Spring Reads: A List

After a long,
frigid,
blizzard-filled,
not-one-but-two-colds,
not-one-but-two-round-of-antibiotics,
snowmageddon
snowpocalypsed winter...
plus the eff-you,
thoroughly-unpredictable March climate notwithstanding...

SPRING IS FINALLY HERE.

[*Cue: Handel's Messiah "Hallelujah" chorus, and REVIVALIST-STYLE RELIEF HOWL*]

Spring is a time of fresh starts.
New beginnings, clean slates; when the last vestiges of grey sludge on the corner of February Lane and Desperation Boulevard melt away, and as the citizens sigh with relief (for they no longer have to consider 20ºF a sign that it's "getting warmer...") The farmer's market stands fill with flowers, the light lingers longer, the trees burst out with fresh green leaves, and one feels the need to clean the corners of their closet with a cotton swab...

It is time to start again. 
Renewal.
Rejuvenation.
There’s just something about this season that makes us ready to let go of the past.

So after you drag 75% of the clothing you don't wear anymore to the nearest donation center, why not crack open a brand new book? For spring is the perfect time to shake off your crikeykillmenow winter funk and try something brand spankin' new.

What better to read, during this season of renewal, than great books about the bittersweet joys of starting over? Here is a curation of ideal seasonal reading, all with lush spring settings and inspiring themes that make one feel refreshed and energized. Even when chilly breezes blow, spring never loses its sense of possibility...

So curl up on a blanket, and enjoy these in the park on a sunny spring day...

* * *

1. These are my rivers by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Springtime is all about poetry. And American poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, is 'one of our ageless radicals and truebards.' In his peerless 'Everyman's' voice, Ferlinghetti combines a Whitman-esque celebration of the natural world with a deep bow to a surrealist tradition, and in "These are my rivers" has gathered over four decades of poetry with the added bonus of more than fifty pages of new work.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, poet and founder of City Lights Books, blazed his way onto the literary scene with the 1958 publication of A Coney Island of the Mind, marking him as one of the first and greatest "Beat" poets (though his more refined poetic sensibility showed just how different he was from what "Beat" eventually came to mean.) What followed were numerous collections such as Pictures of the Gone World, and Wild Dreams of a New Beginning among others, all expertly drawn from everyday life.

These are my rivers is a compendium of work from throughout his entire career, including 27 new poems, and reveals an ongoing interest in matters political and sexual from an ever-maturing point of view. Unlike poet Allen Ginsberg, whose 'Collected Poems' showed an artist struggling with decline and decay, Ferlinghetti seems to maintain his calm in the face of age; as well as a recognition of his connection with readers.

Even though it first appeared in Wild Dreams of a New Beginning, These are my rivers is where I first discovered what I consider to be Ferlinghetti's greatest poem "Deep Chess."


2. The Griffin & Sabine

 Trilogy by Nick Bantock

Sometimes, when one reads a book, the experience goes beyond engaging storytelling, believable characters or impressive prose.


Sometimes? Reading gets personal.


Sometimes, a book reaches up through the pages, and grips you by the throat, and says

“I know you... I am speaking to you...” 


And perhaps you would be a fool to listen to that voice. Perhaps a lot of things. But, as William Blake says, “The fool who persists in his folly will become wise.” So persist I did.



When I was 16, I was introduced to author and visual artist Nick Bantock's trilogy of books (Griffin and Sabine, Sabine's Notebook and The Golden Mean), and was instantaneously moved by it in a way I had never been moved by a book before. 



The book is a boundless feast for the senses—visually stunning, emotionally stirring, mixing a touch of mystery, philosophy, mythology and even a dash of science fiction, upon the pages containing (simultaneously immaculate and chaotic) "mail art" artwork, all used to tell a story. This homage to the old fashioned post, combined with its phantasmagoric love story, were all created by Bantock himself, the product of his romantic and mischievous mind.

Depressed London artist Griffin Moss receives a postcard one day out of the blue from an unknwon South Pacific Island. It simply states:

Griffin: It's good to get in touch with you at last. Could I have one of your fish postcards? I think you were right— the wine glass has more impact than the cup. —Sabine

But Griffin had never met a woman named Sabine. How did she know him? How did she know his artwork? Who is she?

Thus begins the strange and intriguing correspondence of Griffin and Sabine. Each letter they exchange is pulled directly from an envelope attached to the pages of the book, so the reader must engage in the delightful, forbidden sensation of reading someone else's mail. Come on: that's sexy stuff. 

I had never seen a book like it.
I had never seen a work of art like it. 

But my fascination went beyond that— I had to know what kind of a person had the capacity to create something like this. Something so stirring, and evocative and true.

For years I devoured every scrap of his work that I could get my hands on in an attempt to understand it, and truthfully, him, further.
I felt as though his books were speaking directly to me.  

I’m sure we’ve all felt something similar. 



Yet I had never even met him.

And then one day, I did meet Nick Bantock.

I was terrified, not because I felt intimidated, but because I was afraid I might be wrong about him. It is always crushing when an idol comes crashing down. So I was relieved to discover that I was exactly right. 
We have become very dear friends. 


Sometimes it truly is enough to know that people like him are real. 

They do exist.


3. Un abril encantado or, The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim

A recipe for happiness: four women, one medieval Italian castle, plenty of wisteria, and solitude as needed.

The women at the center of The Enchanted April are alike only in their dissatisfaction with their everyday lives. They find each other—and the castle of their dreams—through a classified ad in a London newspaper one rainy February afternoon. The ladies expect a pleasant holiday, but they don’t anticipate that the month they spend in Portofino will reintroduce them to their true natures and reacquaint them with joy.

Now, if the same transformation can be worked on their husbands and lovers, the enchantment will be complete.

The book is stunningly penned, but a faithful and glorious film adaptation was made in 1991 that certainly deserves a viewing of its very own.


4. Howards End by EM Forster

I first read Howards End under the expert inspirational tutelage of “Lady” Judy Chu, my high school British Literature teacher of such remarkable influence. I read it in the spring, when every blossom and glittering dappled leaf seemed to beckon me to the country estate. It is the perfect time of year to this classic. My work, lovingly thumbed high school copy still sits upon my adult bookshelf—complete with my 17-year-old scrawl penning such comments as:

"Well: London sounds dreary."
"Note to self: sign every letter 'BURN THIS...'"

and my favorite:

"Oh! All of this LOVE!"

Like all of Forster’s early novels, Howards End concerns itself with Edwardian society. As a member of the upper-middle class, Forster had keen insight into its attitudes and social mores, which he expertly rendered in the novel. But it was his profoundly humanistic values and interest in personal relationships that made all his books truly universal.

The major themes of Howards End are articulations of such philosophies: connection between the inner and outer life, between people, the future of England, and class conflicts; and above all connection-connection between private and public life, connection between individuals-and how difficult it is to create and sustain these connections. Howards End has been called a parable; indeed, its symbolism reaches almost mythic proportions at various points in the novel.

But the magic lies in the novel’s remarkable heroine Margaret Schlegel—without question the literary heroine I first “recognized,” and prayed resided within my own soul. Margaret is a font of love, intellectualism, imagination, and idealism, and the shimmering inner life of her mind is all shared with affection by the (charmingly biased) Narrator (quite probably the voice of Forster himself).

But it is Margaret’s “battle cry” that makes Howards End a masterpiece of the heart.

“Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die.”

4. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

This, one of literature's greatest "children's novels" is among the most stirring tales of family, belonging and the healing powers of nature in the English speaking language.

Frances Hodgson Burnett was born in Manchester, England in 1849. Her father's work as a silversmith and master of decorative arts kept the Hodgsons in relative affluence until his death in 1854. The consequent decline in the family's fortunes only worsened in the ensuing years, as all of Manchester found itself suffering a severe depression brought about by the American Civil War. The Hodgsons, facing poverty in England, immigrated to America in 1865. There, they traveled to a small town near Knoxville, Tennessee, in search of a moneyed American uncle who had promised to support them. That help never materialized, however, and the family was forced to take shelter in an abandoned log cabin.

The move from industrial Manchester to rural America greatly affected young Frances, who was then only fifteen. Though she had always been captivated by storytelling, it was only in America that Burnett began to seriously consider writing in order to supplement her family's meager income. The cover letter she sent with her first published story, which appeared in Godey's Lady's Book, described her goal most succinctly:

"My object is remuneration." 

She received it: thirty-five dollars, which was, in 1868, a nearly princely sum. She became the family's chief means of support, writing five or six stories a month at a time when it was exceedingly rare for a woman to have a career.

Burnett was one of the most commercially successful and widely-read authors of her day. Her book Little Lord Fauntleroy was possibly responsible for keeping a generation of boys wearing ruffles and mauve velvet knee breeches. Her other novels (including The Little Princess) were wildly successful, but none was more instantly beloved than The Secret Garden, which was heralded as a classic upon its publication in 1909.

In The Secret Garden, the events of Mary Lennox's early childhood mirror those of Burnett's own:

The Secret Garden opens by introducing us to Mary Lennox, a sickly, foul-tempered, unsightly little girl who loves no one and whom no one loves. At the outset of the story, she is living in India with her parents—a dashing army captain and his frivolous, beautiful wife—but is rarely permitted to see them. They have placed her under the constant care of a number of native servants, as they find her too hideous and tiresome to look after. Mary's circumstances are cast into complete upheaval when an outbreak of cholera devastates the Lennox household, leaving no one alive but herself…

Mary is sent to live in Yorkshire with her maternal uncle, Archibald Craven. Misselthwaite Manor is a sprawling old estate with over one hundred rooms, all of which have been shut up by Master Craven who has been in a state of inconsolable grief ever since the death of his wife ten years before the novel begins. Shortly after arriving at Misselthwaite, Mary hears about a secret garden (that belonged to the late Mistress) from her good-natured Yorkshire maidservant Martha. After her death, Archibald locked the garden door and buried the key beneath the earth. Mary becomes intensely curious about the secret garden, and determines to find it…

Both Mary and Burnett experienced the death of their parents followed by a reversal of fortune, as well as a great sense of dislocation upon being taken from the country of their birth to one utterly foreign to them...

The novel is not merely autobiographical; it was written while Burnett was also very much under the influence of the ideas of the New Thought, theosophy and Christian Science movements; and Burnett's idiosyncratic fusion of these philosophies held that the Christian god was a kind of unified mind or spirit, with whom any person might commune. This spirit was held to be present everywhere, and especially in nature. Proponents of the New Thought also extolled the power of positive thinking (the fervent contemplation of what one hopes will happen), and held it to be a form of communion with the divine spirit. One could ostensibly cure oneself of illness through this kind of magical thinking, or change the character of one's fortunes.

Such ideas had a profound influence upon the writing of The Secret Garden—particularly as the inspiration for what Colin and Mary call "Magic." It is, of course, also visible in Burnett's depiction of the landscape (as represented by the garden and the moor) as having healing or restorative properties.

This book was deeply woven into my childhood (as was the almost perfect award-winning musical penned in the early 90s by Marsha Norman and Lucy Simon)— for the message of a young girl who, through nature, tenacity, and the power of her thoughts alone could heal the sick. A message probably more profoundly affective than I realized at the time—this story spoke to the displaced little girl, whose greatest and most fervent wish, was to heal her father of illness...

"Come spirit, come charm, come days that are warm. 
Come magical spell, come help him get well..."

5.   As You Like It by William Shakespeare

If you are to visit any single piece of Shakespeare in the spring, one should look no further than a visit to the Forest of Arden—the setting of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, and chosen home of the banished daughter (of an equally banished Duke), the utterly sublime Rosalind.

Arguably Shakespeare’s greatest heroine, Rosalind is the woman whom scholar, Yale professor and literary critic Harold Bloom describes as “the first real lover in all of modern literature.” Rosalind is strong, sensitive, wise, raunchy, romantic, witty, profound and petty. She is the first to make fun of love, and also the first to let herself be fully embraced by all its joy. But perhaps her greatest quality is her wise, accepting, trenchant, and at times almost peaceful self-awareness. As Bloom says "Rosalind is unique […] in Western drama, because it is so difficult to achieve a perspective upon her that she herself does not anticipate and share."

In the spring of 2001, I played Rosalind as a final farewell to Interlochen Arts Academy—the location of, without a doubt, the happiest and most influential days of my life thus far. I was also desperately in love— with the young man that would become The Love of my Youth. I spoke Rosalind’s words to him from the deepest corners of my heart. And he spoke Orlando’s back to me. This was love at its purest, at its most innocent and delicate. Laced with trees, and warming light, and Shakespeare’s most romantic words.

It was everything that one ever hopes, and dreams,
and should ever be so lucky to have
when you are seventeen
and truly in love for the first time
and it is Spring.


Happy reading.

     Happy Spring. 

Big Trash Day

(4-and-a-half weeks on)
It was the night before big trash day—you know: the day you put out your “big trash” on the curb for it to be carted away to the “undiscovered country.” Last month’s big trash day almost shamanistic-ally removed the deathbed mattress and our death-beige carpets. That initial purge was like grief Viagra—we were on a roll. Re-doing the house, beginning with the upstairs, became the largest chunk of our daily activities.

Some of it was marvelous— Grey and Kent moving through the house as ‘Tessa,’ redecorating wildly, all of us in stitches. The strong scent of paint filled the house, its acidic odor burning off the smells of disease, and the windows flew open, somehow washing the place clean with the freshness and oncoming frosts of November in the air.
But other parts were not marvelous at all.

Tonight I sat at the curb, my body unfathomably fatigued; it was all I could do to remain awake. My back and every muscle sore, my head dense with dulling fog. The steady rain upon the street, rooftops and curb fell upon me too as I sat in a tormented ball within the seat of my father’s black leather swivel chair—the noisy, worn out chair that lived-on in his office. The one my mother had always hated. The one I associated with the sound of his IBM typewriter, that still smelled of him and held the unmistakable imprint of his body. I sat, feeling that imprint left upon the worn leather, soaked to the bone in the freezing rain. I would stay there all night.

  *

I am…

I am thirteen and sitting on the bed with Dad, frustrated beyond all reason by my homework for 8th Grade Money Management. I do not understand money, or how to manage it, and despite my horrific attitude, he is very slowly explaining everything with great patience until I absolutely do. Only a few years back, we sat in the very same positions reading The Chronicles of Narnia, and now I am being asked to manage money like an adult and I do not want to grow up. Most of all I do not want to disappoint him.

*

It is Thanksgiving 1998 and it feels as though everyone in (and several friends from out-of) town, are at 1367 gathered around our Chickering piano singing show tunes. Duets, solos, and finally, we all erupt in an emotional chorus of the Act 1 finale of Ragtime— my father’s eyes closed, his voice the strongest and most impassioned of us all.

*

I am fourteen and driving to my relatively new Groves High School with Dad, just as we have done every single morning since time began. He pulls up right in front of the back entrance on Evergreen Road. We hug, I kiss him on the cheek, and we exchange “I love yous” before I grab my purple backpack and run inside.

Before heading inside I catch the eye of Sarah Randall, a girl two classes ahead of me whom I’ve known since the summer before we moved to Michigan. She’s getting out of the car driven by her father, whom I wave to. Mr. Randall’s face looks thoughtful as I make my way inside.
I will learn a few years later, how much watching the Silbers say goodbye at the school entrance means to him. I’ll learn that when he’s having particular trouble with Sarah, that he will say, “you know how Al and Michael Silber say goodbye to one another every morning? If you could ever do that for me—just once—it would mean the world to me.”

I will learn, years later (when Mr. Randall also dies prematurely, in his case, from pancreatic cancer), that Sarah will listen. It will, in its own small way, change a little piece of their relationship.

*

It is the third Saturday of August 1995—the weekend of The Woodward Dream Cruise; a classic car event held annually in Detroit to celebrate the essence of Motor City.

After World War II, people began to “cruise” in their cars along Woodward, from drive-in to drive-in, often looking for friends who were also out for a drive, celebrating a new sense of freedom. Now the Woodward Dream Cruise is the world’s largest one-day automotive event, drawing 1.5 million people and 40,000 classic cars each year from around the entire world.

We’ve lived here a year, and we decide to pull up to Woodward and take a peak at the event that spans all the way from Pontiac to the State Fair Grounds inside the Detroit City limits, just south of 8 Mile Road. It is absolutely majestic. Most of the cars on display are vintage models from the 1950s to the early 70s—muscle cars, street rods, T-birds and corvettes, but there are some turn-of-the-century gems, some custom, collector and special interest vehicles all dating across the last century and change.

The initial sight renders all three of us momentarily speechless.

*

I am in the kitchen and it’s one of the rare nights when Dad has taken it upon himself to “cook” dinner. Mom and I stare down at our plates—a mass of crunchy, practically raw vegetables slopped in butter lay before us in meager piles. The only indicator that they have been “cooked” at all is that their once-colorful skins are charred so black the food is indistinguishable, so close to barbeque coal one might as well be eating it straight from the bag.

     “Dad?” I ask, careful not to pierce his pride, “What… is it?”
     “It’s stir-fried vegetables!” he replies, with the enthusiasm of a college kid who has recently made their first batch of Kraft Mac N’ Cheese without calling the fire department.
     “I see…” says my mother, pushing a few of the blackened vegetable turds around on her plate.
     “Don’t panic—“ Dad urges, “It’s not burnt.”
     “Eh…well then what is it?” I ask.
     “IT’S CAJUN…”

…Uh huh.

*

I am playing Miss Hannigan in the 3rd Grade production of Annie at El Rodeo School in Beverly Hills, California. It is my first theatrical experience and even though I am merely eight, I know that I am a hoot as I copy Carol Burnett’s performance from the film, down to every intonation and (inappropriately, for an eight-year-old) drunken idiosyncrasy. It is the morning of, the day of the performance and I am not the least bit nervous. At breakfast Dad says “you should eat.”
But I do not.
Despite never forgetting a movement, line or note prior to this day, I forget the words to my song for the first time ever whilst singing my big number. (Forevermore I have always eaten something before a performance).

*

I am on the banks of Quarton Lake getting ready for my very first ice skating sojourn outdoors, on a natural body of water. We have lived in Birmingham, Michigan for a few fledgeling weeks and Quarton Elementary School (where I have recently been enrolled in the 4th Grade) has an annual Quarton Lake Skate that features skating for parents and kids alike, as well as a vat of hot cocoa. I held my Dad’s hand as I took my first-ever steps onto a frozen lake, skating until my nose was red and dripping from the excitement of the cold.

*

I am at Dairy Deluxe on Woodward and 14 Mile; the classic Birmingham summer hangout that goes by many unofficial titles (among them, the "Twirly Dip," "Double D," "DD," to name but a few).
A Snickers flurry was a summer classic (that is most likely what I am enjoying), or some make it extra Detroit-y by adding Sander’s Hot Fudge on top (un-be-liev-ab-le.) The joy of a visit to Dairy Deluxe is indeed in the quality of the ice cream and various confections, as well as the little quirks that make it (and have kept it) so small-town-charming over the years. In reality Dairy Deluxe is really nothing more than a hut with a giant, neon ice cream cone sign atop it.

But it is much, much more. The same people have been running Dairy Deluxe for well over twenty years and they still write down your order by hand on bits of paper, count your change out with their minds and make your order themselves, handing it to you through a teeny tiny window box on the corner of Woodward and 14 Mile Road.

*

I am driving along Maple Road, rounding the strange curve any non-native Birminghamer would find confusing— right at the twisty point where suddenly you are confronted with what I always blasphemously referred to as ‘Christian Corner’— where the “First” Methodist, Presbyterian and Lutheran churches all appear in a clump, sprung up like eager flowers drenched in holy water.
On the same strip of Maple (between the churches) sits the beloved Mills Pharmacy; where as a kid Dad used to take me in to buy as much candy as possible for a single dollar (it was his way of teaching me about counting out and budgeting money). Individually wrapped Swedish Fish and Sour Patch Kids were only 10¢. Candy bars 50¢. Laffy Taffy, Pixie Sticks, Runts, Nerds, Necco Wafers, the list was endless. A charming bearded man behind the old-fashioned candy counter used to greet us, and he was so like the one in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory you practically expected him to burst into song at any moment. It was pure magic.

Passing Mills Pharmacy now I realize: every memory is now merely another painful nostalgic touchstone. None of it, not one single thing, will ever be magical again.

*

I am on the curb in the chair on big trash day.
I have been out here for hours.
I am soaking wet.
I am touched on the shoulder by Lilly.
The moment had arrived to just surrender...

When we woke the following morning, all had been cleared away.
If only all of it were that easy.

Ask Al: Results

Last semester, I had a student who was working on the powerful penultimate scene in The Children's Hour, and came across some of an actor's most common and frustrating challenges. She had done all of her homework, research, written a kick-ass biography, and identified deeply with the character. There was nothing left for her to "do."

But once she got into the scene itself she was confronted with a problem: how do you divorce yourself from what you consider to be the "best results?"

Often, when we are acting, it is difficult to lose your inner critic; to turn off the voice that is cheering you on as you cry real tears, or beating you up as you deliver a line in a less than convincing way.
Sound familiar?

How often have you been in a scene and self-edited by damning yourself with internal thoughts such as, "Wow. That sucked..." In that circumstance I like to try a little tactic called "That sucked BECAUSE."

The goal is to GET YOU OUT OF YOUR HEAD, and BACK INTO THE WORLD OF THE PLAY. 

Examples:

"That sucked," (you actor-brain says,) "because..." (your character's brain clicks in) "because I really wanted to connect with Astrov and to have him see that I love him."

"That sucked... because I don't think I got through to Orsino..."
"That sucked... because I don't think Torvald understood me..."

See? You are thus empowered to turn your self-editing into a positive force! You can use it to not only help get you back into the play, but reignite your motivations two-fold!

That said, here is a snippet of correspondence with my student working on The Children's Hour:

Dear Al,
I'd like your help with a few things...

So, the first time we went all the way through, I felt my feelings. It didn't even feel like I was saying lines.

However, the second time we ran the scene, I think I was trying too hard to re-create that same emotion. I was almost forcing myself to cry. I kept hearing this voice in my head saying, 'That was so good the first time, why aren't you crying?!!? CRY!!"' I guess it relates back to the, "You only have 100% of what you have today." What can I do to get out of my head? I was trying to achieve what I had just achieved, but that resulted in disconnected failure. 

This is a totally common habit/error even in professionals. Don't beat yourself up, let's just learn from it! 

I could try the "That sucked… because…"?

Absolutely! That is absolutely the first option I would try. The other thing is simply to remember that the first time you did the scene, you weren't connected to Evie's outcome of "crying, and feeling the feelings." You were actively pursuing Martha's outcome; you were living her truth, relieving Martha of all of this emotional pressure. You were actively confessing your lifelong secret, your forbidden love for Karen, and proposing the possibility of trying to get Karen to make a life with you! Ultimately: you were too busy living Martha's life to worry about Evie's tears!

That is the secret here: YOU MUST BE DISCONNECTED FROM AN ACTOR'S *RESULTS.*

You must be so focused on pursuing your objectives as Martha, that you don't care whether or not you cry or laugh or scream or turn purple as long as you are truthfully pursing your goals. Some rehearsals you might cry, some you might laugh, some you might do both at once, some you might be extremely confident and at peace... Who is to say that any of these are "wrong" as long as they are exactly the truth of that moment? That is what 100% of what you have today really means. That as long as you are 100% rooting for and fighting for MARTHA, and do not give a shit about E "crying" wowing the audience, and winning the Tony for her tears, you are going to be just fine.

Because my doll, it is not about you. 
It is ABOUT Martha.
You must SERVE Martha.
You are up there to tell her story
     and Martha doesn't need your tears for her story to be told.
She needs your truth!
No matter what state the truth is in.
(In fact, Martha probably doesn't want to cry! She wants to be strong. She wants to say all of this with as much composure as she can muster. Martha would want to fight the tears!)

So the next time you find yourself in that internal monologue saying "Cry! CRY!" Take a minute, dig deeper, and say "No! Convince Karen! Rouse Karen! Go to Karen!" 
Go get what you want with even more necessity!
Because what you want? Is Karen. Not tears.

*

After our next rehearsal Evie wrote back with the following.

WELL SH*TBALLS. THE TRUTH IS REALLY THE F**KING TRUTH.

Before class today I thought about how I was going to serve Martha today because her story deserves to be told; told through my truth. While I was up there I cleared my mind and let myself forget about wanting to "win a Tony" or please anyone. I told myself all that matters is that I give 100% of what I have today in this moment.

The first time we ran the scene I felt the guilt and the shame. I tried to remain strong, but I broke down in the end. It felt so good to get my secret off my chest. I wanted peace. My order of objectives the first time: make the best out of what we have, to get Karen to talk to me and to look at me, to comfort, to forgive, to tell Karen the TRUTH; to be strong, to please, to convince, to persuade, to love her, to want her; to make everything go away, to free myself, to relieve myself.

The emotion that came out of my body when I pursued those objectives was just heavenly. I didn't once think about needing to cry! Martha didn't want to cry at first, she wanted to be strong! I wasn't even trying to recall lines because they just came out. The emotion I was putting out facilitated the correct words. I rarely found myself saying, "Oh crap, that line sucked..." but when I did, I used the "that sucked because..." and it TOTALLY WORKED! 

The key moments are in the silence and stillness. There were so many words being said without speaking. It's funny... I felt a perfect parallel with the end of the scene and my dinner exercise. It was the exact same feeling of relief. How neat that I was able to experience that feeling through Martha!? Through another person.

I was honored to know that I SERVED MARTHA with ALL my truth. In the end, I was MORE happy that Martha's story was told truthfully than I was happy about MY performance as an actor.... It is not about the actor's results... wow... It's. really. not.  

So. After that extremely successful first attempt at the scene, we made a few comments, observations, adjustments, and we almost instantly started the scene again.

Now... I didn't even think we were going to run the scene again after all of THAT. But.. well, we did. YUP.

My initial thoughts were, "Okay, don't try to recreate what just happened. Just go with the flow, and if needed, choose a different objective. Well, that is exactly what I did. I suddenly felt myself getting mad that Karen didn't feel the same way as I did! Thoughts were running through my head: "How could she lead me on like that all this time?" "Why is she turning away from me?" "Why is she being so crass?" "I need to physically go near her to prove my point!" and "Why can't she just say she loves me too?" And that last questions was the moment when my objective changed. I realized that Karen loved me, but she didn't love me. From then on it was a completely different scene, but equally as  truthful. 

I was more concerend about serving Martha. It was my obligation to serve her. To tell her story.

And oh: did she ever serve. 

Getting a "Look"

Remember when Maria Callas told Sophie DePalma to "get a look?"

Well she was right. 

We all need a look. (Some of us more than others *hint hint* Miss Sophie DePalma)

That is why I was both honored and relieved to have the great George Brescia of "George B Style" @GeorgeBStyle helping me to find the swan beneath the layers of my everyday duckling. The "boho-chic" duckling. The sometimes insecure " grad-student-buried-beneath-a-headscarf-and-a-bulky-cardigan-or-three" duckling.

Onwards and upwards little duckling.
Onwards in clothes that fit.

George obviously has impeccable taste, and he is always on the lookout for big new talent, which he has more than found in Dee Hutton Style.

Their brand statement is preeeeetty rad:

"DEE HUTTON is a designer collection for women that honors the old world craftsmanship and intimate customer experience of sumptuous atelier salons. Offering clothing for the current season in a variety of colors and fabrics, and delivered to customers within weeks, DEE HUTTON provides a contemporary model of luxury made-to-order for a new generation of style-setters. Separates, cocktail dresses, and evening gowns will be constructed using the finest fabrics, embroideries, and skins sourced from around the world. (...) Available by showroom appointment and at trunk shows nationwide, DEE HUTTON is produced entirely in New York City"

DEE HUTTON just launched this past October, and they're coming out with their second collection in a few weeks- you definitely check them out. I love them. Plus, they are located across Union Square from my theatre (the Vineyard) on 17th Street & Broadway. Visit deehutton.com to see their full line and book an appointment to visit the showroom.

Why? 
Because Dee Hutton is a modern made to order designer collection of gowns, dresses and separates.
Because clients (like me!) can collaborate and customize their selection in a myriad of colors and fabrics.
Because they happily entertain slight design modifications (such as: adding a sleeve, changing the length, color, etc) which makes each item unique to every owner (for example, [after I wiped the gobsmacked drool off of the sample I tried on] I designed this jumpsuit with them!)

Ta daaaaaa!

Opening Night of Arlington at the Vineyard Theatre! 

[:: : confetti : ::]

©Walter McBride for Broadwayworld.com

Kapow! This is the 'James' Jumpsuit (aptly named because Dee Hutton wants you to feel like a Bond Girl), which I love this piece because it looks like a gown...but IT IS NOT. It is a sexy jumpsuit. With elegant flowy trousers so you can fight the bad guys. Or claw your way to the hor d'oeuvres. Or both.

But even the best outfit isn't complete without the perfectly crafted accessory, and a face would look scathingly naked without the wonders of beauty enhancement, not to mention the Price-Phillip-hacking-away-in-the-jungle-of-briars fortitude of a woman brave and talented enough to whip this head of hair into Glamazon glory.

 So. This getting of a "look" wouldn't be complete without 
...the evocative jewelry of Vincent Peach (@VincentPeach)
...the alchemical wizardry of Amanda Thesen and her 'Love Your Look' makeup genius (@Love_Your_Face_)
...and the 'hairy godmother' JT Franchuk (@jenytamera). 
-- all of these mediums are art, dear readers, and I was one lucky lady. 

©Walter McBride for Broadwayworld.com

©Walter McBride for Broadwayworld.com

Discussing Arlington with Broadway.com

Enjoy this stunningly edited video discussion from the wonderful team at Broadway.com.

Arlington: Rehearsal Log for TheaterMania.com

As commissioned by Theatermania.com, here is a comprehensive log of our Arlington rehearsal process over at the Vineyard.

All with wHitty qWhippy captions. Because that is how I roll...

"Arlington Star Alexandra Silber Takes Us on Her Journey From Rehearsal Room to the Stage of the Vineyard Theatre

Behind the scenes at the new Polly Pen-Victor Lodato musical.

By Alexandra Silber, David Gordon • Feb 25, 2014 • New York City, Off-Broadway

Starring in a one-person show is a daunting task, especially when you're performing at a veritable institution like off-Broadway's Vineyard Theatre. But if Alexandra Silber, star of the new musical Arlington, is nervous, she's not letting it show. Backed only by a pianist, Silber is all alone for the show's 55-minute duration, taking the audience on a harrowing journey through the psyche of Sara Jane, a lonely army wife who eagerly awaits her husband's arrival home.
In preparation for the start of performances, Silber takes us on a journey of her own — one from her rehearsal studio to the stage of the Vineyard Theatre — where you can catch Arlington through March 23. Check out her photos and quirky captions in the gallery below."

In My Life: Ronda

Ronda, Spain
2008

Ask Al: Networking

Hi Al, 

I'm an American acting student studying at The RWCMD [Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama]. What are some actions I can take/things I can do to network while still in school overseas? And similarly, when I am back in the states? 

Best, 
    Abroad

*


Dear Abroad,

All of these are great questions.

First of all congrats on your educational adventure! (I obviously identify...) Remember: continue to celebrate your adventure. It can be difficult to see so many of your British classmates make plans to stay in the UK. I know it is hard to envision an alternative life for yourself when you are in the minority, but fear not! Celebrate that you get to have yet another adventure as you return home to the Land of the Free.

Networking can be tricky and emotionally taxing, but breathe: if it doesn't come naturally or easily, take heart. It can be tough on anyone. Everyone in every and any business has to attempt it on some level, so try to approach the entire thing first as a necessary exercise in human nature (not a make-or-break career killer.) You're special. I know that. The trick with networking is getting other people to know it too.
...That's it.
So while you're taking heart, don't freak out—you're not slicing brains or FIXING SYRIA...you're mostly just... going to parties...

The advice I have to offer is pretty simple. (And in six steps. You know how much I love numerical points...)


Here we go... 


1. Don't lose touch with the people you already DO know.

I know. I know. But think about it—"Networking" is only as powerful as your base Network. And you absolutely never know who or what anyone will ever become, who or how anybody can help you--even in the most seemingly insignificant ways.

Then!


2. Continue to network with the new people you meet. 

Even the British people— you never know who they might be able to introduce you to.

When young actors ask me for advice, I sometimes tell them what people in the corporate world call 'NYFO'— or, Network Your Face Off. You want to NYFO so hard that you HAVE NO FACE.

Nearly everything I have worked on in the last three years (from theatre, to orchestral gigs, to my teaching at Pace), can be directly traced back to both connections I’ve made, and help I’ve received from a network that is expansive, diverse, and crucially: active.


3. Say 'YES.' Then Show Up and Show Often. 

The best networking suggestion I can offer? Say yes to invitations. Even if it isn't clear what you’ll 'get' out of the event.

I’m not arguing for overbooking yourself into exhaustion, nor am I campaigning for long,  unstructured conversations with every single person you meet at the opening of an envelope. But my most fruitful business connections have resulted from a spontaneous gathering or event I was not, at the offset, entirely sure about.

Some call this "making your own luck—" but making your own luck simply means increasing the odds of making the right connection.

Of course you can’t possibly go to every soiree, cocktail to-do, industry party, opening night, nor could you take every single meeting. But by regularly connecting with people you think are interesting, you guarantee yourself a richer life. But you also heighten your potential for unexpected benefits in the form of seemingly serendipitous connections. Some of the best friends, allies, business partners and jobs I've acquired came through other friends, acquaintances who saw me and sparked a mental connection—even when I did not.

You may be asking, how can I make these connections in the first place?
That's my point: SAY YES. Then show up, and show often. Get off the sofa, put down the Pringles, turn off the Netflix binge marathon, brush your hair and go—go to that thing your roommate's boyfriend's cool artist cousin is throwing.

This should be obvious, but when you are starting out in any industry, it is an understandably unappealing idea to socialize with people you don’t know (especially when you’re working 16-hour days at some temp job to supplement your artistic dreams). But everything, and I truly do mean every single thing, starts with showing up.


4. Ask others for help both directly and specifically.

If you work with someone you REALLY connect with (say, a guest director), ask them directly: “Do you have any American contacts you might be willing to make an introduction to?” If they do, the probability is that they will. People LIKE to help other people. Well, most do.

When it comes to the networking, my advice is ALWAYS to be very specific. Identify who precisely you might ask for help, then ask for EXACTLY what you need. General questions aren’t going to help you at all. “Can you help me?” simply is not as effective as “I am looking for American connections to meet in person the week of February 18th. Do you have anyone you might be willing to connect me with through email or by phone?” The latter is a specific request to which a person can offer a “Yes” or “No” answer. Help people help you by knowing what you want and need! On that note, my penultimate, highly-complementary strategy:


5. When you identify exactly what you want, broadcast that to every person you meet. 

When talking about your career goals and artistic dreams, be honest—first with yourself and then with others. A little candor combined with an honest bid for a connection with others, goes a long way in turning a conversation from trite to meaningful.

A few months ago, a friend of mine was on the hunt for a new agent after a long pause from the entertainment industry. For an entire month, she answered every “How are things?” question with some variation of: “Great! I just started back in the business, which has been a great adventure. Auditions, meetings, and I’m also trying to meet with a few new agents. How are things with you?”

96% of the time, she said the conversation continued as normal, with a corresponding update and usual small talk. .
...But four people she spoke with were different:
       "They immediately responded by suggesting they had a former colleague, relative, mailman, or ex-husband at Blah Blah Agency," she said, "and would I like an introduction?"

Within six weeks, she went from career stagnation, to four warm personal introductions to power players who could make her career re-boot happen. Eight weeks after that: she had both a voice over gig and a fantastic job in regional theatre. The overall point is this: people WANT to help others if they can. But they can't help out if you don't make it known.

Behold! A party at chez Al Silbs.

6. Don't just get a life. Have a life. 

If you have a life—by which I mean a life full of friends, family, meaningful activities, interests, and higher purposes—you won't feel as desperate about your career.

Then, don't just be the person that goes to the parties. Be the person who throws them! They don't have to be big or fancy. Two years ago I resolved to open my home up to two or more people per month. There were no restrictions on what they had to mean (giant Labor Day soiree, Burns Night with Scottish pals, a tea party with Nikka and Amy Jo, or Make-Fun-of-a-Movie Night with local Astorians—no matter!) I not only learned a lot about hosting and opening my heart and home, but I entered a new form of networking sentence "Oh, hey didn't I meet you at Al Silber's party?" Look at that—I get to fill my house full of friends and fun, and my name gets out there in the universe when I'm not even there. Magic.


 Finally...

Remember that networks are powerful, but only as powerful as YOU make them. And, when the dance is done well, a network reveals a core of individuals who are all rooting for your success, more often than not, truly pleased to help you.

The New York Times

©Tony Cenicola

It is so exciting to be featured in The New York Times.

But, what is even more exciting is when the feature emerges from a truly heartfelt conversation with a writer who you feel actually "gets" you; a woman you spent nearly an hour with, opening your the true nature of your soul up to a sympathetic and interested confidante.

Such was the case with Times reporter Anita Gates.

Better still, was that I feel the feature truly reflects the nature of our conversation.

The print version is available everywhere, today.

Enjoy.


A version of this article appears in print on February 16, 2014, on page AR2 of the New York edition with the headline: After Marquee Roles, an Epiphany. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe 

Playbill "Cue & A"

I recently filled out a delightful little questionnaire for Playbill.com [and big thank yous to Matt Blank at Playbill who is always a joy to work with!] Here are some highlights! I had an absolute blast with it.

The full article can be viewed here.


* * *

If you could go back in time and catch any Broadway show, what would it be?
    ⁃    The original 1938 production of Our Town
    ⁃    Tyne Daly in Gypsy
    ⁃    Uta Hagen’s famous first performance on Broadway of A Streetcar Named Desire (when she stepped in from the touring company for Jessica Tandy), where she went on with Marlon Brando with only five minutes of rehearsal before the curtain went up…? Yeah.

Fire up that DeLorean…


Current show other than your own you have been recommending to friends:

Rachel Bay Jones’ performance in Pippin.


Favorite showtune(s) of all time:

Let me begin by saying that I have a very specific definition of what a ‘show-tune’ IS, and believe you me: Anything does NOT ‘Go.’ A true Broadway show tune  is more than merely a tune from a show—it must have pep, tunefulness, and vigor—it tune rallies those musical theatre troops in a singularly sensational, glittery fireball of razzle dazzle reminding you that it is time to start livin’.
That there is no business like show business.

A Show-tune is you and your family singing in the car.
A Show-tune is sung in the shower. 
Can we all agree ‘Epiphany’ from Sweeny Todd is not a sing-along in the car sort of number?
For this reason: “Sunday,” “One Hand One Heart” and “Will He Like Me?” are not on the Show Tune list, and
“Morning Glow,” “Camelot,” “It’s Today,” “There is Nothing Like a Dame,” and “The Lees of Old Virginia,” ARE.


Some favorite modern musicals:
American Idiot destroyed me.


Some favorite classic musicals:
Classic musicals are my thang so this is tough. [*thinkthinkthink*]

She Loves Me, Fiddler on the Roof, Hello Dolly!, Carousel, 1776, and Show Boat.


Broadway or screen stars of the past you would most have loved to perform with:
Mary Martin


Your personal performance idols, living or dead:
I admire many people, including:

    ⁃    Danny Kaye,
    ⁃    Bea Arthur,
    ⁃    Cate Blanchett
    ⁃    Maria Callas,
    ⁃    Marcel Marceau,
    ⁃    and Irene Pappas.

But I save the term idol for only one woman, and that is Dame Angela Lansbury.


The one performance – attended - that you will never forget:
[WARNING: I’m offering this answer in numerical points to prevent you from having a stroke whilst reading.]

PICTURE IT:
1. In Seventh grade.
I went along to a
2.  middle school production
of
3. The Sound of Music
at
4. Hillel Day School
because
5. my friend Shira (yes, really), 
from
6. ballet class
was playing
7. Max Detweiller…
And Five seconds after the curtain went up I realized the entire production was…
8.    …in Hebrew.
It was also happened to be
9. Groundhog Day.

…Scene.


Most played song on your iPod:
“Heaven When We’re Home” by The Wailin’ Jennys.


Most-visited websites:
Hungoverowls.tumblr.com 

…Hungover. Owls.
[*She lets it sink in…*]
Get into it.


Favorite Tweeters:
Anika Chapin (@AnikaChapin). She is one of the few tweeters that can make me *actually* laugh out loud. Her thread is an uber-smart, super-witty, MENSA-level, anthropologic braniac-splosion of pop culture and musical theater.

Just follow her.

 
Last book you read:
I’m a voracious reader but the last book I finished was The Trickster’s Hat by Nick Bantock. Nick Bantock is an author and visual artist (the author of the Griffin & Sabine Trilogies), my lifelong artistic idol. This is his latest book which is a mischievous and thrilling study of (and guide through) the alchemical art of creativity.


Must-see TV show(s):
This lady loves herself some crime drama… the real nitty-gritty vintage stuff.  If it "looks like we gotta murder to solve" ... I’m IN.


Some films you consider classics:
What About Bob? and The Court Jester. (Cult classics? Are they cult classics if I am the only one in the cult? Dunno...)


Performer you would drop everything to go see:
I have dropped everything to see Rebecca Luker.


Three favorite cities:
Venice, Glasgow, Detroit.


Favorite sport/team/player: 
All Detroit sports rile me profoundly. I love the Red Wings (hockey), but I’m a baseball lady down to the bone marrow (my Dad was a phenomenal [left-handed!] first baseman)—so without question my Detroit Tigers! I get very emotional about it.


First CD/Tape/LP you owned:
What’s an LP…? #kidding


What are some of your most memorable roles as a kid or teenager and how old were you?
Annie Sullivan in The Miracle Worker (I was 16)
Amalia Balash in She Loves Me (17, in high school at Interlochen Arts Academy—opposite Michael Arden as Georg)
and
MISS HANNIGAN… I was 8… it was most-likely an inappropriately accurate, gin-soaked carbon-copy of Carol Burnett’s performance down to the vocal inflection but still…



First stage kiss:
I don’t remember. But certainly my most memorable stage kiss blunder was last summer in She Loves Me with Santino Fontana (a very old “Dear friend’ from Summer camp). We ran at each other at the just-wrong moment and totally botched the final kiss.

Basically: I broke his face.
There was blood.
Then I apologized to Laura Osnes:

@alsilbs, what have you done to my prince? @SantinoFontana is fragile. #handlewithcare
— Laura Osnes (@LauraOsnes) June 20, 2013

How you got your Equity card:

the anti-climax

Hilarious. I began my career in the West End for five years before I came to America for what I believed to be a short visit. Because I assumed I would eventually return to London, I didn’t join Equity for the two short projects (Carousel at Reprise and Master Class at the Kennedy Center) I was working on.

But by the time Hello Again at the Transport Group rolled around, I realized that my original 10-week “visit” to America had turned into a-year-and-a-half. Who was I kidding? I lived here.

I walked into the Equity building… and ten minutes later I walked out with my Equity card. Okay, fine—a touch anti-climactic, but that’s my story and I like it.


Most challenging role you have ever played:
Helen in Howard Barker’s The Bite of the Night, and Julie Jordan in the last West End revival of Carousel.


What has been the biggest challenge about this project?
Aside from it being a kind of performance marathon, Arlington is an incredibly complex piece of text and music which requires me to be in optimum shape in every respect. Combine that with a difficult subject matter (and subsequent emotional gymnastics) and you’ve got a challenge on your hands…


What has been the most fun or fulfilling aspect?
…I love a challenge.

Plus, working on it with the creative company I am keeping.


Worst flubbed line/missed cue/onstage mishap:
[Sigh… Please see blood-soaked stage kiss above.]


Worst costume ever:
Once upon a time I was a “spirit of the wood” in a Christmas pantomime in Glasgow in 2002.
I’ll say the words UNI-TARD and FELT LEAVES and just let your imagination do the rest.


Craziest audition story:
- I have sung all three daughters’ parts of ‘Matchmaker’…. with different voices for each daughter plus played all the dialogue…with myself.
- I have had someone say: “See we're gonna need you to create the physical comedy of the donkey yourself…”
- I have faked being English (in London), only to book the job and have to film it for three days… in New York…trapped in my English accent lie the whole time.
- I have mimed a blind girl being eaten by a werewolf.

But this one takes the cake:

When I auditioned for Master Class I—in utter seriousness—ACCIDENTALLY LOCKED MYSELF IN A UTILITY CLOSET at the studio. I might have missed the audition altogether had the casting director not come to GET ME OUT.  True story.

…Luckily that embarrassing tale of Sophie De Palma has a happy ending. :)

West Side Story

Any upcoming or side projects you can talk about?
I was honored to portray Maria in the first full-symphonic performance of West Side Story last year with the San Francisco Symphony (opposite the gorgeous Cheyenne Jackson as Tony). The recording is set to be released later this summer.


Leading lady role you've been dying to play:
Hedda Gabler.


Leading man role you'd like a shot at:
Captain Hook. [*achem*]— hand down.


Something about you that surprises people:
I am an introvert. Or, perhaps more accurately, a ‘shy extrovert.’


Something you are incredibly proud of:
I’m a proud lady from the state of Michigan.

Sooo…I even made up a snazzy Michigan handshake called “Glove Love” (because Michigan is shaped like a mitten or a glove for those of you who might not be aware)….It is super intense. I may or may not have Glove Loved with James Earl Jones (who is from Grand Rapids).


Career you would want if not a performer:
I am so lucky to already have it—a teacher.
I’m a Professor at Pace University and it is one of the most rewarding aspects of my life. (I’m “Professor Silber!” Ha!)


Three things you can't live without:
Honestly, there is nothing I “can’t live without.”
But I really like watermelon, crime drama and red shoes.


"I'll never understand why…"
…Skeeter is in The Muppet Babies but not in The Muppets? (Like: did she DIE?)
…Britons say “The Menopause”
…the Snuggie is a thing
…Theatres don’t do Ivanov more often?


Words of advice for aspiring performers:

Success is not about what you do, it is about how you feel about what you do.

Arlington Commercial

But it IS Medea...

One of the things my students and I talk a lot about in class is the concept that the characters we are portraying, more often than not, are going about their lives not aware they are being observed by an audience.

Of course, as we have previously discussed on this blog--Genre matters, so that may not always be the case. But when it is, when one is filling a character's skin with some form of naturalistic life, a few things are true.
1. YOU, the actor, know this is a play.
2. and WE, the audience, of course understand that we are at a play
... but of course...
3. THEY, the character, do not.
The character is a person, who is just going about the business of living their life.

The lesson?

So why does this matter?
So often in the world of acting, an actor is tempted to use the judgement of an "outside eye" upon their work. There are absolutely times when this is appropriate and helpful. But for most, it is not. An actor may be overly concerned about their physical appearance, or that their beautiful tears are being fully received by the audience. They may be tempted to "show off" for critics, friends, or an adoring public.

Or perhaps the opposite! They may be nervous, self-conscious, maybe fearful of going "over the top." Or perhaps fearful because their character is repugnant--so they want to make certain the audience knows they the actor are perfectly nice it is merely their character that is a total jerk.

These things matter because the play is not about the actor. It is about the character's story and we as actors are there to serve. Serve the story, and serve the character. So if King Henry, Blanche DuBois, and Mama Rose don't know they are in a play, than they most certainly don't care that your mother-in-law is in the stalls from Milwaukee.
Henry is too concerned about rallying the troops and saving England...
Blanche is preoccupied with sneaking her next glass of bourbon right away...
and Rose is far too busy getting her bus-load of Newsboys to the next vaudeville house to give a damn about your hang-ups.

And thus because these characters do not know they are in a play, the actor can pursue the character's wants, needs and objectives without becoming concerned about their fears, anxieties or egos. They are free to serve.


Now this might sound a little crazy, but this, one of the greatest acting epiphanies of my artistic career thus far is not an original idea. It came from Jean de Segonzac, a marvelous film director whom I have had the joy of working with on both Law & Order: Criminal Intent as well as Law & Order: SVU.

In the SVU episode "Lost Traveller," I played Nadia Gray, a Romani mother of a nine-year-old boy found dead in Brooklyn (played a-dor-a-bly by Cameron Ocasio). She is obliterated by the loss of her only son, and her seeming inability to find justice within the system.

The episode featured a climactic, emotionally shattering confrontation scene (with the glorious and supportive stars Mariska Hargitay and Danny Pino, as well as Donny Keshawarz playing my husband).  
From-the-viscera screaming.
Weeping from the pits of universal despair.
Electra. Antigone. Medea-type turmoil.

I didn't want this to be another over-the-top melodramatic turn in any ol crime show--I wanted to tell this woman's story with the very best of myself.

The fact was: I had never done anything like it on camera before.
And I was terrified.

A few minutes before shooting, Jean approached me in his quiet, gentle way. Checking in.
Then after a few moments, there was a silence between us. He must have sensed my trepidation.

     "Everything alright?" he said, the soothing trace of French-Canadian in his utterance.
I sighed.
     "Yes..." I replied, "...it's just...ugh, I'm a little blocked I guess. I want to do this woman justice. And I don't think I know how to portray this on camera without... I don't know... acting with all of me and risking looking like I am in Medea..."

Jean looked at me through his glasses and nodded his understanding. He looked away for a moment in thought. Jean is one of those directors that makes an actors feel absolutely trusted and believed in, as if he knows (perhaps far better than you do), that you already possess all the answers.

A thought struck him and he smiled solemnly. Then he looked back at me and said

     "But it is Medea... this woman doesn't know she is on a television show. Her son is dead. And no one is helping her. Don't worry about anything other than that. You just live it truthfully, and I will catch it. Sound good?"

...

Well.
My brain promptly exploded,
          and then we went about doing exactly that.


A lesson I have never, and never shall, forget.