Friday, January 29, 2010

Smothered in surmise...

One thing starting to make itself somewhat clear to me, I say somewhat as I don't entirely want to commit to any clarity yet, its too early in the rehearsal process, is that Mac is very much a thinker. He is not indelliberate in pronunciations, and he finds language to respond to his situations. I've been reading dialogue multitudinously and thats the feeling I get. I can slow don't generally, and in the heated passionate moments, I can really slow it down, so that nearly each particular word, with its specific consonants and vowels, can act as its own little dramatic moment. Ofcourse, I don't want to slow down too terribly either. But I think enjoy language like any other Shakespearean character and uses it as fruitfully and colorfully as possible. I suppose that is what is meant, to let the thought really float on the words. And in that regards, so many of the words are heavy laden.

Mac is struck so much throught out the play. There are very very few moments when he knows ahead of time what he will be saying. There can exist a real discovery to the thoughts as they arise in response to the stimuli in the situations within the scenes. He is constantly juggling and walking tightropes, and being bombarded by events, both natural and supernatural. He is trying to think his way through it.

Often time, he becomes aware of himself and the situation in a third-person manner, and makes comment on it. Those are the best, and sweetest, and often the most ironic or poinent. In those moments he seems to have epiphanies, that may be absolutely and shocking and surprising to him in ways that are not even provided for with dialogue in the text. "Some things I have in head, that will to hand, which must be acted ere they may be scanned." I could see him even having a bit of a laugh at the quality of those things which he suddenly has discovered to have in head.

"Present fears are less then horrible imaginings," is a description of his emotional state caused by the particular thoughts that are running through his head. This too could be an epiphany. And what follows is even a exclamation on the manner in which meager unphysical thought confined to brain, seems to shake him so.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

If it were done...

Alright, so I am going to work on this play called Macbeth. Why the bloody hell not.
No, but really I better start working out, and try to get some semblance of a warrior across my physique. That and the director hinted something about being naked. Well there is only so much I can do. I'm a grower, not a shower. But that not withstanding, I think the fight scene at the end of the play, MacB v MacD, should be grandiose. Well, I atleast have aspirations that it will be awesome, and prolonged, and exhausting. Lots of sound and fury. A bit of a play within a play. And metal clanging. Some welding sparks and sweat flying across the stage would not be amiss. All that requires some good amount of physical fitness, and aerobic breath. I don't mind if the audience leaves with a comment such as "the play was alright, and Moti, really knew all those lines, but the fight, oh my." I more or less picture the scene thus: turn hell hound, blah, blah, blah, ok, let's fight, and fight, fight, fight, and fight, sweat, breathe, speak, breathe, fight, fight, fight, fight some more, breath, fight some more still, sweat, make MacD trip, eat MacD elbow, fight, fight, fight, speak, breathe, fight, fight, fight, run off stage, or die on stage, whatever the director decides, and finally, have my head carried off. So I should get in shape. I get daily video clips in my inbox. Today I recieved one with instructions on the proper application of the caveman diet, which is basic and rather scandinavian. Its comprised of berries, nuts, venison, turnips, salmon, greens, and other such foods that are more less handy to your caveman environment, and require little more then hunting,or gathering. I watched Office Space last night, it was on TV, and there is a scene of the lead guy, forget his name, when he beings to trip down the primrose road of nihilism, he brings a freshly caught salmon into his cubicle, fillets it on his desk, and tosses the innards into the waste basket. Ah why then he was a man.