12:10 p.m. - 04/23/03
there's no business like show business, like no business I know.
I'm just going to start writing because I've already deleted the opening few paragraphs of *this* entry as well as the last, and I just can't put myself through all the same motions again. Despite this, and despite the sad mix I made for Sarah in 2001 (which I just flipped through, curious), I'm fairly certain I'll do less whining than I did in the entry I lost yesterday. (I'm on a mac instead of a pc, and a notebook which is hugely cool but very different from my raised, split keyboard at "home." I'm saying this in hopes of sounding slightly less inept.)
To start with, the city is being a marvelous hostess. So is Sarah, actually, which I don't say to act as if it's surprising; mostly, I say it in gratitude that things have been relatively good between us during this trip. A large portion of the lost entry was consumed by the shittiness of actors versus production team in a match of "Whose show is it really?" and as uncool as that is, Sarah's been helping me deal with it, helping me stand up for what I do deserve even when my own insecurity and certain idiocies with performers make that seem unclear.
The dress Tuesday night went really poorly. And granted, I was tired after sixteen hours at the theater Monday, a late night, and early morning, but the piece just honestly was not there. I was so upset watching the performance because the relationships had just entirely disappeared and I felt, at the end, as if I had no clue what had happened (despite the fact that I wrote this play.) I had no concept of what the story was and more importantly, why it mattered. And in my newly-found (or at the very least, newly-claimed) vigor to tell my story, I just felt entirely lost. I tried to catch up to Sarah afterward to see what she had thought, but she didn't realize I was trying to talk to her, and she just hurried downstairs to the dressing rooms. I followed, and after she gave them a soft-edged version of what I'd been feeling and people had responded a little, ("Whatever, it felt good to me") I began unfolding my response. And honestly, I didn't hold back, but I'm not a vicious person. I was not coddling them, and I understand how much what I said would have hurt me had I been acting in this piece, but I didn't say anything malicious, anything intentionally hurtful. And this wasn't an issue of "you're not doing what I want", "you're not telling it the way I saw it", or "this isn't exactly perfect." This was an issue of the entire play not being communicated, when my heart is on the line, and (an outdated versio of) my name is tied to it. It's more than the issue of my name, though; it's the issue of my skin and spirit and heart. I know these characters like they're turning my outsides-in when they speak, and I hate not having them given their due. It's terrifying to lose that control, even though (when it goes right) it's also spectacular.
Anyway, two of the women went really quiet, and one of them got really pissed and pouty (set her jaw, wouldn't look at me, et cetera), while the one guy just sort of nodded and let it go. I heard later from both of the first two women that they'd felt something was off, which made me feel better, even though I still felt awful (it is me, obviously) for bringing them down with what I said. Basically, "A second opinion? I didn't feel it tonight. I mean I really didn't feel it. You guys are amazing; you all have your characters down. You know who these people are. But the play, the larger play, the relationships, and the story and all of that, just was not communicated tonight." People were playing for laughs, and yes there are cute and funny moments, but this is not a comedy. I just really needed them to hear what I was saying. They showed me the first day that I was here how capable they are of making this play amazing, and then the night before opening, I saw something that just broke my heart, that just wasn't this play. And when I tried to give that comment, I felt this resistence, which has been around all along, as if I somehow don't have the place to talk to them about who these characters are. I know they've worked hard, and I know they have intimate relationships with their characters because that's evident onstage, but I have an intimate relationship with these characters and with this piece also, and so it was really difficult to watch something so barely related to it (with the added bonus of knowing they're capable of giving it full-on.)
Afterward, I hurried up the stairs after Sarah, needing very badly to hear that the comment was necessary and that she was right with me. Instead she turned around, put a hand on each of my arms, looked straight in my eyes with her this-is-very-important-so-listen-closely-little-person look, "Next time we really need to talk first," and I really wanted to tell her to fuck off. What am I supposed to do if not be honest? I'm not her little sister, around for kicks. I'm not there to be a cheerleader. I'm there to be a playwright, and damn right, I will tell them they rock when they do, but I can't just say that, and I'm not interested in giving them the sugar-high-substance-diminished version, just to soothe their pride. I'm not mean, and I won't be mean, but I will be honest. And I don't have the time to go easy on them, to help them come to it slowly, by degrees, the way I would with friends, or even here- if I had the entire rehearsal process. I don't have that luxury, and I needed them to hear me fully and in that moment. Which I really do believe they did, even though I didn't feel it fully. I felt seriously injured, to be honest. After we had all come upstairs, I curled back down and cried hard in the dressing room. I hate not being able to speak my heart, and this was kind of twice-at-once (not communicating with the play, and not communicating after it). And I hate being treated like less than I am. Despite how little I've thought of myself at times, I don't do well when people treat me like I'm less than I am. Yes, we are equally important in the creation of this piece, but we are equally important, and in case you didn't notice, I wrote that script with those characters you're so attached to. So fuck off and let me do my job.
That was the shortened (and sadly, less hurt) version of yesterday's entry. I seriously wasn't sure if the entire trip was going to remain ruined by that night, since it was sort of a climax of problems that have been here throughout, instead of just a screwy rehearsal. Sarah found me while I was crying (which was good because it felt good, bad because I wanted to cry really long and really hard, and maybe-bad because she went back to taking care of me) and talked me out of it a little. She told me that everything I had said was true, and I had the right and responsibility to say it, and doesn't this suck, et cetera. I told her I didn't sign on for this kind of bullshit; I signed on to be a playwright not a director, and I hate the part of it that resembles what she does every day. I did feel slightly better, though, so I went back upstairs, and the actor I've been in love with since junior high came over and said, "I want to sit by *you*" and I was like, "You still want to sit by me?" and she hit my arm and told me to shut up. I resisted the urge to tell her that I had completely not been talking about her- because that's so unfair to her, so unfair to the other actors and the relationships I'm building with them, and so invalidating of my own words. (I don't need to be taking anything I do say *back* at this point.) I did tell her that she has the girl she's playing down, and it's there, and it's amazing, (resisting, "I'm entirely in love with you and having *you* play the central character in *my* plays is like a dream beyond my junior high imagination nevertheless come true"). It's odd because sometimes she does the smallest things- like sitting next to me, singing under her breath- and the sparks inside me seem to jump to life- and at the same time, I know I don't feel like there's a relationship with her or like I even want one. I just feel things around her. I always have, and that's probably why I liked her so much in junior high (from the audience.) I could feel, and I could feel a connection. I'm still aware of all the reasons a "relationship" between us (if it were possible, which it's not) would suck, and I don't want it, though I sometimes want to be able to say I feel something. Even that seems more for me than for us, though. Like I want to be certain enough of what I'm feeling and what I have felt, what that is and signifies, that I could verbalize it. The way things are now, I sort of minimize the feelings. I mean, this is what I might have felt in junior high, and hey, I'm probably making it bigger than it was, and so forth. Still interesting, though. Like the way I start to crave Ruth's appearance and the way I wonder if Michelle will come, if she's even still in town, and am too afraid (of my own transparency) to ask. Erm.
Oh, and how's this for *marvelous*? My mom sees the show for the first time (getting in town just a few hours prior to the performance) the same night that Julian, dela, Cami, and Shannon first come. The second part of that is marvelous. But, um, mother?! Ick. At least she's already met Cami and Julian - and Inge (her adopted daughter; my escort up here) will be there to distract her. What are adopted Philipina sisters for?
Anyway, yesterday's performance entirely followed the superstitious "bad dress; great performance" rule- meaning, it was absolutely fantastic, in my opinion. Sarah saw some weaknesses, as is her job, but I was entirely pleased. I spent a great deal of the play in chills, unsure whether I was about to cry or throw up, and *that* is the play. And there was still lots of cuteness and sweet moments and humor. But there was also the substance. Plus, we were overflowing with audience. We had people on pillows on the floor, and I stood in the back to watch; it was fabulous. Not only was it a full crowd, it was an enthusiastic one: nearly everyone stayed for the reception afterward (in the *garden* we have outside, where this amazing chef Stefano had set up food and wine and all sorts of lovely things- entirely free of charge and *in the cold* while the show was being performed. We're all entirely in love with Stefano for doing this. And he came to the dress and absolutely loved the show; everyone who came to the dress, who hadn't seen it before, thought it was amazing also, which is good, but I still felt what I felt, and so did Sarah and Miss-Mary-Mac our costume/ set designer. Still, Stefano came up to me afterward and said that it had been an amazing thing to see, that "we really need good theater; thank you." I was completely overcome, so he and Chiara started speaking Italian and Sarah and I were free to quit stumbling over our words in an attempt to respond. Not long before that, this friend of Chiara's who looks really familiar (beyond the fact that I met him after Flower Arrangment) came up to me just entirely floored (again, and moreso) and said, "I brought these" (flowers) "for Chiara, but...you're so amazing...I want to give you one. Is that ok? Would you accept a flower?" and I was like, "Um, *yeah.* Um, *wow.*" We talked quite a bit about the steps this play has taken, in terms of writing, beyond what took place with Flower Arrangment, and it was cool, especially considering how few people I knew at the reception. There were enough to keep me pretty busy, though, and it's always cool to meet people at a point when they're enamored with you, though trying to "explain" the play (which happened really rarely) always sort of sucks. Discussing it is a lot more fun. I also got a compliment from Randall (a semi-brother of Sarah's, who will come with us to workshop this summer, if we get into the thing at Bard- who is extremely skilled, talented, non-bullshitting and still said) that the writing was quality. He started talking about how much there was to do with the character he might play when we do this for the trilogy, and (Sarah and) I were just like, "yes! yes! yes! That's it, exactly!" He also brought up a particular line that I (particularly) adore, and said that he could have spent the entire night on just that line. He said something like, people could have been punching him in the face the entire time, and if there had still been that line, he would have been ok. And comments like that are just beyond compliments from someone I respect so much. It's going to be amazing to see him do the plays, as amazing as it is with the company-actor-girl, minus the possible-several-years-of-crushing aspect.
Also, the girl who saved our asses when the first actor cast left the show gave me a water yoyo last night, and even though they're probably toxic, they're totally addictive and mine is purple. And the girl I share a name with, the designer Mary, is fucking awesome. We have so much more than four letters in common. And I will be holding dear ones in less than 30 hours. Yeay!
In other news, I'm kicking ass at food, and my anxiety is almost unnoticeable, but I still talked honestly about meds and bonded with crush-girl over our ambivalence about taking them. (Oooh.) Meanwhile, in D!@#$%^, the house goes on the market, the parents prepare to sell. Dr. R is supposed to call me in one hour and two minutes. For the moment, life appears to rock my kneesocks. Woot.
chord
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