Rehearsal Reversal


If there’s on issue I really should get over in regards to my short sightedness, it’s squinting at a figure I may believe to be a friend, but upon conclusion that it is indeed a fellow amigo, making no gesture or action, leaving the friend to believe I have just glared at them and then walked off with an unnecessarily big smile on my face. (the smile is just because walking is awesome.

In view of this time of weird facial expressions and odd movement en mass, Saturday and Sunday were the heralds of our glorious rehearsal weekend. A time I knew would be coming and yet never really prepared for. Indeed, not actually buckling down to learn my lines until that morning, because Shakespeare is clearly so easy to improv. Given this, I’m almost impressed I learned the lines in such a short space of time, but then again, I really should have started learning a lot earlier and then there wouldn’t have been he muff ups that there were. Having had 3 rehearsals since my return in February, it really still is amazingly difficult adapting from the intense 3-rehearsals-week-whether-you-like-it-or-not. It shouldn’t be and yet I am the only one who views our performance being a month away as being absolutely ages.

Truth, I can’t say I was impressed with my performances this weekend over. The rest of he cast were wonderfully fantastic, in dress, thumb wrestling or banging away on a delightful ukelele. Being on the fragility of recently learned lines and no fully absorbed verse, each portrayal was frantic and overexcited, something I did deliberately just to have a laugh as I still can’t take these sessions seriously. The “fear” in which I actually take a production seriously has yet to kick in. Push the role to its extremes and the roll it back in is something I like to play around with if I get the time. Even if this did make it seems like my character had taken a does of ecstasy before hitting stage like an udder-dry lionness…

With “Love Bites” right around the corner, it looks as if I’m going to be living in the Romanische Keller for a good month or so, jumping from production to production. Hopefully the temptation to slip into iambic pentameter when talking about dead cats, or getting ready to be whipped by a dominatrix whilst fighting my surly younger brother can be resisted. Until then, get on with the lines, remember the evil people don’t jump and try not to tease a fake boob. For now however, it is to the shisha bar with the Anne to the De and whatever adventures may be waiting us on this Tuesday night.