No rest for the wicked

In which our Diva has a few irons in the fire

Three-day weekend FTW! Will no doubt want another when it's finished, as I will be using it to Get Stuff Done, but at least I have it do that in.

Stuff to Get Done includes as many costume renderings for Shrew as possible. I was hoping to have them all done by now, but the real drop-dead date is the first rehearsal in mid-June. Will probably be sketching madly away while socializing with company today.

Tomorrow will be all about studying new scene for acting class, brushing up on audition monologues and songs (everyone and their dog has general season auditions in the next couple weeks -- also need to put in for slots for those!), and getting mailings together for agent queries and a couple auditions that require snail mail instead of electronic submissions. Also need to order prints of new headshots.

Search for better-fitting day job continues apace, with sod all to show for it. Suspect at least some of them are getting filed in the "overqualified" (i.e. "she's going to want too much money, isn't she?") category, while others are looking at my rather eclectic work experience and going "Bzuh?" Sent a snail mail resume for one last week that I would really love to get; not saying any more 'cause I don't want to jinx it.

Dear AEA: Your Contract Associate job sounds faboo. Whywhywhy do you have to say "Employees of Actors' Equity Association are not permitted to perform in or stage manage any Equity or non-Equity production"??? [emphasis mine] I do not love you. (Not that this is particularly news.)

Monday is for housecleaning and car shopping. Car shopping is a necessity because (a) the one-car household thing is getting OLD; (b) the one functioning car does not have functioning air conditioning, and I'm so not doing that another summer; (c) better mileage plz!!; and (d) need new car before driving to Toronto in July for reasons (a) through (c). Have been looking very seriously at the smart car now that they're finally available in the U.S. If you've ever parked in the North Side neighborhoods where most of Chicago's storefront theatres are, you will immediately understand the appeal.

Evenings are for writing. Was writing an action scene yesterday (um, yeah, for the Lizzie project. Sure. *sheepish g*), and getting up to walk through the moves (to make sure they made sense in real space as well as in my head) made me realize how much I miss fight work. Good thing there's a Babes workshop coming up in a couple weeks. (For which registration is another thing on my to-do list this lovely holiday weekend.)

So, still lots going on, but all of it worth the doing.

For one brief shining moment

TiVo is a marvelous contraption, for it caught Sunday's Live From Lincoln Center broadcast of the NY Phil's semi-staged Camelot, which I had no idea was happening on account of life-on-spin-cycle. Last night I decided to take an evening to sit down and watch it and decompress rather than try to Get Stuff Done, with the result that I think more Stuff might well Get Done tonight than might otherwise have last night and tonight together. (That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. *nodnodnodnodnod*)

While it was far from an ideal Camelot, it had its moments. Most of them provided by Nathan Gunn, who is, if not the BEST LANCELOT EVER, a ludicriously close second to Richard White. Yes, the opera star with (I'm given to understand) no musical theatre credits? Put everyone but maybe Marin Mazzie to shame. Serious whoa.

Christopher Lloyd as Pellinore = well, of course. Also, I'm reasonably certain there was some ad-libbed color in the description of the Questing Beast, among other things. Stacy Keach was a perfectly serviceable Merlin.

The book was shuffled oddly in a few places ("Before I Gaze" in Act II? Srsly?), and I remain convinced that if you're cutting anything, the entire Morgan LeFay scene should be the first to go (thus rendering the casting of Fran Drescher a moot point). It just doesn't fit. Hateithateithateit. (Probably doesn't help that I imprinted hard on the 1982 revival. But they were right to cut it! And wrong to cut "Fie on Goodness," which this one did too. I don't know if people don't want it to look like Mordred corrupts the knights too easily or what, but dude, that's the point: the Table was ALWAYS fragile. It represents change that's incredibly hard to implement, and incredibly easy to backslide from.) Haven't decided yet what I think of Goth!Mordred -- the whole production is an odd mix of contemporary and pseudo-period design, and there's a way in which it makes sense, but he's perhaps a bit too jarring.

Gabriel Byrne seems like a no-brainer for Arthur in theory (even if he hadn't started his movie career as Uther!), but in practice, errrrmm. Speak-singing still needs to have a bit more relationship to what the orchestra is doing. He plugged along pretty gamely, but he was the one you could really tell was underrehearsed and out of his element.

Which was a pity, because for the bits where the singing was taken out of the equation, there were some solid "oh, yeah, that" moments. Not that my heart doesn't break for any Arthur during Guenevere's aborted execution -- the scene is constructed to be pretty well cast-proof -- but you could see Mordred's lines ("Let her die, your life is over; let her live, your life's a fraud!") hitting him and cutting deep.

And of course I will never not get chills during the "Resolution" speech that closes Act I, and never not cry at the knighting of Tom of Warwick. Do justice to those, and you're allowed to be Arthur. (Even if Byrne did drop "not a man" after "I am a king," which gives me a cramp in my sense of rhetoric.)

I love that speech so very, very much...

Proposition: If I could choose from every woman who breathes on this earth, the face I would most love -- the smile, the touch, the heart, the voice, the laugh, the very soul itself, every detail and feature to the last strand of the hair -- it would all be Jenny.

Proposition: If I could choose from every man who breathes on this earth -- a man for my brother, a man for my son, and a man for my friend, it would all be Lance.

I love them. I love them and they answer me with pain. And torment. Be it sin, or not sin, they have betrayed me in their hearts, and that's far sin enough! I can see it in their eyes. I can feel it when they speak. And they must pay for it and be punished. I shall not be wounded and not return it in kind. I demand a man's vengeance!

Proposition: I am a king, not a man. And a very civilized king. Could it possibly be civilized to destroy the thing I love? Could it possibly be civilized to love myself above all? What about their pain? And their torment? Did they ask for this calamity? Can passion be selected? Is there any doubt of their devotion to me, and to our Table?

By God, I shall be a king! This is the time of King Arthur, when we shall reach for the stars. This is the time of King Arthur, when violence is not strength, and compassion is not weakness. We are civilized!

Resolved: We shall live through this together, Excalibur, they, you, and I. And may God have mercy on us all.

Chills, man. I know a lot of people who really hate the show, and I will never ever understand.

Still alive (despite the weather)

Okay, who stole spring? I object. Strenuously.

Acting class continues to be Of The Awesome. Pre-class chitchat revealed an unusually high geek quotient in the room, which I always appreciate. There are never as many fannish types in theatre as you (or at least I) think there should be. Also, I appear to have been permanently dubbed "Red" by our coach, which is fine but amusing. Last week I was Red for the first hour and Victoria a couple of times, then he settled into Valerie for the rest of the evening, so I know he does in fact know my name.

Scenework is proving to be a great push for figurative muscles I haven't been working nearly enough lately. Once my scene partner got hold of the out-of-print play we were assigned a scene from, that is. Some things really aren't just getting in your own way! %-} It's A Cry of Players, which, now that I've read it, I'm kind of amazed I'd never heard of. There are thoughts formulating in my head that I want to blog about in addition to the stuff going directly into the scenework itself, but I'm not sure yet what form that'll take. Except a glancing amusement that I would be given Anne Hathaway Shakespeare as my first assignment, after my recent babble touching on the playing-a-historical-person thing. Scene partner is awesome and open to pushing himself and risking. Not to mention willing to alternate coming out to the burbs on Metra with me going into the city to get together and work.

In the area where Actor Val intersects with Fannish Val, beginnings of an interesting discussion this morning on the LiveJournal Slings and Arrows discussion comm. (Spoilers galore for all three seasons.) I really need to rewatch that whole series. Y'know, in my copious free time...

I am actress, hear me snore

First class at Chicago Actors Studio last night. Like the coach, like the atmosphere, like the other members, and think it will be just the right kick in my slightly stagnant pants for this moment in time.

It's a good sign that I didn't realize until I was in my car that the ostensibly 7:00 - 10:30 class had run past midnight. Really it is. Getting up this morning, however... *YAAAAAAAWN*

If they continue to have 17 people attending the Monday night class, it's going to be an interesting 10 weeks.

No, you cannot has Puccini. (Not yours)

In which our Diva is abruptly operaless

No Suor Angelica. :-/ For a variety of reasons beyond anyone's control, not least of which is the necessity of Artistic-Director-of-Many-Hats going to Montreal to be with her dying dad.

At least I have my Thursday nights and my first couple weeks of June back. *sigh*

Chemistry, baby!

And I don't just mean the kind that happens onstage. Met with potential costuming assistant for Shrew, who is no longer potential. Got along like a house on fire, and she lives about five minutes away, thus relieving most of the usual logistical headaches of delegating. The fact that she doesn't just have sewing skills, but serious theatre costuming skills, pretty much relieves the rest. \o/

Now I really gotta get some sketches done before next meeting with director next week, as I would like to continue getting along with her like a house on fire...

Chipmunk Girl has left the building!

Or mostly, anyway. There's still a little puffiness around my jaw, but I only notice it because I know my face. Also, hooray for being able to open my mouth all the way! Should make it a heckuva lot easier to have a voice lesson tomorrow. Also means I can see where the wisdom teeth came out from, and man was I right about there not being enough room in my jaw! I don't know where the heck four more teeth were anchored! Am both apprehensive and excited about seeing an orthodontist once it's all healed. I've had this traffic jam in my mouth for so long, it's going to be strange not to have them so crowded that I slice through dental floss at least three times before I get them all.

Meanwhile, I have a completely irrational craving for a chili cheese dog. *facepalm*

Curiously, hurting more today than it has the last couple. Mostly stitches pulling, I think. Which makes me very glad the Vicodin doesn't loop me out to speak of, because I have stuff to get done, darnit. Have been itching to sing, and planning to give it a shot for a while tonight. The poor voice is like "Okay, cold and then sinus infection and then wisdom teeth... Are we DONE with all this stuff now? Can we get on with business plzkthx?" I really wanted to be in solid vocal shape before we started Suor Angelica, darnit, but that just wasn't in the cards. Ah, well.

Also need to start sketching for Shrew. And must go over to Chicago Actors Studio and get registered early next week. But those are for after BigBabyBrother's wedding this weekend, which, yay!

Next week. *deep breath * Next week will be NORMAL craziness. ;-D

Um... No, thanks.

Dude. I dunno if it's just a seasonal cycle thing or what, but the preponderance of reality shows on the casting breakdowns the last couple weeks is downright creepy.

Rainy days and Mondays

...are at least not snowy days. But still Mondays.

I've been meaning to hit the Midwest Independent Film Festival some first Tuesday or other. Networking yay! Was too sick last month, but am totally going to haul my finally-getting-better butt into the city tomorrow night. (Yay, Zithromax! Yay, sinuses no longer attempting to secede through the front of my skull!) The offering scheduled happens to be one that others might also be interested in, a docu about women's body image called America the Beautiful. Tickets are $10. Chicago peeps, if you end up planning to go, let me know!

In opera news, apparently we're doing Tosca next year. Went to Solange's bel canto recital yesterday afternoon, and she did "Vissi d'arte" (of all things...fach shift much?) as her encore and mentioned that. First I've heard. And actually, this time last year she was talking about The Merry Widow, which ended up morphing into Elisir, so we'll see. I did a bit of a doubletake at the public mention, tho.

Also, now that the former Café Magdalena is officially launched as the newest location of Villa Verone, our cabaret nights there are coming back! Looks like they will now be Sunday nights, and early word is that they'll be Sundays in May and July. I'll keep you posted as details become available.

Moral of the story: Take the bloody stairs!

My dreams tend toward the seriously batshit bizarre, especially when I'm doing a show. Atypically, I've remembered very few dreams of any kind in recent months. However, there was one I woke up from about 1:30 this morning with quite clear recall, and no small amusement.

I'm traveling to some sort of meeting -- the impression I retain is that it was in downtown Chicago, and theatre-related -- using an extended arrangement of escalators heading up and down and all around, either inside one large building or connecting several, I'm not sure which. But it goes a long way. I do have a crystalline-vivid image of an almost Escher-like descent through a red brick archway up ahead, when the whole shebang becomes a traffic jam with people jammed solidly the width of the escalator, as far as the eye can see. The crowd pattern behaves exactly like creeeeeeeping gridlocked traffic, although the locomotion is still coming from the escalator.

Eventually, just as I throw my hands up and climb over the wide-but-far-from-impassable half-wall separating the escalator from the stairs that have been next to it the entire time, word makes it back that the backup is because some guy set his boss on fire way up ahead. I continue into the building on the stairs, my path unobstructed, only slightly annoyed with myself for waiting so long.

I can't imagine where anything like that might have come from. :-)

:: vibrates in place ::

I'm having one of those GET ME OUTTA HERE kinda days. The demands of Office of Doom are actually more manageable right this moment than they have been for most of the past three or four months, but that doesn't help.

I want to be somewhere that is NOT HERE, doing work I actually CARE about. I don't want to not work, I don't want to play all the time. I want to WORK. Work that is not this work, because I Do Not Care about this work, no matter how hard I try.

Knowing that I'm pursuing all available avenues to do something about that helps only slightly when I'm in this mood. Probably makes me even more restless, in fact. In the starting blocks, waiting for the damn pistol to fire already.

*deep breath* End of lunch hour. Focus. Other people do care about this stuff, and deserve to have it done promptly and well.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have no ambition. I know enough to know I wouldn't want it, but I'm still curious what it's actually like.

The Belle of New Hampshire

Last night we attended Sarah Vowell's reading/talk, which was all kinds of cool. Really must read her books. Though I don't think it will be quite as fun as her reading them aloud. :-)

She chose a Lincoln-assassination-related passage for the first reading, prefaced by an entertaining tangent about how dumb it was from a PR standpoint for Booth to pull the trigger on Good Friday. Something to the effect of "thus ensuring that a President half the country hated on Friday would, by Sunday morning, be eulogized in every Easter sermon." Which is a really, really good point, and one I don't remember if I ever thought about before.

If I did, it would have been while I was devouring research getting ready for These Honorable Men, and that was 1995, so it's a little fuzzy. I read about the whole topic, of course, but mostly I was focussing on any mentions I could find of my character, Booth's "secret fiancée," Lucy Hale. (The linked article just happened to be the first Google hit I got this morning, and is really cool, but has the same oddity from my perspective as the one I'm about to explain...)

Those aspects of my research are less fuzzy, despite it being thirteen years later. So the passage Vowell read last night got to the part about how Lucy's father was keen on taking her with him to his new assignment as Ambassador to Spain, thus putting as much distance between "his pretty daughter" and Booth as possible... Well, that's all quite accurate, except for the part where everything I read indicated that she was quite the social belle, and regarded as having an "air" or personal charisma, specifically in spite of not being considered a beauty. Even my hubby (who, granted, had to live with me while I was living with Lucy, but still, thirteen years!) chuckled at that. And noted in the car on the way home that her long list of suitors, including Robert Todd Lincoln, could probably be at least partly ascribed to money and connections. Which, yeah, probably true. But since she's one of two historical figures I've played (and it's questionable how much one can count Catherine de Valois as written by Shakespeare in that reckoning), I choose to believe it was charisma. ;-D
IIRC, neither of the good pictures I found of Lucy online this morning is the carte de visite Booth had in his pocket at the time of his death. (The actual one is in the museum in the basement of Ford's.) It might have been the one at the top of this post, but I don't think so. But my favorite -- the one I photocopied and taped to the front of my THM script -- is this second one, mostly because it's the one that reminded me so much of my maternal grandmother (seen below modeling her brother's Army coat) as a young woman. Grandma Wieging was a lady and a tough broad, with nary a speck of cognitive dissonance between the two, and is without a doubt the root of what my mom raised me to be.
There ended up being some of Grandma in my Lucy because of that picture, which worked amazingly with the way Doug wrote her -- young and sheltered and not without vulnerability, to be sure, but no hothouse flower either. Such a gift that she was written for me! That'll always blow my mind.

We actually had some remarkable resemblances in that play, some of them not even discovered until we started doing research after it was cast! The standard comment was "Except for Val, because she's prettier." Which still amuses the heck out of me, as my one experience with the typical "more glamorous version of historical figure" thing. Since I'm not usually more glamorous in, well, general. And of course I was amused by the definitely-more-glamorous Jean Louisa Kelly in the TV-movie The Day Lincoln Was Shot a couple years later. I distinctly remember making note of that. (And also feeling particularly unglamorous myself, as I was watching it with a big knot on my forehead, having whacked myself with a dryer door in the laundry room half an hour before.)
It's a curious thing, that people seem to find it essential to characterize such a person as a beauty, even if she wasn't. Which feeds tangentially into the Lizzie project, as one of the threads I'm playing with is how she started out being perceived as quite plain and/or odd-looking, but became defined as the Pre-Raphaelite stunner. Complete with a certain amount of revisionism going into the story of her "discovery" by Walter Deverell, who was looking for red hair and a girl who could be convincing as a boy (i.e. Viola-as-Cesario). All pretty much because Rossetti said so, and saw her that way, and painted her that way.
Funny all the things popping up lately that resonate with that watershed year. Maybe just me, or maybe the Universe trying to tell me something. :-)

Two degrees of Chicago theatre

Possibly one and a half. I really don't think there are any more than that. Seriously, I'd done all of two shows here before it was impossible to go to a theatre-related function without bumping into someone I knew. Which is just a lovely, welcoming thing. Have I mentioned lately that I should have moved here five years sooner? Because it's true.

Today's edition? Promo photo call for Shrew. Our Kate's fiancé was the photographer. He arrived and we both said "You look really familiar." Someone mentioned Babes with Blades about fifteen seconds later, and determined that he had seen me in Horror Academy last fall, but were both convinced that wasn't it. We then worked our way through GenCon and Origins to arrive at Ohio Renaissance Festival.

At which we were both dance guild (and frequently partners for the Cumberland Reel) in NINETEEN NINETY-FIVE.

There followed reminiscences of the Great Flood of 1572, declaring war on the mud, and the student day when the Tudor Rose stage was set on fire.

You can't make this stuff up. Or at least I can't.

Work what you got

In which our Diva and cameras continue to have an uneasy relationship

I now have in my hot little pixel-stained hands the two headshots I picked from my shoot with Beth Cummings at the end of January. (I would have had them a lot sooner, but her original email fell into the ether and I just now got around to asking after them.) Beth is one of the kickass women of Babes With Blades, with whom I had the long-aspired-to privilege of performing in last fall's Horror Academy. She just recently launched her business, and I totally recommend her to anyone looking to update. She does some really innovative things with angles, while still fitting into the stylistic expectations of the Chicago market.

In a fairly typical scenario when I'm the subject, out of about 200 shots, I managed to find one...



...I actually like, and one...



...I picked because I'm entitled to two, and it has something that drew me, but also things that bug me.

The biggest thing that bugs me I can do something about, and need to just get around to it: I swear my teeth get crookeder by the day. I have the oral surgeon and orthodontist referrals. I will call on Monday. *determined face* (Short version: Never bothered getting wisdom teeth out. Not enough actual room in mouth. Traffic jam.)

The smaller thing is that "deer in headlights" thing that I've always had. Just ask my mother -- I don't remember when she didn't point out that the distinctive feature of even my baby pictures is that "you can see the whites all the way around your eyes!" Which is cute and funny when talking about baby pictures, but not terribly useful as a first impression for a serious adult actress, y'know? But I always have to really concentrate to keep it from happening pretty much any time I'm trying to hold still.

I'm working on tipping that love/hate relationship with photos a little more to the "love" side. It's a challenge. This is my calling card, my knock at the door, my little 8x10 package of "This is me, and you want to see more." The challenge for me in judging and picking them has always been to try to approximate a first-impression eye, instead of being drawn immediately to the familiar flaws. (Yes, flaws give you character. However, there's only so much character they want, especially from a woman who reads as under 30.) I've always considered myself reasonably attractive (barring the occasional hormone-driven bout of "OMG give me a paper sack STAT!" that everyone has), but that's in the real world. There's only so much water it holds in an undustry with truly surreal quantities of pretty wandering around.

My criteria are simple: I want it to (a) look like me, and (b) look good. That's a lot harder than people who know me in real life tend to expect. Poor Beth got me on a cranky evening after a cranky day at Office of Doom, when the luck of the draw just meant I was having a helluva time letting go of the tension of the day. So the fact that she managed to take any pictures I like is a minor miracle.

I'm not a model; I have no expectation that posing for still photos is ever going to be a large part of my work. But it is always going to be a part, and it is usually going to be what people see first. For better or for worse, things are structured such that I'm being assessed out of the gate on something that is a weak point for me. So sometime in the next year or so, however long it takes to get my teeth closer to where I want them, I need to learn how to be better at it.

Working smarter, not just harder

In my "get this damn career thing together already" mode, various thoughts that have been whirling through my little diva brain, gathered here for some semblance of order and to have them in one place as a reminder:

Yes, I'm in more or less the same place I was ten years ago. Yes, that would probably not be the case if I had made some different choices along the way. Yes, that is frustrating as all hell. Own it and let it go. It does not help my mental health. It sure as hell does not help my work.

I totally grok the "biological clock" thing in a way I never thought I would. Only mine isn't ringing "Aaaagh! Must have kids now or it's not going to happen!" (That would also be nice, but it's not what the lizard brain is screaming about.) It's "Aaaagh! Must get career momentum now or it's not going to happen!" And yeah, there's some truth to it. But I'm no less likely a leading lady at 38 than I was at 25.

Which is to say, quite frankly, not all that likely. Most of the actresses I love and follow because they've created and inhabited characters that really spoke to me aren't the huge household names, largely because I tend to develop that attachment most strongly with TV series characters. That's a mode of storytelling and way of living with a character that I would dearly, dearly love the opportunity to experience, and one I'm most likely never going to. Even if I were in the right place -- if I had been born in Canada like most of my favorites, or if I had moved to L.A. a decade ago when I was sorely tempted and could probably have taken good advantage of some tenuous connections -- I am, as the song goes, not that girl.

My friends are probably sick to death of my glib "I'm a stage actor for a reason; cameras and I don't get along," and it's really only half true. I hate most still pictures of me -- always have, probably always will -- but have surprised myself by enjoying and generally being pleased with the little bit of film work I've done. But I'm still not someone people look at and think "leading lady material" the way they do with someone like Amanda Tapping or Christina Cox or Gina Holden. There's not really a way to change that, and I'm still evolving a strategy for finding the place where I'm what they want.

One of my other glibs is that I want to be Emma Thompson or Catherine Disher when I grow up. That's maybe a little closer to the mark. But I'm still working on the growing up. And it's a weird schizo thing, because with 40 not that far off on the horizon, people still look at me and see 26 or 27. And however much we wish differently, 26 or 27 is supposed to be gorgeous first and everything else second. And someone else is always going to come in with more gorgeous.

All of which leads me to conclude that, far from time running out, I am in fact not old enough yet for hotness to become a secondary consideration, and for what I do have to get people's attention.

I do not suck. Of this I am (usually) certain. That's not always an easy thing to hold onto, when it's impossible not to gauge your worth as an actor through others' eyes. A writer or painter or sculptor or even musician can do their work on their own, any time. Sharing it with others and having it appreciated is of course important, but they can do the actual work. Acting is entirely collaborative. There's an extent to which you can make your own opportunities, but when it all boils down, it cannot be done without someone, somewhere saying "Yes, you can do this work, and we will do it with you." And then when you get to do it, it must be done on the group's terms and according to their schedule.

That? Will make a person crazy right quick if they're not careful.

I've been very restless lately because I haven't been getting to really do the work. Horror Academy was fantastic -- oh, how I cherish that people not only believed when Lula died, but cared! -- but it closed four months ago. Auditions are fine as far as they go, but that's maybe five minutes of engaging with a character I've just met, and it just doesn't cut it. The roles I get in opera are necessarily limited by my vocal development -- cardinal irony of remaining an actor first and foremost!

Ergo, time to revisit the thought I had months ago about taking a proper acting class. It's been a long time, and right now it's my best option for really engaging with character work. Plus I think I've been stagnating a bit. I may even take a break from voice lessons for a while. I know it will slow down my development there, and my teacher will be frustrated, but she also knows singing is always going to be secondary for me. Training the last several years has been about all sorts of wonderful side areas -- singing, stage combat, and yeah, after Barnum I was giving serious thought to going back to the Actor's Gymnasium to do the regular aerial course -- but I haven't gotten back to basics in a long while. And with what I've been up to lately, back to basics with an on-camera emphasis is what I need.

It's also been waaay too long since I set foot in a dance class, and I want to get back into that habit. But that's a second priority. And since the Elgin Park District doesn't even have any ballet classes on the spring session schedule (WTF?), it may mean looking into private studios when the time comes. One thing at a time. Which needs to be the mantra, really -- trying to do everything at once is accomplishing nothing!

So. Plan of attack for this weekend:

1. Check out classes in Chicago (there are a couple I know a bit about), get registered, and get back in training.
2. Start getting mailings out to agents. Was going to wait until my new headshots and reel were ready, but both of those are taking longer than I'd hoped, and my current headshot and resume could be enough for now. I can get in the door now, and give them more and updated material soon.
3. Strategize the hunt for a day job that will keep me alive without eating my life.

Yay, plan!

But then there was a star danc'd

Thirteen years ago today, Much Ado About Nothing opened in a small black-box theatre in Columbus, Ohio. Yours truly, complete with flittery fidgets and Minnie Mouse voice, was playing Beatrice.

I'm still not entirely sure how that happened, but I'm eternally grateful that it did.

I hate choosing favorites in practically anything, but when people ask me my favorite role I've ever played, I don't hesitate a fraction of a second before answering "Beatrice." Even more true is that it is the one role I would most want to play again. Not just because of the character herself, but because I was given this amazing opportunity when I was 25 and clueless, and I would pay dearly to have it again with what I know now. (I hasten to add that this only means I was clueless at 25, having semi-recently dropped this nugget into a conversation with an astonishingly clueful 23-year-old colleague and then realized it was possibly on the tactless side.) I think that at least once a week, and it becomes especially acute when I encounter the play in any form, as I did last week with my friend and her brilliant little girl (who, as we had hoped, loved the movie and was tremendous fun to watch).

1995 was the year everything seemed possible. Rosebriar, the Shakespeare company I had stumbled into the previous season, and its gifted, giving idealist of an artistic director (who was also my Benedick), looked at me and saw great things. And for a few seasons, we had great things happening, we really did. John's inspiration and belief in me gave me more than I can begin to describe.

Hard on Beatrice's heels, I played Lucy Hale, John Wilke's Booth's fiancée, in a role written for me by the playwright/actor who played Antonio in Much Ado and shocked me speechless one night by comparing my performance favorably to Emma Thompson's. (I love you, Doug, but, um, no way.) That was the year I found Shakespeare & Company and my grownup voice, spent ten weekends dancing four Maypole shows a day in thirty pounds of peasant garb at Ohio Ren, carried a woefully underrehearsed The Skin of Our Teeth (not at Rosebriar) by the skin of my teeth on Sabina's stiletto heels, and played ersatz BDSM with Hamlet with my very Catholic 85-year-old grandfather in the front row three feet away.

But starting it all off, there was Much Ado. There's so much I remember so vividly about that show. I look at the quote list and remember what prompted every silly joke on it. Changing at panicky superhuman speed when I realized 45 seconds before my cue that I'd gotten a scene ahead of myself and was wearing the wrong costume. The infamous Noisy Blue Dress whipping around my ankles as I stomped away the width of the stage at the Friar's suggestion that hey, worst case scenario, we'll just stick Hero in a convent! Dissolving into helpless laughter the night John shoved the candy box under my nose with his fake moustache in it. Sucking down a quart of Gatorade after the emotional blitzkrieg of IV-I and silently thanking Shakespeare's departed spirit for leaving me a break just long enough to collect myself for the happy ending.

The IV-I that ends like this. (With apologies for the video quality. And the 25-and-cluelessness.)



When I flail about what I want, what I'm reaching for, what I miss because I know what it felt like when I had it? This is what I'm thinking about. This was supposed to be the great beginning. I'm still determined that it will be. When all is said and done and the last lights go out, if that experience ends up being the high point of my life as an actor? It was a pretty darn good one, and I will be ever thankful for that.

But it won't.

For whatever reason, certainly not for any reason as concrete as this one, I've been feeling lately like anything is possible in 2008, in a way I maybe haven't since I was that clueless 25-year-old. So when you see me driving and reaching and muttering that it's not enough, you know why. I know what I'm trying to capture. It's going to be mine.

Pass the Gatorade.

Hollywood Midwest

Just as I've been doing a lot more auditioning for film than for theatre lately, the current issue of PerformInk has a front-page feature on, you guessed it, auditioning for independent film.

This observation in particular struck me:

“What I always think is kind of interesting is that there are these different communities in Chicago,” says Rachael Patterson, director of Acting Studio Chicago and a longtime auditions and on-camera acting instructor (as well as a former casting director). “There’s the improv community, which doesn’t really cross over all that much with the theatre community, except for on-camera auditions where you’ll see both improv actors and theatre actors. And then the independent film community is very separate from both the improv and theatre community. Actors very much want to cross over to work with independent filmmakers. And filmmakers often don’t know where to go to find actors.”

So there you have it, folks. They don't know where to find us. We gotta go find them.

Mostly I'm coming away from this with the realization that I need to start going to Midwest Independent Film Festival nights. Sounds kinda like a (hopefully) bigger version of the late lamented Columbus Film Consortium, which (a) was just fun to go to, and (b) led to half the film work I did there.

Diva-About-Town

I know it's really too soon to have heard anything from Saturday's audition, but I am nonetheless antsy. The project is still living in the "Coolest Thing I've Seen In Ages" space in my brain, and the schlep up to Milwaukee is seeming like a pretty minor inconvenience. No idea whether I'll get a "yea or nay" from them, so the suspense and obligatory niggling suspicion that they actually thought I sucked will probably continue for a bit before I say "Okay, ain't happening."

In the interim, I did get hold of the guys with the very conveniently local horror project, but their casting guy couldn't make it Sunday, so it's rescheduled for March 2. They sent me the script, and it looks like fun, if not the Mostest Brilliantest Thing Ever. Plus, one of the characters they're looking at me for would give me firearms handling footage for the ol' reel. I'm no expert by any means, but I have enough experience to not look like I expect the gun to bite me, and have internalized the various safety procedures well enough that I don't have to use all my active brainspace for them anymore.

Tonight, it's into the city for another student film. The role they're looking at me for in this one is a dominatrix. Yes, I'm amused too. Although those of you who saw my Rosencrantz and/or Goneril won't think it's particularly farfetched. ;-> If it weren't FIVE FRELLING DEGREES outside today, I'd probably be wearing the outfit that prompted a coworker's visiting wife to ask who the goth chick was, but no way in hell was there going to be a skirt today. Everything else is the same, though, although for some strange reason I decided it would probably be wiser to wear the hiking boots outside and change into the four-inch heels when I get there. Call me crazy. (Seriously, I do NOT understand the women I see still running around in stilettos lately. I'd say they need their heads examined, but that's going to happen anyway when they fall and crack them open!) Plus I turned back to the redhead side of the Force in November and have decided to stay there for a while, and currently have the Bettie Page bangs thing going on. So I should be set there.

On the other side of the resume, I'm now officially designing costumes for The Taming of the Shrew at Theatre-Hikes. Primary challenge will be realizing the director's commedia dell'arte concept without killing the actors, who will be hiking a total of two miles between scenes in August. Fortunately, she's experienced with them and well aware of that challenge and of the inevitable necessity of compromise. So that'll be fun. They actually asked me if I was interested in doing Dracula too, but I'm not keen on committing to designing two shows in a row when I have no idea what's going on with me performingwise. Plus, it's the John Balderston/Hamilton Deane adaptation, which I dislike quite a lot even though it's the basis for most of what people know (i.e. both the Lugosi and the Langella movies).

Defying Gravity

In which our Diva has possibly had a little bit of caffeine today

Plans for the weekend falling into place. Bonus: I don't have to swipe the car and leave hubby stranded all day Saturday! I do have to spend 3 1/2 hours in transit on Metra up to spend Friday night with BigBabyBrother and Sister-in-Law-To-Be, which is okay because (a) I'm going to record my monologue and the audition side on my Zen for memorization purposes (since I haven't memorized either yet!), and (b) I missed SiLTB's shower last weekend for the Elisir matinee.

I realize I'm at least slightly insane for schlepping clear up to Milwaukee for this thing, but it is so utterly up my alley and would be SO MUCH FUN. (Do I get extra points for that? No, seriously. It should count! And hey, the mindset worked out last time...)

Meanwhile, there's been a slew of possibilities in the Chi breakdowns on actors access this past week, including one I just submitted for that will have me busy Sunday if I hear back from them. Bonus: these guys listed it as filming in Bartlett (very close to home) and Villa Park (location of Office of Doom). Also, you will note, up my alley. (It's been three months. I'm totally recovered from being tired of washing dried stage blood out of my hair.) They want me. They know they do. ;->

Pondering next week's Wicked chorus call. On the one hand, there's the "third time's the charm" theory. On the other, Equity members will be seen first. :: mourns Eligible Performer program yet again :: Thinking I'll probably hold out for the next open call instead.

Tonight, meanwhile, off to a friend's house to watch her six-year-old watch Much Ado About Nothing. Since she apparently jammed on Hamlet (!!!) last week, I can't miss this. Then home to pack an overnight bag for the trip up to Wisconsin, as there will be zero time to do so tomorrow due to the intersection of work and train schedules.

*whew* Keep on movin'...

Day Job Blues

In which our Diva continues to negotiate with the Universe for more favorable terms on this Being A Grownup deal

Just got a very, very apologetic call from the place where I had a second interview last week. To the extent that it was obviously really, really close. (Not to mention they've already had to go through this process twice in less than a year, so I'm sure they don't want to burn any bridges in case this one doesn't last either.)

I'm disappointed, but also weirdly ambivalent. It's a BIG job. And I'll confess to having some slight internal cold feet for that reason after the second interview, when it started feeling a little realer. Office of Doom might be stingy with the PTO days, but there's very seldom a specific day/time where I just plain can't take a half-day, or make up the hours later, or whatever, in order to make an audition or gig. Granted, I haven't tested that a lot (yet), but they're generally pretty flexible. (It helps that they're mildly terrified of my leaving. Maybe not even mildly at this point.)

With the responsibilities of this job, there may very well have been some painful conflicts, because there would have been times when I absolutely had to be there. I also got the sense that I'd have more time off in general (while specifics were not discussed, they did mention vacation, personal and sick days as separate commodities), but have been getting slightly apprehensive about possible limitations on when I could take it.

It would also have been a fairly significant pay cut. Not unsurvivable, but certainly noticeable.

I dunno. Maybe just rationalizing. Doesn't matter. For the moment, still at Office of Doom, and now lifting the temporary moratorium on auditioning for new stage stuff (since I don't have to worry about going crazy trying to transition to a new job with rehearsals going on too).

I have the entirely irrational but nonetheless strong sense that this is how it's supposed to be, and something else is going to fall into place soon. I'm choosing to believe it for the moment, because why the heck not?