn't believe I had led myself so far astray. I felt weirdly ecstatic. "I knew it was supposed to be funny!" I exclaimed, and then did the scene again. And, even though it was rather mediocre since the Tetris pieces of the scene were still dropping into place in my mind, it was kinda funny. Could've been hilarious with a little more prep.
Usually it happens in rehearsal, sometimes in performance, sometimes (annoyingly) after the show has closed, and this time it happened in the audition; but I think it's my favorite thing about acting, that aha! moment.
I had read the play thoroughly once and skimmed it once or twice more. And I worked on the one scene a bunch, alone and with Monkey's help. I can tell you from years of experience that the scene is funny; you can just tell. It's written funny - the rhythms, the spikes, the language, the pace - but it didn't seem that way coming out of my mouth. I knew that it was supposed to be, but couldn't figure out why it wasn't. Frustrating as hell but I figured, ah fuck it; maybe I'm wrong. Just do it faster and bigger, that makes everything funny!
I was not wrong. Which became clear in an infinity of awkwardness while I read the scene for the director. I was not funny, but she was sweet. "Okay, um. Let's start again, and this time think about this ..." And in a very lovely and efficient explanation showed me that I had played the character about as opposite as one could've and still been in the same play. It was so obvious, and I couldn't believe I had led myself so far astray. I felt weirdly ecstatic. "I knew it was supposed to be funny!" I exclaimed, and then did the scene again. And, even though it was rather mediocre since the Tetris pieces of the scene were still dropping into place in my mind, it was kinda funny. Could've been hilarious with a little more prep.
Usually it happens in rehearsal, sometimes in performance, sometimes (annoyingly) after the show has closed, and this time it happened in the audition; but I think it's my favorite thing about acting, that aha! moment.
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