Weeks Two and Three, Finding the Flow...

Almost done with Week 3, and I've finally seemed to find the rhythm of touring life. It's in 5/4 time and syncopated, mind you, but the rhythm is there.

Cities We've Hit:

• Ogdensburg, NY 
• We played to a sold out middle school auditorium. Our dressing room was the library, where our resident Historian spent Intermission finding a book on Crack and reading it out loud to my knights. Good times.
• Portland, ME 
• Oh my God, Portland is beautiful. Pictures below. And the city is rocking, with a great arts scene. Walking back from the theater, I passed some street performers doing fire eating and fire poi. What does it say about my previous place of residence that it made me feel homesick?
• Wallingford, CT
• Where my beautiful fiance drove up to see me, God bless her. Also, we wanted to hit the hotel's restaurant/bar after the show, but it was already rented out to a Swingers convention. God's honest truth...
• Saginaw, MI
• We actually had a day off in Saginaw, which we used to discover that there is very little to do in Saginaw. At least, not within walking distance.
• Mansfield, OH
• Home of the Ohio State Reformatory where The Shawshank Redemption was filmed.
• Benton Harbor, MI
• Where they fed us before the show. Those are my favorite theaters, hands down.

Keeping it Fresh

One of the great challenges an actor faces when performing the same show for any period of time is keeping the experience 'fresh.' How do you convey the impression that your character is experiencing something for the first time, even though as an actor you've said these lines dozens of times before? (As a point of reference, those actors who were on the tour last year are approaching their three hundredth performance.)

The next time you see a show that's been running for a long time, particularly a matinee, keep an eye out for the tell-tale signs of the 'been there, done that' attitude that an actor can fall into if they're not careful. Maybe one character responds to another's question almost as soon as the question is out of their mouth, without allowing any time to actually think up the answer, almost as though that character psychically knew exactly what the other person was going to say. Or, more subtly, perhaps during a long monologue an actor falls into a comfortable vocal cadence that, while pleasing and polished, is too rhythmic and melodic to have any spontaneity. It's hard to define exactly, but sometimes you get the feeling that a line delivery has become more mechanical than human.

But on the other hand, it's an equally bad idea to try changing things arbitrarily just to keep the actors on their toes. Then the show runs the risk of losing its cohesiveness and forfeiting the benefit of those hours upon hours of rehearsal. A truly great show is able to find that perfect balance of polish and presence, where the characters seem to make their choices (in a visually pleasing and well-paced way) for the first time, every time, even though they've been making pretty much the exact same choices for the past hundred shows.

One of the legends of the Ren Faire circuit, Doug Kondziolka, who's been performing his show Don Juan and Miguel in pretty much the same way for nigh on 30 years (but so help me finding a way to make it seem like the first time, every time), put it well: "If you're looking to make a change, ask yourself whether you're doing it because the audience is bored or because you're bored. Changing something that an audience loves every time just because you're tired of it is a bit of a selfish choice for a performer."

None of this is meant to be in judgement of any other actor, because this is a struggle that every performer -- myself included -- deals with on a daily basis. We walk a very narrow ledge. You might fall into a chasm on one side and find yourself, motivated by either boredom or self-doubt, making a choice that while spontaneous and fresh makes no sense in the overall story. On the other side of the ledge lie the perils of by-rote line delivery, speaking your words without really listening to what your scene partner is saying. And fall to far into that abyss and you'll reach the seventh level of artistic hell: phoning it in.

How to resolve this conflict? Well, pretty much the actors who have figured that out really are the ones who became legends. Different performers will use different tricks to keep at the very least the illusion of newness. I wish I had the words to delineate them here (although I'm sure many people have been able to). For me, the answers are mostly subconscious... they reveal themselves at just the right moment in a particular scene, but are wiped from my memory once the scene is done. And I'm quite certain I fail to keep something truly present just as often as I succeed, although hopefully in ways too subtle for most of the crowd to notice. 

Part of the job is having faith that the longer you do a show, the more of those tools for 'keeping it real' you'll discover, and the easier they'll be to use.

Pictures!

On Peak's Island, off the coast of Portland. One section of the beach sported dozen of stone cairns, which I can only assume the locals have built up over time. I'm not sure if there's some spiritual significance to them.

First stop at any mall I hit: 15 minutes 'testing' the products at Brookstone.

Found a gamestore in Mansfield that was an absolute Mecca for old Nintendo games. Really made me miss by old NES.

The theatre in Mansfield, OH. A dozen pictures could not do this place justice. I felt like I was performing in Aladdin's palace.

My castmate Carl standing next to a truly old school dimmer box at the theatre in Mansfield. That's how lights and special effects used to be run. Hardcore.

'Nuff said.