He’s waiting at the door when I arrive with the key;
\nwe talk about three days of rain while I unlock.
\nHe hauls out his battered script and studies lines
\nas I set up. Soon the director arrives, and while
\nwe exchange notes about the rehearsal to come,
\nthe guy stretches slowly in a corner, pacing each
\nmove with slow deliberate breathing. Soon the hall
\nis giddy with the conversations of people arriving,
\nbut he is off to the side like a shy cousin, head
\ndown, focused on the text. I call the cast to
\nthe set, and start the rehearsal. The guy is
\nthe only one without a script in his hand. We
\nnever have to prompt him nor explain a line;
\nit is as if he had written the play— no,
\nas if he had lived the play. Yet he is not locked into
\na particular reading of a line: each run through
\nbrings something new and intriguing. Soon, the others
\nare reaching for his level of commitment. There is
\nlittle giddiness at rehearsals: everyone arrives with
\na sense of purpose. The production blossoms as
\neverybody finds a better way to dress the set with
\nreal antiques this time, to spend more time hanging
\nelectrics for best moonlight, to adjust the sound effects
\nso you can smell the chickens and feel the rain; and you
\nwill care enough shed a tear when Melanie dies at the end.
\nAfter the play closes, the guy goes back to his job at the
\ngas station, and waits patiently for the next audition.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The amateur actor usually rehearses at night after a full day of work. I have seen some pretty good ones. (#994) Continue reading