Oh My: Part Three

And its original title:

Disco-y Spiders, Orphans, and Flirting with my Best Friend's Love/Twin

January 2013. Tempest auditions.

I manage to forget my set piece.

Just to clarify, this endangers my entire construction of self-concept, and even now I will bitterly insist that it had everything to do with circumstance and nothing to do with disposition or ability... even though there were absolutely no justifying circumstances. But I digress.
See, it was Prospero's soliloquy from Act Five of The Tempest, and I fancy myself a Shakespere nerd, so this cognitive dissonance was too much for me to handle.

For years this has haunted me. Often, late at night, I'll wake up drenched in a cold sweat, and it begins... 'I have bedimmed the noontide sun'... I writhe in my bed sheets, begging for the playwright's forgiveness, yet still I can FEEL the spirit of Shakespeare shooting me disapproving glowers from the shadow-shrouded corner. In a very (characteristically) plaintive fashion, I siphoned the shame from this moment to torment myself endlessly.

"Of course-- this is why I couldn't be in Les Miserables, or anything. I have no talent for drama whatsoever," I moaned, swooning to a pale faint on the floor, my champagne spilling in an arc around me, eyelids fluttering shut to the cameras.

All this in my head, of course.

Because I was in the play. And, I had lines.*

I was cast as Adrian. To emphasize, the male character of Adrian. To really drive this home for all y'all folks who don't know me personally, I am about as stereotypically feminine as a kitten in a basket of flowers wearing a lacy bonnet. Having tea with all the Disney princesses, simultaneously.

Obviously, some coaching was needed. My peers attempted to aid me backstage, which was largely unsuccessful, not to mention frustrating for everyone involved.

In time, though, I became the very portrait of masculinity.

We got in trouble a lot during rehearsals. And by this I mean, I got in trouble, and by chance at times dragged other people down into the flaming pits of Tartarus with me.
One time, I jumped out of a broom closet at my friend. Screeching violently. In my head, it was a very tactful fling from the top shelf into a graceful somersault, but I think I actually knocked my skull on the ground and everything beyond that point has been the product of my comatose imagination. Coolio.
Another time:

Also, I had a monstrous crush on the guy playing Caliban (*snrk*, pun). Like my mom says, I have propensity to fancy guys who look like plague victims.

I am in a perpetual state of infatuation with Shakespeare. And therefore, his masterpiece, Caliban. (heh, sorry real-life boyfriend....)

Such a pity we couldn't've had more scenes together. When you're the naïve king's lord whose main role is faux perspicacious comments and he's a poetic villain bent on smashing the protagonist's head in, the fault is, in fact, in your stars. 

I was crushed when our productions of The Tempest were over. It left in its place a perpetual longing, as does every passing play.

Flash forward another year. More Shakespeare. 

This time, I was determined to not be an idiot/to have my set piece truly committed to memory and flawlessly performed. It was Much Ado About Nothing, one of my very favorite scripts of all time, and I will admit in the interest of candor that I pined to be Beatrice. She's the silver-tongued, irreverently independent heroine, a fiercely emotional role, and one that I felt I could ease into without any real change of character. Picture me now as a gelatinous goo easily formed to the shape of Beatrice. Okay? Okay.
Some featured commonalities:

I am very glad now, though, that our director cast me into a role that was to all entirely unexpected: a gender-swapped version of Don John, the "Lady Jane". I could fence, I could violently monologue, and I could storm my way offstage over five times. What's not to love?

Okay, in my interpretation, there's only one slight hurdle associated with the switch from lord to lady-- and that's that the character seems to change from:

To:

I believe Borachio rejecting the female Jane added some dimension to both of their characters, as well as an internal redundancy that more accurately portrays the relationships between roles within the play: John/Jane's heinous nature derives from feelings of exclusion and invalidity, which he/she resentfully embraces as authentic to his/her own nature rather than as unjust social perceptions. Of course she'd be rejected. Her expressions in that moment allow for a flicker of empathy. In one of Shakespeare's most passively delegating, obviously malignant villains, it's difficult to interpret the text in such a way that he (or she, in our version) may be understoood. People don't enjoy an antagonist without a meaningful motive.

Shakespeare would be chill with that, I think. Heck, he made so many "Yo Mama" jokes, it's hard to imagine him getting ruffled over any creative liberties one may take of him. Go ahead, stretch that as far as you like.

And so on and so forth until he rolls so much in his grave that the axis of the planet tilts a fraction of a degree further.

Right, I was actually talking about something until I got distracted by the fact that West Side Story is the only non-acceptable Shakespeare adaptation. I believe my next point was that Kelton played Borachio, and it's always awkward to seductively grab your best friend's twin by the shirt collar (speaking from personal experience). I would imagine, though, that it was even worse for poor, dear Katylin.

Talk about a tricky cast to navigate! Through some very tactfully choreographed shadow-play behind a curtain, we were able to manipulate the scene so that Borachio could-- chastely-- woo his Margaret, and thus the heroine Hero could be undone, devastated, and outcast from society in disgrace and ruin, etc etc. (it's a long story). 

(not too long.)

And there you have it. Mix in a little of Benedick and Beatrice insulting each other until they catch feelings, and that's the whole plot. 

Speaking of... I'd like to do a shout-out to our Benedick, Isaac (pronounced i-say-ACK). This guy. Throughout tech week, everyone started to fall ill. Many people lost their voices or became violently nauseous. I threw up and fell asleep on the floor. Isaac, lying there, looked so sunken and pale that we all contemplated appropriate dirges. But... this guy. He pulled it together, almost impossibly, and waltzed up on stage to deliver a striking, dynamic performance-- again and again. Isaac, you were an inspiration to us all. Without you-- and the provisions of "medicinal" ginger ale and french bread helpfully supplied backstage-- we might've given up. I'm at least half certain you rose from the dead that day.

I did so love that french bread, though. Sorry again, real-life boyfriend; I was sick and sloppily emotional and may've gotten "married" to a loaf of bread backstage.

We had it annulled, of course (thanks Henry VIII).

And there, dear readers, I must conclude our tale for today. Primarily because I am lazy. Join me-- after finals week-- for the time I dislocated my shoulder and that other time when I was utterly tone deaf! Until then, have a happy week of doom!!