Me and the King.
Acting. I've never been in a musical. But I have twice appeared in plays. I was Edgar Allen Poe, actually a sort of M.C., in a Night of Edgar Allen Poe (or some similar title), in high school. My performance was somewhat disappointing, a crushing realization considering the very low bar in high school production. I apparently did not command enough presence to be heard.
I imagine that from the audience's perspective, the play's acts were punctuated by a morose blond roaming around the stage quietly mumbling to himself. That he, I, was actually the author of the scary texts, probably never occurred to anyone. Regardless, considering the subject matter, a depressed figure wandering around quietly raving was probably very appropriate. A sort of silent satyr chorus, the chorus as spectator and all that.
That was my second performance. My debut on the stage came much earlier, and with much more success. If my Poe performance was a brooding period in my acting career, my debut was bright and shining. I was an onion; not figuratively, but a character, "the Onion - Michael Waller", said the program. I was also 3 years old.
The King and I. But tonight, I was, and will be for a couple weeks of rehearsal, the "Interpreter" in the King and I. In fact, though I was asked to play the role on Sunday, there is a rumor that the programs were printed much earlier than Sunday. Clear as day: "The Interpreter - Michael Waller."
Tonight was the second night of rehearsal. I missed the first. They begin at the shockingly early hour of 5 or 6 p.m. I arrived, and was treated with some fanfare by the producer. It was the fanfare only given to those talentless that play bit roles as a favor to production officials.
It is an interesting position to be in, because no one actually believes that you might find the experience personally rewarding in the selfish sense. You are instead a selfless participant; as opposed to the talented, who "feel more alive" when acting. This belief is based on another assumption: that you realize your lack of talent and you are suffering through your embarrassment as a form of martyrdom, being stoned to death by silence (or courtesy laughs and applause), as a favor to the arts, i.e. the other actors, directors, etc.
As horrible as it sounds, it's somewhat liberating, as low expectations always are. But it also means that you might also be willing to embarrass yourself in other ways, like sing in the operatic chorus. And so, I may also be making my operatic debut.
But here's the confusing part: I'm in two different productions. I'm in the "Interpreter" in the King and I, and to be in the chorus of something totally different. As I was sitting in one room rehearsing some song or sitting in another waiting to say my one line, people would argue and discuss the various lines, staging, musical interpretation, etc. I quite literally had no idea what anyone was talking about. My ignorance was a perfect compliment to my general station as talentless favor-doer, and it was also a perfect foil for potentially stressful vocal parts.
But I am to do this for two weeks. My "speaking" role will be rehearsed every night. My "singing" role - just once. I could never find an appropriate moment to explain that I felt rather prepared to speak. I practice it more than any other activity besides breathing. But singing, shouldn't more time be devoted to that?
Though I remember being forced to see the King and I with my mother at some point, I can honestly say that I have no intimacy with the story. And, as a practical matter, I still have no script. (That confession elicited a resigned, though clearly compassionately intended, sigh from the Director.) Fortunately, the lines are simple, and all of the prostrating has been removed from the script, apparently due to the fact that the royal character that I serve is over a foot shorter than me, and the director honestly believed that it would be very "difficult" for me to "get all the way done to the ground and back up again."
My role is miniscule. The other participants are very talented, both in acting and voice, and with an honest and sincere engagement and identification with the story. And they are impressive. They all instantly become their roles at its slighted mention. With all that talent, it was difficult not to stare, especially since one young woman (probably in high school) was a knock-out. Of course, staring as an audience member - no problem. As a cast member - creepy.
Why am I here. I spend my work day researching variable annuities and wondering (on a purely professional level, since I do not have the money to have a personal stake in the question) whether they might be broken down into component features for the purposes of a preemption argument. On the train home, I finish a chapter on cattle grubs and their effective treatment, only to arrive in Bethesda to sing opera and pretend to speak pidgeon English as a Siamese interpreter might in the 19th century. I arrive home late to watch a Western and eat canned fish.
What does it all mean?
Today's rule: to never purchase a variable annuity.
I imagine that from the audience's perspective, the play's acts were punctuated by a morose blond roaming around the stage quietly mumbling to himself. That he, I, was actually the author of the scary texts, probably never occurred to anyone. Regardless, considering the subject matter, a depressed figure wandering around quietly raving was probably very appropriate. A sort of silent satyr chorus, the chorus as spectator and all that.
That was my second performance. My debut on the stage came much earlier, and with much more success. If my Poe performance was a brooding period in my acting career, my debut was bright and shining. I was an onion; not figuratively, but a character, "the Onion - Michael Waller", said the program. I was also 3 years old.
The King and I. But tonight, I was, and will be for a couple weeks of rehearsal, the "Interpreter" in the King and I. In fact, though I was asked to play the role on Sunday, there is a rumor that the programs were printed much earlier than Sunday. Clear as day: "The Interpreter - Michael Waller."
Tonight was the second night of rehearsal. I missed the first. They begin at the shockingly early hour of 5 or 6 p.m. I arrived, and was treated with some fanfare by the producer. It was the fanfare only given to those talentless that play bit roles as a favor to production officials.
It is an interesting position to be in, because no one actually believes that you might find the experience personally rewarding in the selfish sense. You are instead a selfless participant; as opposed to the talented, who "feel more alive" when acting. This belief is based on another assumption: that you realize your lack of talent and you are suffering through your embarrassment as a form of martyrdom, being stoned to death by silence (or courtesy laughs and applause), as a favor to the arts, i.e. the other actors, directors, etc.
As horrible as it sounds, it's somewhat liberating, as low expectations always are. But it also means that you might also be willing to embarrass yourself in other ways, like sing in the operatic chorus. And so, I may also be making my operatic debut.
But here's the confusing part: I'm in two different productions. I'm in the "Interpreter" in the King and I, and to be in the chorus of something totally different. As I was sitting in one room rehearsing some song or sitting in another waiting to say my one line, people would argue and discuss the various lines, staging, musical interpretation, etc. I quite literally had no idea what anyone was talking about. My ignorance was a perfect compliment to my general station as talentless favor-doer, and it was also a perfect foil for potentially stressful vocal parts.
But I am to do this for two weeks. My "speaking" role will be rehearsed every night. My "singing" role - just once. I could never find an appropriate moment to explain that I felt rather prepared to speak. I practice it more than any other activity besides breathing. But singing, shouldn't more time be devoted to that?
Though I remember being forced to see the King and I with my mother at some point, I can honestly say that I have no intimacy with the story. And, as a practical matter, I still have no script. (That confession elicited a resigned, though clearly compassionately intended, sigh from the Director.) Fortunately, the lines are simple, and all of the prostrating has been removed from the script, apparently due to the fact that the royal character that I serve is over a foot shorter than me, and the director honestly believed that it would be very "difficult" for me to "get all the way done to the ground and back up again."
My role is miniscule. The other participants are very talented, both in acting and voice, and with an honest and sincere engagement and identification with the story. And they are impressive. They all instantly become their roles at its slighted mention. With all that talent, it was difficult not to stare, especially since one young woman (probably in high school) was a knock-out. Of course, staring as an audience member - no problem. As a cast member - creepy.
Why am I here. I spend my work day researching variable annuities and wondering (on a purely professional level, since I do not have the money to have a personal stake in the question) whether they might be broken down into component features for the purposes of a preemption argument. On the train home, I finish a chapter on cattle grubs and their effective treatment, only to arrive in Bethesda to sing opera and pretend to speak pidgeon English as a Siamese interpreter might in the 19th century. I arrive home late to watch a Western and eat canned fish.
What does it all mean?
Today's rule: to never purchase a variable annuity.
posted by Michael at
6:48 PM
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