A Synetic Revolution

This photo has nothing to do with the content of this post. But isn't it cute?

I started this morning knowing I had to have a moment of Coach Taylor-esque awesomeness to geth today's work off on the right foot. I had, as usual, no idea what to say. I was frustrated, but knew that I couldn't yell the kids into being better actors.

I took a page from the modern world and tried instead a re-brandng of sorts. I talked about generosity and vanity. Generosity is something we talk about all the time as a company. It starts with the audience members who give up their time (and freedom of movement) to enter into the world we've created. They've given us something, in hopes in return, of getting an experience: aethetic, emotional, intellectual, spiritual...or any combination of the above. To invite people to give something up (and in boarding school, time is more valuable than gold) and give them nothing in return is a failure of the theatrical contract. I started out by acknowledging the worries and fears that creep in and rule us when we're on stage. I agreed that the actors in the room often get hung up on that terrifying question: what might they think? But then I asked for permission to re-brand it as Vanity. Will I look less attractive if I lie down on the stage? Will I get caught making an awkward face that someone in the audience could them take a picture of and then Instagram to everyone with an unkind commentary? Are people in the audience so unsophisticated that they honestly think something I do on stage is how I really am all the time in real life? They are real fears, yes. But they are fears driven by Vanity; a desire to look attractive and pulled-together100% of the time.

Physical beauty and "chillness" have their value. But we stop in our tracks to look twice when we see someone crying in public, laughing until they snort, or fighting with a loved one in a shopping mall food court. Our emotions vibrate when we see the things that remind us most of ourselves, of our own inner struggles. And if we are (and I believe we mainly are) very, very, aware of our flaws and faults and excesses, then doesn't it follow that these are the things that resonate with us most when we see them on stage?

"Hold, as 'twere a mirror up to Nature."

Shakespeare's not wrong there. So I challenged the kids to be brave enough to be fully alive and human on stage, and to challenge their fears by labeling them as Vanity. It's not an entirely accurrate descrtiption of what's driving them, but Vanity is repellent enough to these very good kids for them to at least listen. All these years they've been very protective of their self-consciouness, giving it power and sway to a debilitating degree. (I once had a girl tell me she would not pretend to be in love with a specific boy on stage because he wasn't physically attractive enough and her friends and classmates would punish her socially outside the play if she did a good job pretending.) I knew I was taking a risk that I would come across as uncaring. But these beautiful kids have lost too much of their lives and energy to feeling unworthy. I know how hard a feeling that is to fight. So by labeling it with an unattractive label, rather than wearing the affliction like a badge, I'm hoping they'll fight for themselves. And as actors, that they'll fight for their audiences.

So I wasn't exactly Coach Taylor (I never am), but something shook loose. The kids had a fantastic run-through, connected adn present and they started to find the rythym of the play. Whne I worked with kids individually in monologues, each successive one was a breakthrough, and I saw some of the best, free-est work I've ever seen from Montana, Brooke, Nathaniel, Colt, and Julia--and those kids all started out as very capable performers. Brooke's work is so good it presents a problem. That Tea Scene (which I still very much have it in for) features her monologue, and her work is so electric that I'm starting to wonder if it's okay to leave a lackluster scene in for the thrill of her speech? It's on the rehearsal schedule for tomorrow, at which point I'll either get the whole thing to work (finally) or I'll have to chuck it.

We're going to a show tonight by an interesting professional company. I'm hoping they'll be inspired and the work will continue to get exponentially better, as it did today. At the moment, the kids are in and around the swimming pool, laughing and splashing and just being themselves.

* * * * * * *

It's late and we're triumphantly back from seeing A Midsummer Night's Dream, performed by a professional company that specializes in adapting classic literature through dance and mime. I'm not making it sound cool, but trust me: it is. First of all, they've got top-notch lights, sound, costumes and sets. Next, they find that brilliant sweet spot of being genuinely funny one minute, and breath-takingly beautiful the next.

The reason their wordless Shakespeare works is not because the words are gone. As someone who knows Midsummer by heart, I found I could follow along while remembering line after line as easily as the kids in our group who did not know the story beforehand. Instead of chucking out the "bothersome language" they play it, and their work is so specific that it is possible to see little touches that evoke the images and lines so clearly that if you know the lines that they aren't saying, you can still see them played.

I like Shakespeare BECAUSE of the language. The words are Shakesepeare. I was wary of this company because Americans (and far too often, American high school theater directors) are quick to jettison the words without understanding them, in an Amadeus-like proclimation of "too many notes." But Synetic isn't disdainful of the language that I love, they are just making a career out of translating it to movement. I'm glad to be able to go to both and revel in both.

And for the kids? It was a revelation. Suddenly they understood far more about what it takes to make a gesture read to an audience, to take and give focus so the audience knows where to look and when to get the most out of the story. They were blown away by the fearlessness of the actors. That was the thing they kept coming back to: that the actors had no vanity about trying to appear stylish or smart or cool or "chill;" they just pursued what they wanted with full body, mind and soul.

Their shock at the willingness of actors to throw themselves into their roles always baffles me. True, I was not cool as a teenager, and grew up in an unpopluated forest-land that had a deep and unquestioning love of and belief in the arts. And while all the cool kids of my hometown ran long distances in the fall and competed on the X-country ski team in the winter, being good at theater was understood as an acceptable offshoot of being an honors student. It was considered an intellectual activity, which, while boring to some of the cool kids, was not tantamount to social death in our college town. As a result, I never had a moment's hesitation on the stage once I worked out that no one was judging me negatively for throwing myself 100% into the work. But that's why I'm always a step behind in sympathising when my kids freeze up, convinced that if they give 100%, they might get laughed at.

Hearing their conversations on the bus ride home tonight fills me with hope. We had an excellent run through today and the work was as good as it has ever been. They are really getting better at playing in near-round, as I'd predicted.

Tomorrow: an IDR for an audience almost entirely comprised of Tim and Becky's people. They have worked really hard to give these kids what they most need: an audience of strangers.