Today was “friends” day.
The Eyes n’ I decided to meet at noonish, and feel out someplace by the theater for drinks, pre Marty’s matinee.
…Incidentally, you’ve met The Eyes before in other posts, only never knew it at the time, as she was a vague “friend” in all of them. This was never to suggest her vagueness in importance, only due to my having no nickname for her. Mostly because there is one thing that screams for usage, and sounds weird to both explain and say. But you know what? Fuck it. My blog, my names.
So: “The Eyes” she is.
…People who know her, would get why. Aside from a Disney Princess, she has the largest peepers of anyone you have every seen…certainly “live.” Bigger than Mila Kunis. Bigger than Audrey Hepburn. Their ratio of collective space takes up roughly 2/3rds of her face. These things are almost frightening they are so exceedingly present, with no makeup, just sitting there, blinking camel eyelashes at you. The rest is represented by petite bow-like features, dark hair and super fair skin.
…In fact, you know how if Barbie were a real person, she’d walk on all fours and look like Pamela Anderson? Well, The Eyes is like knowing the original Snow White, (minus the little people, and creepy OCD cleaning animal friends.)
So, now that you know the etymology, we’ll continue on our way.
…Where was I?
Oh yeah, Marty’s “dinners.”
The show: “Five Women Wearing The Same Dress,” by Alan Ball. Think: updated “Steel Magnolias,” minus the heavy drama and plus a lot of language and sex talk.
The set-up: a wedding, wherein all the bridesmaids hide out in a house bedroom, getting drunk and high and dealing with social anxieties, politics, pain and what-all, while the reception goes on below. The roles are for the most part archetypal, and could be left at that and still offer a decent amount of comedy and “amens” from the peanut gallery. Thankfully, the director requested more of his ladies, and they had the goods to offer it, which opened up the work as a whole.
…Few of the “lady show” type problems were present, actually. Prob’ly in part as the script was written and directed by men to add in that necessary part of testosterone, tempering the emotional excess. It kept the easy pot hole “sappiness” at bay. Also absented the unfortunate (and often present) disease I like to call “shrieking harpy syndrome,” which is a frequent guest star of women shows, where high pitched voices begin to rail on the ears until they all but bleed with pain. He also cast it well, which is always a good start, I think. A variety of ages, a variety of vocal textures, updated the script into the technology age, and paid attention to details. Then: he let these women work.
I liked ‘em.
…Granted, I knew three of ‘em before this, but even the three I knew brought new flavors to their work I hadn’t seen before, which is always exciting to see in friends, and also to study.
…Because, even if it is to support your buds, even if there is no paper to be written on it for a class, no test taken after, no comparisons needing to be drawn… even if it ain’t Shakespeare, actors honestly can’t help sitting and studying a show. Good, bad or otherwise. We do still obtain the ability to genuinely enjoy it: yes. But turn off that analytical aspect? No. We’re too deeply ingrained in it.
…And when it’s a house you know, on a stage you have often performed on, that teaches you even more. About the angles of cheat, the projection and vocal support qualities, the sense of how close the audience really is, versus what they “feel” like, from stage POV, with lights blaring in your face. The amount of subtlety you can get away with on this stage of intimacy, versus other ones…how different the audience vocal responses feel and feed, when you’re immersed in the group and not directly in front of it, on the receiving end. And, being a comedy, with the feed so immediate…to watch how that energy fed and infused and informed the stage action: also a treat.
It’s different from the seats, guys. That’s all I can say.
…But still enjoyable as hell. ‘Specially when a great delivery was spot on, a hilarious physical choice was nailed, a moment of total silence was earned, and some of those people are your friends.
…And some of those friends are your besties.
It is with great joy to note that today: Marty was brave. On a stage, in a room of strangers, she splayed, got high, got drunk, plopped, screamed, cried and cussed, took her clothes off, and flashed her ta-tas like a fucking pro.
…Which she is.
…And I know that.
…And did before this.
…But, much like sitting in an audience, where the normals live, versus being on stage and totally immersed in it all…it’s nice every once in a while to step back, see it from another view point, and still come away saying, “Yeah. Theatre is a fucking awesome beast.”
…And so is Marty.
~D
