playing with repetition
The Headache of Death returned for a brief while today as we rehearsed and I executed this rather quick head-between-the-legs maneuver during the cabaret section of our composition. I feel like I shouldn't be writing about it because I don't want to give things away, but I don't think anyone from the program reads my blog. So the sensational secrets, the theatrical magic, if you will, is safe out there in the big, bad internet.
I think I'm going to see a doctor on Monday morning. The other fella who had this problem in the past said the doc prescribed some muscle relaxants. And I certainly wouldn't be opposed to taking some, say, before bed, if they would help the situation.
In other, less tedious news, we saw the SITI Co's The War of the Worlds tonight. What a delightful piece of theater! They played a lot with 'hyper realism' - naturalism so extreme that it becomes stylized, but still stays firmly situated in the world of the everyday. Also, some stunning work (of course) and a very exciting story.
I asked a question about sound - particularly sounds not related to speaking (e.g. papers falling to the floor, people walking around the 'studio' without shoes) - and the way Anne answered my question reminded me of something important. She said most of the discoveries about sound in the play were just that: discoveries. They were happy accidents that occurred during rehearsal (and were, of course, later choreographed down to every last muscular twitch) and that they hadn't set out consciously to explore those uncertainties and surprising convergences and remarkable tensions generated by the role of sound in the play (a visible, theatrical performance of an on-air play). She reminded me that, of course, these things must emerge organically and that, by and large, we simply breeze right by them or don't even allow them to emerge when we're so busy 'executing' some grand concept.
I'm too exhausted to be writing. I've got rehearsal in the morning, which should be fascinating since I just put my cohort - so drunk he was rolling around on the floor and caressing the wall - to bed. Then I'm going in to town to have lunch with a former professor of mine and her husband whom I've never met. And then it'll be back to Skidmore for more rehearsal.
And with that: