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I don't want to be someone who reviews movies because:
1. I don't watch a lot of new movies.
2. People always disagree with me, so I don't want to be responsible for making you see a movie you don't like. I mean, I really liked Punch Drunk Love and I hated Love, Actually.
BUT, you have to go see Stranger Than Fiction. Gloria and I went with expections of a Will Farrell movie, and we were both pleasantly disappointed. It's wonderful, it's thought-provoking. And Emma Thompson's performance may give you dreams of being her. Her character's angry, weird, and honest, with all these wonderful quirks.
The story is really original and interesting. I think the writer Zach Helm is someone to look out for. Plus, they have some really simple graphic designs through out, which enhanced the mentality of it all.
Okay, so just watch it, and fall in love with it, and thank me. I'm going to go add this one to my Facebook profile. (Now, you know I'm not joking.)
At the beginning of the music theatre program, everyone had to sing a song for everyone and tell everyone how they considered their skills: singer-actor-dancer or dancer-singer-actor or whatever. I went up in my cute, shy way and said "Umm... well, I think I'm least bad at acting." Everyone laughed.
The internal dialogue at that point went something like this:
I don't think I'm a singer. I'm definitely not a dancer. I guess that leaves acting, right?
I asked one of my friends (outside of this program) who is in music theatre what her strength was.
"Well, I really consider myself an actor, but everyone and their cats can 'act', so I usually say I'm a dancer."
And it's true. Dancing is a real tangible skill, whereas acting is so subjective, so when do you say that you're an actor? When can you say that it's a skill you have?
Next time, someone asks me which of the three is my strength I'm going to say "Acting... but only because it's the most subjective." I think that's the funniest way to go.
In Voice & Text class today, we had to do this exercise where we got down on one knee and took someone's hand and had to say "I love you" convincingly. Furthermore, the person had to receive it before you could go on. It's seems easy, but it's HARD. "I love you" is such an important phrase and it isn't always (and maybe very rarely) sincere.
What I found hard was receiving it properly. In this exercise, you didn't have to necessarily return the feeling, but you had to receive it. It was difficult to just take what was said. I'm beginning to realize in my classes where we receive critique on our performances that this is true more than ever. So easily, I take things personally even when, intellectually, I know the criticism is true and subjective. I'm not the only one either. When you're up to perform, you're so vulnerable, and a word can hit the wrong note that resonates in a sensitive place.
Interesting, eh?
When I was a kid, I used to do piano competitions. I don't really know why. My piano teacher, Mr Element, thought it would be a good idea. I would do this thing every year: We would drive out to St Catherine's or Detroit to a hotel and dress up a bit and wait all day for our half-an-hour time slots.
In retrospect, it was kind of funny. There'd be regulars. Some kids that I wouldn't talk to because I'm shy, but I'd recognize because they were snobbish or super friendly or had annoying parents.
Anyway, I'd do really really bad. I would go up and be so nervous that I'd forget how to play the song I'd been practising for months. I'd forget what the first chord was. So I'd try some out in front of everyone, and they'd be wrong. I'd start to cry and the adjucator would feel sorry for me and let me see the music, and then I'd get started and be fine. Or I would play the whole song with the wrong pedal. It wasn't really fun for me. I'd cry a lot from those competitions.
One year, things were different. I resigned to the fact that I was probably going to screw up, that it was very likely that I'd make a huge and horrible mistake, and that I'd go back to the car and cry a little bit and that was it. It sounds like a pretty depressing admission, but it was actually kinda freeing. That year, I won first place in that competition.
I think I need a similar revelation for singing. After Monday's awesome Shakespeare, on Tuesday I did a really bad job on It's a Perfect Relationship from Bells Are Ringing. And it's not like I forgot the words, but I couldn't do so well because I was nervous. Marie Baron, my teacher, totally intimidates me. She's starred at Stratford and been on Broadway, and she really knows what she's talking about. She is very classy and controlled in her mannerisms: she shows very little that she doesn't want to. Anyway, after performing she told me (in her extremely sweet voice) to say, "Fuck it. I'm going to do badly." And I said it with as good articulation as I could, but I wasn't in a place to understand it.
I need an epiphany, and I know exactly what it has to be. (Marie Baron told me.)
I want to be an actor!
I had kind of forgotten that, and I got caught up in the whole school thing, that I forgot why I really wanted to go to school there. Today, in Shakespeare class, I did my monologue. It's from Measure for Measure. In case you don't know the story, Claudio knocks up his girlfriend and is going to get hanged for it, so he gets his nun-in-training sister, Isabella, to go talk to the dude in charge, Angelo, who's actually subbing for the real duke, to see if she can change his mind. Turns out that Angelo thinks Isabella is hot and says that if she sleeps with him, then he'll let Claudio go. (Pretty messed, eh? It's a problem play.)
Anyway, my scene was when I tell Claudio of Angelo's proposition. It's awesome. I get all angry and sad and sympathetic. And, it was FUN. First, I did it, and then I got all caught up in it and started yelling. Then Mimi (my acting teacher) made me do it as a big huge joke (which was weird, but funny), then as a televangelist, then like I was in love (this was weird because the other person in the scene was supposed to be my brother). It all seems like a silly game, but it's got me excited and thinking like crazy about what my monologue could be - what more it could say, how truthful and intricate it could be. I'm realizing now that it's not just about being realistic, but also meaningful. Anything truly meaningful never is straightforward.
Dudes! I'm in theatre school! I'm learning to be a musical theatre actor! MESSED!!!
Guess what, y'all! I have had this blog for over a year now! My first entry claimed that I was going to jump off the blog bridge, and I've been doing so (however, intermittently and despressingly) for a whole year!
I talk about blogging all the time on my blog, but here's another great opportunity. Once, I secretly told someone that I really liked my blog. I like the stuff I write, even if it's a hit heavy-handed and wallow-y. Another time, I even felt embarrassed by an entry, and I started apologizing profusely for its contents. But that person just said "chill out" and reminded me that the whole point of this thing is to make myself feel better.
You know, in acting class, we try to get in these moments, and to try and feel emotions. I wonder if that's being self-indulgent: to spark these feelings in front of an audience, hoping that they'll relate to you and like you. I think this blog's a lot like that. I mean, I want to vent, but I also want an audience.
I have Hardeep back! He looks as good as new, but smells like paint. It's really good to just sit in traffic and think. It's just Esther and Hardeep time. I've been in kind of a weird mood, and I think it has to do with Garden State. I watched it the other night. It's honest and lovely, and hits that point of wanting more than numbness. But it also made me really sad. Natalie Portman's character's tendency to laugh at what she can and cry at everything else really struck me. I don't want to be so bold as to say that I'm like her, because she's so cool, but I relate to her a lot, and that made the story so bittersweet.
Formation is process, people. One year later, I'm still at it. Who am I? God only knows.
Is "How are you?" really an appropriate question to follow "Hello"?
Seriously. Consider the following exchange of greetings:
"Hello. How are you?"
"I'm fine. How are you?"
"I'm fine, as well. Thank you for asking."
Harmless, right? But it's not real. It's true, that often we might be fine but how often are we truly concerned about the state of the other person. And if we are truly concerned, can we just assume that they want to share?
I mean, I'm not saying that all our contact with people is superficial. I feel very free to tell many people how horrible I feel. But it is impossible to engage in real introspective conversation every time you run into someone. In fact, I find when I really care how someone is, I'm a little more cautious to ask the question - I make sure I have the time and listening energy before I proceed.
For the most part, I think the "How are you?" routine is just a way to lengthen the greeting - a way to make us feel like we're making contact and do you know what? It is much more pleasant than singular hellos from either end. And to be honest, I don't usually answer the question truly. I usually say I'm fine even if I might not feel fine. Sometimes I say I'm fine before even thinking about it, because the question has lost meaning.
In fact, I think we can argue that the "How are you?" routine is like the secret handshake of civilized society. We expect people to know how the script goes, and when they follow through, we list them in our Nice People Club.
For the record, I'm not promiscuous. I'm pretty afraid of things like that. That being said, I think I can really understand it. I can understand why people would go too far physically to be close to someone or to many people.
I think I kind of do that, emotionally rather than physically. Sometimes when I want someone to be close to me or when I want someone to like me, I'll start telling them things that are maybe too personal for the current level of relationship. I mean, if I start pushing that comfort line, maybe it'll actually move. I think it's emotional promiscuity. I'm revealing myself to anyone and everyone.
I mean, because after a while, maybe too many of my feelings will lose their sacredness, and they'll instead become showy.
On the flipside, maybe this is just an elaborate excuse to keep to myself. I'm not so good at balance.
Acting is weird. I've never taken an acting class before coming to Sheridan and I'm only now beginning to realize that there's something dangerous about it.
I remember at theatre camp last summer (so I guess I lied - that was a sort of acting class), I did a monologue where I cried in it. It was about puppies dying. Mary Francis Moore told me that it was good that I was "feeling it" but that it just wasn't practical to put yourself through those crazy emotions every time you run the show. Since then, I haven't heard very much about actors protecting their emotional lives. If we are breaking down and on the edge of sanity, we're not supposed to take a break - we're supposed to use it in the scene. That's CRAZY, man.
So, let's say something bad happens to me. Do I use it then? Do I find a scene that requires me to be really upset? Will that be helpful to me? Will it be cathartic or will it just get me confused about my emotional state? If it helps my acting, do I go looking for bad things to happen to me? Do I make okay things into super emotional ones to feed my creative power?
I'm sure there are answers to all these questions, but none of them are probably very definite. Answers to real questions are usually "Yes, but..." or "No, unless..."
People go to the theatre to watch people have big emotions - so big that they can't find them in their lives everyday. How are people to pretend that?
At 7:25 I was driven to the GO train station for the 7:55 train that would put me in Oakville by 8:15, then I went on another bus to Sheridan. I arrived there at 8:45. Morning travel time: 50 minutes.
After school, I went to go visit my super cool friend in Hamilton, so I left school at 15:30 and went to the bus stop. After waiting for 15 minutes, I realized I didn't have a ticket and would have to walk to the Oakville GO station. I got there for the 16:09 train, which was late by 7 minutes, but I was able to land in Hamilton for 17:03. Afternoon travel time: 1 hour and 33 minutes.
After my delightful dinner with my super cool friend, I went to the bus stop for 19:11. After waiting for about 40 minutes for my proper bus, I asked the bus driver of another bus where I could catch it. She said that I should just keep on waiting, but when I expressed my unwillingness to do so, she suggested that I just hop on that bus and transfer downtown. Eventually I arrived home at 21:01. Evening travel time: 1 hour and 50 minutes.
In summary, today I travelled on two different trains, five busses, and one automobile, for a grand total of four (4) hours and thirteen (13) minutes. That's right. Over four hours of transit time today.
I miss Hardeep.
