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Apr. 20th, 2003 12:07 amGreat strides at A&G rehearsal today, brought on I think mostly by _finally_ having the entire cast in the same place at once and for all, and by some of the costumes coming in. So, I feel really good about it.
HousePlague closed tonight, to an overcapacity house and a warm reception. After spending the last three days begging for the end and comparing the entire thing to a bad relationship, I was very very sad tonight, and really moved by what we've been through.
I think the length of our run was difficult. It wasn't short enough to maintain a certain energy level and not long enough to really explore the piece to the degree a lot of the actors seemed to want to -- so people were often frustrated, exhausted and not necessarily settled into the daily routine of it.
I also think Romeo and Juliet is difficult, no matter the adaptation, because it's ubiquitous. You don't get to go home and be sure you won't hear any references to it when you're not at the theater. After a while, I think we all felt like the Bard was stalking us.
After the show, I tried to hang out and be social for a little while, but I was extremely emotional and instead wandered up Broadway quite a bit before taking the train home. It was a strange experience, buried in my headphones, in this part of NYC designed for everyone but the people who live here. I was moved by it though, by the people that come to the city and have to see Times Square, to make it all real, even when they don't know what the real of it is. The real of it is of course the lives of what they view as scenary, the people who live here, the street vendors, the performers, the commuters, just trying to get home.
When I lived in Washington DC, sorrowful moods were simple, as I could wander the empty streets of my city for hours in the dark, and make pilgrimages to monuments with implacable faces that always seemed too benevolent to question our need to visit them, especially in the dark, over business that was not their concern.
New York is harder, as there are no quiet places, no private moments, no way to grieve or pray in the fashion that I do, in any fashion that is solitary. But it worked well enough, stopped the threatening tears, and provoked a couple of deep laughs. I'm glad I did it. Really glad, as it was the sort of thing I thought about each night after the show and did not pursue.
A director I worked with ages ago also came to the show tonight, and gave me a tape of those performances, that I don't really have the heart to watch tonight. In fact, I really haven't figured out what I'm going to salve or indulge this mood with, other than some writing.
Voice lesson tomorrow. Opera rehearsal at 6. I need to do some prop work in between and some stuff for school. Still need to pick up Sands of Ammon. Still need to write about directing and my weird headspace about it as informed by HousePlague and A&G.
HousePlague closed tonight, to an overcapacity house and a warm reception. After spending the last three days begging for the end and comparing the entire thing to a bad relationship, I was very very sad tonight, and really moved by what we've been through.
I think the length of our run was difficult. It wasn't short enough to maintain a certain energy level and not long enough to really explore the piece to the degree a lot of the actors seemed to want to -- so people were often frustrated, exhausted and not necessarily settled into the daily routine of it.
I also think Romeo and Juliet is difficult, no matter the adaptation, because it's ubiquitous. You don't get to go home and be sure you won't hear any references to it when you're not at the theater. After a while, I think we all felt like the Bard was stalking us.
After the show, I tried to hang out and be social for a little while, but I was extremely emotional and instead wandered up Broadway quite a bit before taking the train home. It was a strange experience, buried in my headphones, in this part of NYC designed for everyone but the people who live here. I was moved by it though, by the people that come to the city and have to see Times Square, to make it all real, even when they don't know what the real of it is. The real of it is of course the lives of what they view as scenary, the people who live here, the street vendors, the performers, the commuters, just trying to get home.
When I lived in Washington DC, sorrowful moods were simple, as I could wander the empty streets of my city for hours in the dark, and make pilgrimages to monuments with implacable faces that always seemed too benevolent to question our need to visit them, especially in the dark, over business that was not their concern.
New York is harder, as there are no quiet places, no private moments, no way to grieve or pray in the fashion that I do, in any fashion that is solitary. But it worked well enough, stopped the threatening tears, and provoked a couple of deep laughs. I'm glad I did it. Really glad, as it was the sort of thing I thought about each night after the show and did not pursue.
A director I worked with ages ago also came to the show tonight, and gave me a tape of those performances, that I don't really have the heart to watch tonight. In fact, I really haven't figured out what I'm going to salve or indulge this mood with, other than some writing.
Voice lesson tomorrow. Opera rehearsal at 6. I need to do some prop work in between and some stuff for school. Still need to pick up Sands of Ammon. Still need to write about directing and my weird headspace about it as informed by HousePlague and A&G.
