Run: First Weekend

I've been purposefully distant from the show for the past few days, giving the cast and crew time to gain a sense of ownership for the play. When I stopped in before the run on Saturday night, I could see that ownership was in full swing. The Thursday night show had been lower energy, but from the sounds of things, the Friday show was exciting and instructive for the cast, helping them to understand and clarify moments like never before. They were jazzed about the reportedly large house for Saturday night's run; just before the show, I listened to them shouting out their pre-show mantras, and I was delighted to hear "Go Big or Go Home" in there, but even more pleased to hear a lot of stuff that they generated for themselves. As it should be.

After the run, spirits were mixed. I had told them that this show was being videorecorded, and I think that made a few of them anxious. Besides, they said, the energy was ... odd. Moments happened differently, they said (different than what? The night before? Different than ever before?). That, plus a minor costume malfunction that may have gotten a bit exaggerated in the reporting, made some of the actors feel, I think, as though they'd passed their peak.

But they haven't. They're just exhausted, having been running the show non-stop since Monday night. Today's matinee will be a struggle to get through, I expect; but then they'll have a dark day, finally, and the climb will begin again. By next weekend, I predict new heights, new delights, and, yes, lots of different moments again -- but hopefully they'll be embraced, not feared.

There were two reviews printed yesterday, in the Journal and the Sun. I can't stand reviews, and I feel particularly resentful of the sorts of equivocating write-ups that we seem to get in community theatre. They're not willing to admit that there was anything outstanding about a show, but they can't bring themselves to slam it either (since they're "amateurs," they don't know any better, it would break their little hearts, etc.). But perhaps the cast won't see them, or they won't read into them the same faint-praise tactics that I detect.

In any case, it's the word of mouth that's gonna sell this show.

Opening Night

Wow. Just wow. I must confess, after the sputtering starts of the first two previews, I was not expecting the show to click into gear so quickly, so thoroughly. After the performance, I intercepted several actors grousing about very minor things that went wrong -- mostly line glitches here and there. But that's what actors do; they focus on the things that went wrong, and somehow fail to miss the vast tapestry of things that went right.

So, what went right? Well, tech, for one thing. I didn't catch a single late cue. And the show's pace was amazing; transitions were sharp and tight, and energy rarely flagged within the scenes themselves. I did not hear much shuffling from the audience, even towards the end of the 2 hour running time. The ASMs got all the actors stuffed into their costumes, and all the props in their hands. And when the whip broke onstage (very thoughtfully waiting until the last moment of the last scene in which it's used), the actors grinned, went with it, and then worked together to cover it over.

But these are all the technical things. What went right in Shakespeare-land? It's difficult to quantify, but what I found was that the words and the movements always had meaning, specificity; and that the meanings were clearly and cleanly connected to the energy onstage; and that the energy was shared, it was collective, it got passed back and forth fluidly, like the rugby ball that Kieran brings to warm-ups.

You can do Shakespeare with meaning, but no energy. And you can definitely do Shakespeare with lots of energy, but very little meaning. But the pairing of the two is rare; and to have it continue throughout an entire show -- especially one with this many transitions, shifts, ups and downs -- is truly extraordinary. Considering the sheer volume of words and shapes this cast has to deliver, the fact that everything felt clear and meaningful? Miraculous.

Now, I'm not the best judge of clarity of meaning, since I've been living with the play for many months. But the feedback and the impressions that I got from the audience supported my feelings about the show. I can always tell when an audience feels delightfully surprised that they actually understood Shakespeare. They feel like they've been introduced to a whole new world of possibilities. And so they have.

So, wow. I'm hyped. I expect the energy will flag tonight -- it always does -- but by the weekend, and certainly towards the end of the run, it will be back, and probably bigger than ever. The actors will surprise themselves by going places verbally and physically that they didn't think themselves capable of. And word of mouth (not to mention the lovely spread in the Edmonton Journal yesterday) will help bring in great big audiences to share the magic.

There are aspects of this process that I'm already second-guessing. But when the product comes out looking and sounding this good, it's hard not to rest on your laurels for a bit. So that is what I'll do.

Previews

Two previews have come and gone. Monday night was a small house, mostly friends of the cast; there were quite a few dropped lines, but the energy was strong, especially in Act Two. The actors know their stuff: they're comfortable with the script, the set, their costumes, and each other; but the presence of an audience is just enough of a variable to throw you off. But that's what previews are for.

Tuesday night is the "artist's preview" -- each show, we do an Art in the Lobby display, and the artist invites friends and family to see the art, and the play. They're usually very enthusiastic, if for no other reason than because they're getting to see a show for free. This group was a bit dead, although there were definitely one or two Shakespeare aficionadoes (you could hear them laughing at the bawdy puns).

Yet, despite the cold-fish feel that I got from the house, the actors hit their stride. Cues were tight, energy was high, and it was clear that everyone on stage was having fun -- which is actually pretty remarkable, considering it's only their second night before a crowd.

I realized tonight that I'm really pleased with how effortlessly this diverse group became an ensemble. I don't give myself enough credit to assume that I was in any way responsible. No, it's just one of those things that either happens, or doesn't; this time, even though the cast was split up for much of the rehearsal process, they found ways to connect, to work and play together onstage and off. For a show like this one, it's vital; it gives everyone the confidence they need to push themselves in new directions.

Now, I can only hope that pushing continues throughout the run. My job is pretty much done...but these guys and gals have lots of time left to play.

Tech Dress...And Away We Go!

Like it or not, it's out of my hands.

And I do like it. I liked an awful lot of what I saw during Saturday's tech dress. The actors adapted quickly to their costumes, and to the lights and sound (even though there were still tweaks and adjustments going on with the latter two). They put all petty frustrations and anxieties, and went for the gusto. I saw glimpses of moments and energy in some scenes that I hadn't seen since the early days of scene work, lo those many weeks ago. The fact that they did this without any kind of pre-run pep talk from me stands as testament to the fact that they don't need a director hovering over them any more.

So that's a relief. There were other, mostly minor, frustrations during the run. The slide projections (part of the reason why we constructed our entire set around a big, blank sheet of canvas) didn't arrive until intermission -- and, even then, not everything we needed was in place. And Antony's "bloodied" tunic was white as snow.

But these are minor, minor things -- the sorts of oversights that only directors would even pick up on, much less gripe about. The fact is, Antony & Cleopatra has everything it needs to wow an audience: snazzy costumes, a bold soundtrack, a colourful, soaring set -- and a huge cast full of energetic, committed, hard-working actors, whose clear, articulate delivery carries both the poetry and the tragedy across without a hitch. It's an exciting show, because the play itself is done so rarely, and because, let's face it, nobody expects a show this big to get done this well by a community theatre.

But it's great. We've pulled it off. And now, all we need is that aforementioned audience to wow.

Dress Run

Confession time. I love actors, really I do; I love watching them explore and test out a role, make discoveries, and finally dive in and make a character their own. I also love watching them get so wrapped up in their process that they forget about everything else around them. Non-industry observers would mistake this for egomania, but in most cases, it's just attention to detail.

But I also enjoy the foibles of actors, particularly their relationships to other parts of the theatrical process. They crave anything and everything that will help them to define their characters; yet they are uncomfortable with those parts of the process over which they have no control -- and, if you're an actor, you know there are a lot of them. As a result, they end up loving and hating all the stuff that's going on around them: the set, the lights, the sound, and so forth.

Nothing illustrates this more than costumes. Right from the start, actors ask me, "What will our costumes be like?" Sometimes these questions relate to very practical concerns (ie. Will I be able to see/move/fight/dance easily?), and once in a while, it's a matter of vanity (although I don't detect a lot of divas in this cast). But usually, I think that actors' curiosity about attire stems from the connection between costume and character. Some actors feel like they can't really embrace their characters until they see themselves in costume.

Consequently, actors await the first dress rehearsal with bated breath. Because it comes so late in the rehearsal process, there's a lot of excitement built up around it. In some cases, they convince themselves that, as soon as they slip on that dress/tunic/breastplate/hat, they will magically unlock all the secret parts of their character, and their performance will achieve escape velocity, and head for the stars.

In reality, the opposite is true. The first dress rehearsal is usually the most awkward, uncertain, stumbly of all the tech-week run-throughs. Some of the stumbling is literal, of course (ie. How come my dress is so damn long?), but it's psychological as well. Actors who expect a miraculous transformation are disheartened to discover that their costumes feel not liberating but, well, weird. After all, they aren't designed to feel great; only to look great. And the actors aren't in the audience, so they can't see how good they look.

And they do look good. Melissa has done a fabulous job, not only with the leads, but also with the soldiers, the Egyptian women, and even walk-on characters like banquet servants. But I had to smile, watching the Romans and Egyptians recede into the background, replaced by a stage full of slightly bewildered actors. By Saturday, they'll be comfortable, and the energy and characterization will return. They might even find ways to use the costumes after all.

But, just like there are no easy solutions to directing, there are no short-cuts to characterization. The costumes don't sell the show; they're just the wrapping paper, to decorate the presents underneath. Ditto the set, lights, sound, props. By Saturday's run, the ball will be back in the cast's court. Go big or go home.

Cue to Cue

Monday and Tuesday night was cue to cue. Pretty painless, all in all. I always find the first 40 minutes or so of cue to cue excrutiating, mostly because I'm a fifth wheel, sitting on the sidelines while SMs, ASMs, and techs scuttle around, sorting out who's doing what, and how. This time, I busied myself by typing up the line notes from Sunday's run -- a task which became considerably harder once the house lights had gone down. So much for multitasking.

But the actors were incredibly patient and good-spirited, and once the techs found their groove, they boogied through the first act in a couple of hours, leaving us in good shape for Tuesday night. We moved just as smoothly through act two, although we still hadn't found the magic music that would give the final tableau its due. Phil had a few options, and I think we've found the right one. Maybe we'll try it out tonight; if not, tomorrow.

It's strange, seeing my play carved up into a series of transitions and tableaux. I guess it shouldn't be odd, since we've been rehearsing it in shreds and patches since the very start, and only recently have begun to put it all into a single narrative whole. I guess the weirdness stems from seeing the moments from a technical perspective -- not as dramatic turning points, but merely as cues for lighting or sound stuff to occur. It's going to be like that from here on in, for me, at least. Until the tech, and set, and costumes, and props are all settled and in place, I will be unable to see past those absences. It's like the big, white curtain sitting upstage, waiting for projections to illuminate it (which won't happen until Saturday). Until it serves some dramatic purpose, it sticks out like a big, white, thumb.

But soon, very soon, that will change again. I'll be able to see the show through an audience's eyes...and everything will be different.

Meet the Block

Yesterday we moved downstairs, into the theatre proper. It was a bit of a traffic jam, because set construction and painting continue. But we've done everything we can in the rehearsal hall, and if we spend much more time upstairs, we're liable to get complacent with that (smaller, flatter) space.

The Walterdale space is something of a character unto itself. Its low grid, slightly uneven floor, and broad, curving apron make for a unique acting environment. It's difficult to forget that you're surrounded by walls and audience members -- a restriction which can make it hard to generate the breadth and grandeur of a play like A&C, but which can work to one's advantage, too. Remember that Shakespeare's theatre was open-air, and the audience was totally visible and mere inches away from the stage.

So the actors got to meet their acting ally, the stage. Plus several other new members of the cast: the pillars, the platform, the curtain (hastily and temporarily attached so I could play with the shadowscreen), and the block. This latter set piece really is like a character in the play; it moves, thanks to an ingenious rolling system devised by Erik and Doug Verdin; and it is used, at different points in the action, for sitting on, standing on, scrambling or leaping across, marching up and down, and dying upon (and against). It's much bigger than the bench we've been using so far, which was itself bigger than the two plastic chairs we started with. It's going to take some adjusting too, although the cast already seems to be getting the hang of it.

Finally, we met some of the lighting effects, in the form of a fairly loose tech run (I had expected sound also, but in retrospect, I'm glad we didn't have it -- the cast had plenty enough to worry about). Some of the levels will need to be boosted, I think, but overall we're in good shape in that department. I've also been informed that our costumes are now pretty much complete. Cool!

I think that puts us in very good shape for our cue to cue. With a little bit of luck, tech week will be a breeze.

'Twas the Night Before Tech Week

We had another run on Thursday night, in the rehearsal hall upstairs. I told the cast that this was their last chance for a run "with no surprises" -- no new costumes, set pieces, lighting or sound cues appearing unexpectedly to disrupt their performances. Consequently, I said, this is the last chance before our previews to go big or go home.

They went for it, and the result was full of energy, and yet still clear and meaningful. I think that, in a lot of cases, there are emotional highs that have yet to be hit, but those heights might not be attainable until close to the end of the run. In any case, there's not a whole lot more that I can do at this point, without creating changes and setbacks. They know their characters better than I do now; it's up to them to figure out what notes to play, and then to play them as loudly/sharply/strongly as they can.

Tonight, Friday, was a free night for them, but I was at the theatre, along with Roy, Janine, and Jenn, building lighting cues. Roy is a veteran lighting designer, and he's done a million shows in Walterdale, so he was able to move through the various configurations with lightning speed and efficiency. Janine and a volunteer named Chelsea walked the stage for us, so we could see how the bright, warm washes of Egypt and the sharp, cool washes of Rome would strike our actors' faces. Meanwhile, Erik strolled in and out of the shop, experimenting with glow paint for no real reason.

The set is nearly complete, although painting will continue through the weekend. The lights are mostly in place, although we'll try to integrate a projector soon. Sounds sound good. Costumes are being sewn and stitched. There's a real momentum, now, to the whole enterprise. I can't wait to see all these pieces of the puzzle come together.

Run Time

Monday night, we ran through the whole play for the first time in weeks. Tuesday night, we did an Italian run, condensing the two-hour play into one swift, slightly slurred sixty-minute span. Along the way, I also managed to accomplish the following:

• Tighten up the fights (and suicides) with Calvin, our fight coach;
• Confirm the bulk of our sound design with Phil;
• Approve a few lighting arrangements with Roy and Janine (since I happened to be in the theatre while they were testing washes);
• Talk hair with Sue, and costumes with Melissa and Geri;

So things are heating up. The Playhouse feels energized, lots of actors and designers scurrying around. Even the actors who have long stretches of time with nothing in particular to do still seem excited.

The danger now is loss of focus -- not just for the actors, either, but for me. We need to stay focused on our goal, and on our timeline. I need to be able to decide when to stop nit-picking and making adjustments, when to step back and let the momentum of the show carry us through to opening night. If I had to make a guess, I'm thinking my last chance to be a finicky director will be Thursday (another run). After that, it's sailing -- and whether it's clear or bumpy, it doesn't matter. There ain't no oars.

Goin' Big

Fun times. Two run-throughs of Act Two this afternoon: first, a blocking-focused run, which ironically had more line-related glitches than anything else. Good thing I've got an Italian line run scheduled for Tuesday.

Having reassured myself that the blocking was in good shape, I told the cast that our second run-through would be a chance to cut loose: to Go Big, or Go Home. That has been my mandate from the first day of rehearsals, but I've discovered how easy it is to lose sight of it, especially when you don't have a chance to see the "big picture" of the play. Now that all the scenes are settling into order, it's easier for the actors to find their objectives and play their arcs. And, for these characters, the arcs should break through the stratosphere. Hence: Go Big...

The change was remarkable. As I said after the second run, "it's a whole different play." Octavian's rage, Cleopatra's increasingly desperate histrionics, Antony's bipolar (or alcoholic) decline, send out shockwaves through each scene. The supporting characters were equally outstanding, going from mere witnesses to active participants in the catastrophe. This was especially true of Cleo's ladies and Antony's "sad captains", all of whom I've blocked as silent witnesses for many of the later plays. Thanks for reminding me of everything you have to offer these scenes!

Everything is coming together; even the Roman marching which caused such mathematical consternation clicked effortlessly into place during the warm-up. Today has left me optimistic as we move into the rocky period preceding our opening.

I'll Mend It, Then I'll Play

Big call tonight -- just about everyone, except Antony, Enobarbus, and Eros -- the ones who have died before the play's finale. Tonight, we killed the rest: Iras, Charmian, and Cleopatra.

Everyone worked well this evening, although we were getting a bit punchy by the halfway point. I think my references to Raiders of the Lost Ark didn't help matters any. In spite of silliness, we got some great work done, including some stellar performances from Cody and Monica as Octavian and Cleopatra face off at last.

Costume and prop items are finally beginning to trickle in, and the set, while not yet done, is starting to look like a set (the pillars are settling into their assigned places). I know the cast is at the point they need to be in order to open in two and a half weeks; and I'm confident that the rest of the show can catch up. There are still lots of little things to mend, but gosh darn it, I think we might just have a play.

Left Ourselves to End Ourselves

We made quick work of Antony's attempted suicide scene tonight, plus the scene which follows it (with soldiers helping him off to find Cleopatra). I've been sending John in some unusual directions, and tonight I discovered that I'd unwittingly maneuvred two actors, John and Jennifer, into playing almost entirely against the lines to each other. I'll explain.

First, my partial solution to the problem of Antony's yo-yo emotions in the second half: booze. It's a bit of a cheat, but several characters in Act One do reprove Antony for partying too much in Egypt; and he himself admits at one point that he neglected important duties because he was too hung over. When he rushes back to Cleopatra, it makes sense that he would also be rushing back to Egyptian wine...and that would lead to a loss of emotional control, and eventually to bad choices, like we see in both of the battles.

John has no problem adopting this approach, and it's easy as pie to work it in -- we just make sure Antony has a goblet in his hand as often as possible. But it does change one thing -- namely, Antony's degree of blamefulness increases dramatically. His accusations to Cleopatra become cheap attempts to displace the blame that he clearly deserves for these significant screw-ups. When he flees from the battle at Actium (after watching Cleopatra retreat), he says

Egypt, you knew too well
My heart was to your rudder tied by th’ strings,
To tow me after.

And, since Cleopatra is crying "Pardon!" it's easy for us to forget that Antony is the military general, not Cleo. Similarly, in the second battle, when he briefly perceives that he might be gaining the advantage, Eros points out that the Egyptian reinforcements have not embarked. Why not?

EROS: You never gave the order, sir, to launch.

Nevertheless, Antony blames Cleopatra -- accuses her of "packing cards with Caesar," even. This sort of loose, desperate blame-calling isn't Antony's style; but then, as he keeps reminding us, Antony is "not himself" anymore. He has drunk himself into oblivion.

An intelligent alcoholic knows they are at fault. Antony says "Betrayed I am," and the line refers to Cleopatra -- but inside, he knows better. And here's where things get tricky, and the line readings begin to bend around backwards, to the point where they're nearly 180 degrees.

Cleopatra re-enters, and Antony curses her with words he knows will drive her away:

Vanish, or I shall give you your deserving
And blemish Caesar’s triumph. Let him take you
And hoist you up to the shouting plebians!
Follow his chariot like the greatest stain
Of all your sex; most monster-like be shown
For poor diminutives, for dolts, and let
Paitent Octavia plough your visage up
With her sharp nails! You’ll die for this!

On the surface, these lines mean exactly what they sound like. But, if Antony knows that she's not deserving of any such fate -- if he knows that he is to blame for their downfall -- then the intention changes. Now, he wants to minimize any further harm to Cleopatra. His alcoholic's mindset says "I'm cursed, I'm useless, I'm a bad egg. Anyone who sticks with me will sink along with me." And therefore, Antony's intention is to drive Cleopatra from him so that she might retain a fighting chance of surviving Caesar's invasion.

Antony carries this intention into the next scene, and when Mardias enters, he curses Cleopatra thus:

ANTONY: She has betrayed me and shall die the death!

Subtext: keep her away from me, or she'll get hurt. But Cleopatra, who misinterpreted his rage, sends Mardias after him to tell him she has slain herself. Jennifer (who plays Mardias) long ago established that she disapproves of Cleopatra's emotional games, and this is the worst game by far. But she does her job, and shows up to inform Antony that

Death of one person can be paid but once,
And that she has discharged. The last she spoke
Was “Antony! Most noble Antony!”

When we ran it tonight, I told Jennifer to play against the line. Her job is to tell Antony that Cleopatra is dead; but her intention is to convey the opposite information: this is a ruse, this is a game, Cleopatra needs you, go to her.

Antony, however, misses the subtext. Suicides ensue. And there you have it: two desperate characters, saying the opposite of what they ought to be saying. Will the audience penetrate all that subtext? Ah, who cares. Either way, it's a stirring scene. And there are swords. How can you go wrong?

Advance! Surround! Retreat!

A long, busy rehearsal today -- our first five-hour one, although more than a few actors curtailed that length by accident (check your schedules, please!). Most of the time was spent on battle scenes, and we managed to get through all three of them, plus a few surrounding scenes along the way.

Some thoughts about battles. Shakespeare didn't do 'em. He apparently felt his company's resources were inadequate, and even asked for his audience's forgiveness in Henry V for having "dared / On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth / So great an object" as the battle of Agincourt. Mostly, his skirmishes were confined to offstage alarums and occasional, one-on-one scuffles (which, as often as not, started onstage but quickly moved offstage, as if even the combatants were embarrassed or shy).

This is odd, because overall, Shakespeare really seemed to dig spectacle. Elaborate pageants, parades of kings and princes, witches' dances (okay, the dance in Macbeth may have been written after Shakespeare was dead...but he probably would've liked it). The duel at the end of Hamlet is chock full of pomp and circumstance, with cannons firing, trumpets sounding, and of course plenty of poisoned, unbated fencing foil a-flying. Why, then, did he deliberately push all his wartime spectacle offstage?

Having incorporated stylized battle sequences into both King Lear and A&C, I believe I can provide an explanation: they're bloody hard. Pageants and dances are difficult enough to choreograph, but the thing about them is, they're meant to be aesthetic and symmetrical. War is messy, random, chaotic. Choreographing chaos is hard.

But, as always, my actors were troopers, and we got everyone's roles in the chaos straightened out. I think the results will be -- well, not exactly stunning, but impressive. Ultimately, they feel as though, for a few moments, the rigorously structured world of Rome and Egypt shudders, threatening to collapse. And that's what war should feel like: the potential decimation of society. Now, as long as the play doesn't collapse, we've done our jobs.

Oh, and I think I've started to devise a solution to the Antony trajectory issues I mentioned in my last post. More on that soon.

Ups and Downs

It's been an interesting week -- trying to keep things on schedule despite occasional cast absences and a minor crisis with another Walterdale show (back on track now, I think) -- and creeping once again towards the final scenes of the play, which we haven't worked in a while, and which I don't feel like I have a much firmer grasp on, even now. I reassure myself my observing that some scenes, especially emotional ones, don't usually gel until you're in the space, surrounded by costumes and props and even an audience. Even so, it's nerve-wracking.

Working through the scenes that would have comprised Act Four in Shakespeare's version of the text, I notice a pattern starting to emerge. Antony enters, actively trying to generate high spirits and confidence (in himself, in Cleopatra, in his troops). Minor comic moments as his enthusiasm wavers. Then, a serious blow: Enobarbus has defected, or Caesar refuses to fight with him face to face, or Cleopatra never launched her ships. And, in each scene, Antony's spirits are crushed, and he leaves the stage convinced that he's going to die, and that it's all his fault (or, sometimes, possibly, Cleopatra's). And all these scenes are intercut with short scenes of Octavian gloating, or Enobarbus dying, or "the god Hercules" deserting Antony (via spooky music).

This pattern might be partially my own fault, since I did shuffle some scenes around, and since we're making some interpretive choices about tone, etc. But regardless, I can't help feeling that Shakespeare has gotten ahold of a great big hammer labelled "Antony is Doomed!" and is spending the act beating his audience over the head with it. Yes, Will, we understand. Antony is doomed; we've known this from the start; it is a tragedy. Get over it!

Or maybe "Get over it" should be directed at Antony himself, who seems to confront his oncoming defeat with nothing short of whiny, self-indulgent angst. This isn't John's fault, I hasten to point out; he seems to be much more comfortable with Antony when he's in full Roman mode, and whenever I offer him the opportunity to act rage, he delivers admirably. In other words, it's not the actor who's despondent, it's the character. Antony wants to be Hercules, but the circumstances (The fates? The gods? The author?) have turned him into goo.

I'm afraid this is not very satisfying, but I don't know what else to do. I've been looking for moments of humour, largely because watching forty minutes of self-important melancholia would be unbearable. But the more humour I inject, the more I make Antony's ups and downs into a farce. And, in another few scenes, he's going to undergo one of the most farcical deaths in all of Shakespeare: a botched suicide. I'd almost rather stage exit, pursued by a bear.

In one respect, this is what Shakespeare wanted: to show a potentially great man devolve into a disgrace. I just don't know how far I should go, and I don't feel like I'm in control of the trajectory. I'm terrified that, when he dies, at last, in the arms of Cleopatra, the audience's response will be: took him long enough!

Roman Physics 101

Roman Physics CI, Final Exam
Question I (XX marks)

Two triumvirates are marching away from one another at right angles. They will travel a distance of XII feet, marching in unison. Each triumvirate has between I and II soldiers marching behind them (this fact may or may not alter the experiment). If the triumvirates need to arrive at the same point simultaneously, and turn so as to face one another, how many steps much each one take? Should they each start out on the left foot (according to the traditions of Roman, and Canadian, marching), or should the triumvirate who will be turning right need to start out on the right foot?

Show your work.

In Dreams Begin Responsibilities

After a hectic banquet rehearsal last night, we had an altogether relaxed rehearsal tonight, focusing mostly upon relative newcomer, Helen Klemm, who is playing the Soothsayer and the Chorus. Helen is wonderful -- over twice my age, and yet she's never acted in a Shakespeare play before. Yet she approaches her lines with a grace and pleasure that, I am sure, will affect the audience as soon as the lights come up. It's always nice when one can exploit the Walterdalians' inherent enthusiasm for being on stage.

I wrote the two chorus speeches, in order to give the action of the play a bit more context to those who may be unfamiliar with the story. The first one begins with my favourite line from Act Five: "I dreamt there was an emperor Antony." The dream is coming true, slowly but surely.

The second act speech starts with the line, "In dreams begin responsibilities." This line isn't Shakespeare's, but it isn't mine, either. William Butler Yeats wrote it, in 1914, describing it as "an epigraph from an old play." Somehow, I feel it applies to A&C perfectly; every night, I watch as the main characters struggle between their dreams of happiness and their obligations.

And then there's me, just over a month from opening. My dream to produce this play has unleashed a flood of responsibilities -- not just for me, but for everyone in the team. Now is the time to buckle down and face the tasks ahead (unlike Antony, who runs from his responisibilities, leading to his ruin). We can make this dream happen. It's just going to take a lot of work.

Winds and Waters

In some respects, it feels as though we're simply whizzing along. In other respects, the show remains huge, and time is starting to slip away (this Sunday is one month away from opening night). I try to stay steady and focused on whatever task, or scene, is in front of me. God -- and Shakespeare -- is in the details.

Monday night involved the Octavia scenes from Act One and early Act Two -- the first time I'd actually seen them with all the actors present, believe it or not. I made a lot of blocking adjustments and ran them, probably fewer times than I should have.

Tonight we were in Egypt, but Calvin came by to block an early fight (more of a scuffle, really, as Cleopatra flips out at Eros when she learns that Antony re-married). It's nice to get a wee bit o' violence into the play. He'll be back next Monday to do more bits.

We also ran a short scene in which Cleopatra interrogates Eros regarding Octavia's appearance. It's a very funny scene; I think it will be a highlight of the first act. Never mind that it's essentially about a jealous, spurned lover having a hissy fit; this is Cleopatra, after all; as Enobarbus says, "We cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report."

A Cleopatra Trap?

I was not in very good shape this afternoon, but I managed to keep it together through a four hour rehearsal. Everyone's patience helped a lot, despite their being left, in some cases, for long stretched of time without anything to do. All in all, we managed to firm up the blocking of four big units -- the whole first Egypt sequence, essentially -- and made a number of useful discoveries along the way.

Unit 5 was the most taxing, because it involves high emotions (Antony's wife is dead, Cleopatra is about to lose him to Rome) and a lot of dime-turn tactics and deliveries. The tendency is to play emotional subtext close to one's chest, yet these scenes call for a lot of histrionic acting -- and not just the bits where Cleopatra is showing off, either. In fact, I'm starting to worry about whether or not the audience will be able to distinguish between feigned emotion and genuine distress. At one point, I told Monica that Cleopatra is a lousy actress -- but only because she has to be, because her "acting" needs to be so much bigger than her (already big) delivery that it's tantamount to stuffing all the scenery into a blender, mixing it with ham and cheese, and drinking it for breakfast.

Is that really what I want to end up with in my show? Am I falling into a Cleopatra trap -- the reason, perhaps, why so many critics despise her (because she encourages overacting)? Or will the audience exult in it, because it's giving them what they want -- ie. a diva?

Well, we'll see. In the meantime, the love games they're playing (snakey-liony-hissy-growly-chasey-wasey) are, for better or for worse, subdued. Nothing kills a bedroom game faster than hauling it out of the bedroom (and onto the stage).

Poster Draft

After the unfortunate incident with the snake, Randy (our poster designer and incoming Artistic Director) tried a different approach: a metallic snake on a posed model (I didn't want to haul Monica out on an off-day again, and as you can see, most of "Cleopatra's" face is out of frame in any case).

For some reason, Blogger seems to want to upload it in blue, instead of fleshtones. So this image shows you the shape, but not the natural colour, of the poster. Even so, you must admit, it's pretty natty.

Roman Drift

Back to Antony's arrival in Rome tonight -- the council scene, where Octavian and Antony square off, and only the promise of Octavia allows them to resolve their petty differences. It's a tricky scene, in a way, because it involves three great men (O + A + Lepidus) arguing over petty slights and character flaws. You want to shout, "Get over it!" and just move on. But Cody, John, and Allan did a fine job giving these characters some depth, at a point in the play where they haven't had much chance to develop yet.

I also enjoyed watching Matt, Denny, Kieran, and Erik work on the soldiers' stuff, both in this scene and in the next (featuring Enobarbus's famous "The chair she sat in" speeech). Keeping them marching in unison is always a challenge (I think we need a rule about always wearing shoes, or something), and I also noticed a phenomenon which I've dubbed "Roman drift" -- the tendency for soldier actors to mysteriously wander downstage as scenes unfold. Someone suggested that it was indicative of the inevitable expansion of the Roman Empire, but I think it's just that every Roman, whether high-born or low, thinks he all dat, and wants to be centre stage.

You'll get your chance, Roman homeys.