Author Archives: Phil Watson

Like I’ve Fallen off the Earth

I. Out of all the places I could be right now, I would never choose this one, but I’m here and I can’t go back to the University, so I suppose I’m stuck for the moment. At any rate, that sycophant Ilyich and that simpering pathetic spineless Vanya along with the rest of those never-had-beens have been taking adequate care of the place. That doctor fellow seems crafty, there’s some vague glimmer of μῆτις back there behind those eyes. But I’m probably thinking too much of it. At least the views are wonderful. Now where is Yelena–where could she have gone?…

I just returned from a lovely walk. I hope Sonya dear doesn’t actually make me go to the forest; I don’t think my legs can take another minute of perambulation. There’s not much else to do around here, though, unfortunately.

II. My leg hurts like hell. What is this pain? Has to be rheumatism. I just feel like nobody cares at all for me, even though I’m the reason they have any livelihood in the first place–they have jobs because of me, they have a place to live because I haven’t decided to kick them out yet. And Yelena, my WIFE, doesn’t give a damn. I understand that I’m an old man, but I’m not that disgusting yet. I still have some life left in me, and my mind is as sharp as ever. So why doesn’t she care that I’m in agony? My leg is killing me, I am miserable, and no one understands any of it! At least Nanny cares; that’s something. Better than nothing, anyway. Damn that linden tea.

we cannot call a mortal being happy before he’s passed beyond life

III. It’s become clear to me that Yelena and I are too refined to continue living in the country like disgusting plebeians. Of course, I can’t tell them that, they simply wouldn’t understand that while their place may be in this pathetic uneducated country, mine is elsewhere. So I will propose my idea to them, and they will nod their heads and slur out something about “oh that sounds good let’s drink more vodka” and then that will be that. Sonya, the sweetheart, will agree to it because to be honest, she’s not pretty or bright, so what else does she have but to go along with my plans? If it were otherwise, she might have some leverage, but I’m not marrying her off anytime soon, so she is useful to me insofar as she is connected to the estate. Yes, yes, I love her. Don’t look at me like that. I love her, but I love myself. If any man says he loves another over himself, he is a liar. I’m simply not a liar. And she got herself into this mess anyway. Perhaps at least she’ll have had the foresight to save something up aside from what she was sending to me.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

i can hardly write my hands are shaking but i have to get this down in case things go south and i need to recall////that halfwit vanya just lost his mind blame me for xy and z saying he could’ve been this and that and [REDACTED] my fault he turned himself into a wage slave and then out of nowhere as i’m trying to calm him down and REASON with him he pulls out a gun and fires@me–[REDACTED] he’s tried to KILL me completely unacceptable we cannot be around each other any longer but i won’t have him arrested that does me no good i’ll leave him to rot [REDACTED] spin his life out on my floor and he’ll thank me for the opportunity i swear it

////

i have had enough of this

IV. I apologize for the previous chicken scratch. Desperate times and all that, you know. And the day has arrived in which Yelena and I shall leave. Finally I shall be on my way and I can continue my writing and my research in peace and comfort, as is correct for a professor of my dignified status. Despite my loathing for the lot of them, I do think I shall miss them, in a strange sort of way. Entirely unwarranted, but I shall. They were curious company for the most part, at any rate. And I believe I will leave them with an excellent memory of me, despite the unfortunate incidents that have occurred during my time here. So here we go, wide smile, big voice, happy, happy, happy–one last time and then I’m free.

–His Excellency.

PLW

Filling That Toolbox

In my thoughts on the movement work, I want to talk more at the idea of “eyes of the head/chest/guts” idea. I remember a rather loud, obvious reaction that I had to a particular moment when transitioning from one body area to another created an honest truthful sense of discovery and a clear thought process within a monologue, something fascinating to watch onstage. Thinking (or alternately “leading”) with various parts of the body can communicate more than trying to emulate something internal could. Ideally, we want both, but what really interests me is starting with this stuff, the body work, then feeding into emotions.

I had a great experience with Cock two days ago. As tempted as I am to just leave that sentence there, unelaborated upon, I will explain myself. There is a sex scene within the play that had always been giving me some difficulty, mostly because there is no touching within the scene. Thus, I had to provide my own imagery and motivations, and my connection with my scene partner had to be so strong as to be nearly tangible. Two nights ago, I made choices to connect with my scene partner in terms of eye contact and proximity, and how I chose to activate my spine/neck/head. At the end of the scene, I was covered in sweat, shaking, and I had to pull myself back together. I felt like I had just had sex for the first time again. I had this visceral experience that stemmed from what I was doing physically and the way I connected to the other party in the scene, and it fed into my personal imagery, which in turn put me in exactly the right place for the scene. The same happened in another scene where I needed to take control, but again in a sexual situation. So I moved my neck in opposition to my hips, and suddenly certain elements fell into place, at least internally.

So, all that is intended to say that the movement work and its focus on body awareness has already clarified a number of things in my mind.

In regards to table work, it’s an interesting process, because I’m the type of person who will get caught on and obsess over some detail that I can’t really play as an actor. So as a result I’m a little wary of long periods of table work. And it’s not that I don’t see the value in dramaturgy, it’s just that I worry about getting stuck in my own head as a result of a month of study. The movement work has kept me in touch with my body, so as soon as I stopped worrying about losing that connection, I was able to open up and start learning. Now, as we’re discussing backstories & cetera, I am constantly looking at how these details (and the studying that we are doing) might translate into playable, meaningful objectives or design choices or something else entirely. I’m learning how the table connects to the stage, and I’m feeling really good about that process.

Something interesting that keeps occurring to me as we do text analysis is the idea of unreliable narration. In Vanyaa lot of information comes from monologues, sometimes to no one in particular. So how much of that can we really trust, especially when everyone either hates or loves everyone in the house? This is the same sort of thing that happens in Cock, and it only became clear to me that perhaps not everything I said was really factually true when one of my fellow actors completely revised my timeline of events in a very credible way.

So to sum up, things are making sense now, and my toolbox just gets more and more full.

PLW

PS — I love that the toolbar at the top of the page says “Howdy, Phil Watson.” It’s like it knows where I’m from or something.

Is this thing on?

Hi. I’m Phil, I’m a senior from TX, classicist/actor/occasional director, you know the rigmarole.

Honestly, until this show, I had never been fond of Chekhov’s plays. Ward No. 6 is perhaps my favorite short story in the world, but his plays never did it for me. Nothing happened, nothing interesting anyway, and if I wanted to watch sad people fail, I’d watch the Jerry Springer Show. But after hearing Jeff’s idea for the show, I was hooked, and as we went through the audition process I realized the brilliance of this work. It’s hilarious. And within that new perspective on the work, the fact that nothing really happens makes perfect sense. It’s kind of like real life; we have dreams on dreams, and we never do anything about them. Or we try to fly and realize that in fact we can’t dream ourselves wings and just sort of stay on the track we somehow fell on. I hope that isn’t true, but I get the feeling that it’s close enough to true enough of the time to warrant its posting here.

Anyway, I appreciate being brought around to liking Chekhov’s plays.

One of the tenets of Grotowski’s theory regarding theatre was that the actor should be able to play a role with nothing: no props, no costume, no makeup, nothing. (“The actor should, on cue, be able to become a crying child,” and then Ryszard Cieslak embodies a crying infant and everyone is impressed, yadda yadda yadda.) Then, if the action of the play absolutely requires it, props, clothing, etc can be introduced. But there should be an overwhelmingly good reason for it, and while I’m thinking about it wouldn’t it be great if one or two pieces could serve for all the props or set pieces that appear in the show? Towards a Poor Theater.

I’m aware that not everyone shares this view on things, but I quite like it as a starting point. I’m excited to work with Serebryakov, a character who is so unlike me in almost every sense. I’m going to work on exploring his physicality, how to express him both externally (rheumatism, gout, age) and internally (his haughtiness, his confidence). Some mask work would be cool too. I personally would love it if I had no accoutrements, no moustache, no glasses, no indicators, just my body. I know that might not fit with the overall idea, and I’m not married to any idea, especially at this point, but it’s a challenge I would appreciate (and one that will, in a way, be realized anyway, in rehearsals before any costume pieces are introduced).

So this was my test post rambling. This was actually more than I expected to share. I hope you enjoyed reading my secret desires (not the strangest context for that phrase to turn up, I’d say) and my obvious newfound interest in Grotowski’s work.

Until next time,
PLW