Writer, actor, and director (reluctant to appear on camera)
On Sunday, we gathered to read King of the Mountain, with a bevy of Chinese food and a hearty plate of oatmeal raisin cookies (prepared by Mandy, the ever-attentive producer/hostess, in anticipation of our guests, Mary and Ryan.)
As far as nerve-wracking experiences go, the full reading of King of the Mountain (KOTM) both met and exceeded my expectations.
In that, I correctly anticipated the frightening awkwardness of hearing my words read aloud. With nowhere to run, I was a captive victim to the torture of which I am wholly complicit. My choices were conveyed and scrutinized with each breath. I was held accountable to the story and the individual decisions of my creative effort. But the script survived such scrutiny, and came through the fires of this trial stronger and more focused, and gave the production team itself—Mary, Ryan, Mandy, Tim, and I—a greater sense of the project and an injection of energy.
And as far as exceeding my expectations, I refer to my greater awareness of the collaboration that is essential for theatre—my preferred art at the moment. During a break, Tim reminded me that this event, and the process of rehearsals it begins, is far different from his solitary work. Whereas he must shut out the world as much as possible to create his art and find the zen-like focus to do so, what the rest of us choose to do is absolutely dependent on others: the collaboration of talents and visions, each with their role, so that the whole may be a greater sum than any single part. There’s a magic in that notion, something difficult to recognize and not necessarily appreciated when viewing a performance. But for those of us on the inside, or anyone who puts in the time and effort to create art, we know the subtext that makes it a richer and fuller story.
Ryan, with his acting partner and the KOTM postcard
No comments:
Post a Comment