Well, kids. Six Years closes this weekend.
One of the many joys of acting with this gifted and enthusiastic cast has been the subtle and exciting new things that keep appearing onstage, night after night. Once a show opens, it’s so easy, tempting even, for us actors to stick to what we know, to keep recreating the performance as it was on opening night, or to do our best impersonation of ourselves during that one rehearsal where everything felt really awesome. It is scary and a little dangerous to keep exploring after the show is on its feet and the director is not there anymore and we are all just out there, on our own, with only each other (stage manager included, here) to hold on to.
But this time it’s different. For me, at least. I was talking to Darci last week about why that would be, why do I/we feel safe to play and explore with this production? And then it came to me. Ladies and gentlemen, for your consideration, a(nother) metaphor:
Plays are like soup.
We spend the whole rehearsal process adding ingredients, bit by bit. We make sure there’s enough salt. We stir. We get rid of that one bit of onion that, well, there’s nothing wrong with it, exactly, but it’s kind of a weird texture and no one wants to find it on their spoon. We want the flavors to blend, but we don’t want the potatoes and carrots and noodles to all taste the same.
And then we open. And we serve the soup, if you will. And every bowl, every bite is a little different. But it’s all the same soup. Sometimes you get more potatoes than carrots. Same soup. Sometimes you get an inexplicable hot spot right in the center of the bowl. Same soup. Sometimes a moment that had been angry with a dash of hurt is suddenly heartbroken with a dash of anger. Same soup.
I trust this soup. The recipe/script is solid, the chef/director (not afraid to subsitute paprika for cayenne) has excellent taste, and even if every bite isn’t perfect, I know the soup is good.
Of course you could take this metaphor too far (at least I know I could). If you don’t keep stirring up the soup throughout performances, it will get an icky skin on top. As you serve bowl after bowl, you find that all you have left at the bottom is celery. I don’t even know quite what that means.
I do know that there are only 3 servings left of Six Years Soup. And Saturday’s bowl is spoken for, so I hope you can join us Thursday or Friday at 8 for something delicious, nutritious, and ultimately, renewing.
I keep chewing on your metaphor Marsha.
I love the idea of a “serving” of theatre.
This summer I had the pleasure of doing a workshop on Commedia with Larry Grimm.
He used a phrase called “giving food”.
Giving food literally means giving focus either to the audience or to your fellow actor. In the short scenes we did, the actor would deliver the line or movement directly facing and engaging with the audience, and then turn and give food or full attention the his or her stage partner. It was physicalized, but this concept of giving food means much more.
We are make stories to nourish ourselves, our audiences and our community.
Kristin Linklater wrote in one of her books about text coming from the mouth and being sensual. The mouth had “hitherto been used for appetite-related functions: chewing, biting, licking sucking. Appetite and communication presumably occupied the same brain cells until the tongue, the teeth and the lips were fully adapted to new demands. Taste, smell and texture- pleasure, desire and satisfaction… speaking would have been on par with sex and eating- an extreme experience.” Along with Jess’s thoughts on touch, theatre is an entirely sensorial process, much like food. Combining taste, smell, touch, sight, and sound for the hope of a full meal.
I have been taught to take care of the audience. They are your guests, invited to share in the evening you have prepared.
I am glad to say as a guest at New Leaf, I had healthy serving of Six Years, I was satiated and very full on my way home, moreso than I will be thanksgiving day full of feast and tryptophan and wine. Congrats and Happy Thanksgiving.
Cheers.
Mark
[...] love Marsha’s soup metaphor and have been thinking about that quite a bit as we get closer and closer to opening night next [...]
[...] here we are, in the home stretch again. Touch opens in a little over 48 hours. To continue our extended metaphor: the soup is ready, and now we are all frantically working on the [...]
[...] the Chaos Monster. The iPod scene. The customs office. All bay leaves that flavored the soup, but didn’t belong in the bowls we’re serving up [...]