11,693. RUDIMENTS, pt. 656

RUDIMENTS, pt. 656

('now that's a paradox!)

My one day in acting school,

(I wasn't enrolled, had just

gone there with a friend to

sit in), the instructor told the

class what to do, and the first

guy who went up started some

real emotional-type outward

breathing. I was pretty confused,

and I saw some of the others were

as well, and the acting coach

pops up, screaming, 'I said

extol!! Not exhale!!' I figured

it could have been funny, in

comedy school. I never did get
to understand about spending

money to learn how to 'act' or

'perform' anyway. ('What's that

smell?'  -  'I said Perfume, not

Perform?')...but, really, they

were always concocting scenes

and scenarios too, in which to

play out their 'feelings' as if

it was real life in order to be

'better actors.' I never knew

about that one.

-

Everything I ever did, I just

'did.' Rolled right into things and

they always came out good, and

felt natural too. I, also, always

ran my life as an anti-jinx. I'd

never throw anything out,

thinking that once I threw

something out, even an old

check book, records and

papers,  I'd jinx everything

by doing so and then find I

needed to produce it and

would not have it. All strange.

The end result is and was that

I'm stuck here with piles of

crap I can't even identify any

longer. It just makes me foul

about all sorts of things  -  the

saving and not saving, the work

involved, all this damn typing I

do; I start getting surly about

it all, even to the stupid ways

the computer or keyboard

does things  -  I skip lines,

lose them, get weird spelling

and substitute words and all,

and it take so long to re-read

and be careful correcting and

properly checking. All that

sort of junk work drains from

the productive work, and I

feel like a clerk, looking for

problems. I just get worn,

It's all so self-defeating.

-

Here'a Illeana Douglas's take

on this (grandaughter of the

famed old-time actor Melvyn

Douglas. She was in Cape Fear)

same sort of acting class thing:

'When I was at the Neighborhood

Playhouse studying Meisner

Technique, the hardest thing

for me was called 'Emotional

Preparation.' You imagined you

won the lottery or your dog died

for some emotional fuel, and then

you begin the scene. Stanford

Meisner would look at you and

say, 'Start the scene again, and

this time come in crying and

make the bed.' You'd be standing

outside the door, trying to make

yourself cry, thinking, My mother

is dead! My mother is dead! No,

she's not. No, she's not. Finally

you'd enter, put your hands over

your eyes and fake-cry, and hope

your partner had something

better than you had.'

-

Everything is screwed up in 

that industry anyway  -  like

just the way they call the movie

come-ons 'trailers.' They come

first, before the movie, so as to

get you to want to see it; there's

nothing 'trailing' about them.

-

Everyone's got a trick, I learned.

Some people go into their scenes 

with an Etta James tune going in 

their head; others try to blank out 

and stay unphased, just using some

deep sort of detachment to keep

themselves unattached to the 

scene. It kind of ends up that, 

if you watch this stuff, you 

never  even know who or what 

you're  really watching. Jerry 

Lewis used to tell people they 

needed a flashlight, after first

asking them if they owned one.

If they didn't, he'd say, 'You don't

own a flashlight? You need one.

Everyone should have a flashlight.'

And he'd give them one. 'As an

actor, we shine a light into the

darkness, for others to follow.'

-

On its own level, I guess all

that makes sense, but I could

never stay interested. New York

City was like a city of actors - an

industry base, with all these small

playhouses, the larger and Broadway

houses, try-outs, readings, schools

and critiques at every turn. But little

of it was real. I don't know, it just

never worked. Smell of the Greasepaint,

Roar Of the Crowd, as Anthony

Newley once had it. Maybe it was

Roar Of the Greasepaint, Smell

Of the Crowd; but probably not.

In any case, whichever it was it

never led me anywhere, although

I did always enjoy the billboards

along the way in to the City, 

those which advertised plays. 

The language and the titles 

were always so odd and

invigorating  -  Rosencrantz 

and Guildenstern Are Dead; 

Oh Dad Poor Dad, Momma's 

Hung You In  the Closet and I'm 

Feeling So Sad. Those things 

were all very memorable

and sacrosanct to me.

-

One time I was sitting in a place

called the Paradox; I used to

go in there and order a bowl of

brown rice  -  they had really good

stuff  -  and it was like 75 cents and

came with sea salt, and soy sauce,

either or both. It was macro-biotic

food. I forget when it was, I guess

Summer '67. There were posters

all over the walls for many oddball

and local-produced east village

playhouses and theater groups, 

I espied a casting call banner for

a thing to be called 'Hair.' I came

pretty close to being interested, and

going for try out; having no idea

what it even was, but I backed off

when I saw all the smaller print 

about singing and the rest. That 

wasn't for me. The thing then about

Broadway and the rest, the bigger-

time theaters, was they'd by that time

really all gotten away from real

'theater'  -  plays and all  -  and it

had already mostly just been turned

into spectacle and musical junk

in which I had no longer any

interest at all. Like so much else,

it too had been deemed and turned

into 'frivolous' entertainment.

I hated all that  -  in fact, now,

with all that Hamilton crap on 

Broadway, they even use the song

and spectacle trash to purport to

'teach' and instruct their propaganda

into people's heads. No one dares

teach real revolution anymore,

nor enact it for the stage.

-

I used go to the Paradox, eat slowly,

and just sit there. Cups of tea were

free, or up to a certain point anyway;

let's just say they never made any

real money of me, instead affording

me single-seating for free, to just stay

and watch. It was always fascinating;

a close little place, quaint, real raw

food service, and super loose and

hip clientele.  I enjoyed that, and

got to a nodding acquaintance kind

of thing with a few of the people there.

Another place like that, in much the

same way, was 'Angelica's Kitchen.'

Over at the Paradox, every so often

some rube would come in and 

eventually ask about the name.

'Why is it called the Paradox?'

The one guy had this really lame

pet reply, 'We don't know, really,

and that's the paradox; you see?'

That used to drive me nuts.

(One time I asked for quackers,

and he said 'I said Paradox, not

pair of ducks!!'). I just made

that up. Gotta' go.