“Lorsque le corps raconte des histoires”

Stage de mime

Le mime est une très ancienne forme artistique, à travers laquelle, grâce à notre propre corps,nous pouvons découvrir son histoire puis raconter des histoires sans le secours du mot ou de l’objet. La créativité et la fantaisie allant de soit avec un travail corporel régulier allié à l’envie de vouloir communiquer autrement. Dans le stage nous travaillerons et expérimenterons la conscience et le contrôle de notre corps. Le rythme, le mouvement, la position, l’improvisation,les techniques du mime classique, le masque neutre, l’Être Hybride, tout ces thèmes seront abordé et pourront être approfondis. Il y a aussi une large place consacré à la création libre.

impressions

Philippe Dhaussy présente au Public différents personnages qui sortent d’un monde surréaliste. Sans décor ni objet, dans la tradition du mime classique et moderne, il nous décris, à l’image des personnages du film “Smoking – no smoking” d’ Alain Resnais des personnages-pantins qui essaye de se construire une histoire. Dans le spectacle il y a donc une suite d’histoires où le spectateur a le choix d’y trouver une suite, une fin ou pas! L’art est accompagné musicalement à la cornemuse, aux bruitages et à la voix sous la forme d’échos par Klaus Maier.

Last night I played a blank tape at full blast. The mime next door went nuts.

saurus out.

i’ve seen a lot of strange things happen on that stage, but i’m gonna go ahead and put this in the top 10 of occurrences.

Another new update to the Poptropica Creators’ was posted today. The creators sure have been busy lately with this new Counterfeit Island. In addition, this post was posted by a creator we’ve never seen before. If you haven’t noticed, every new island has a new creator for it, and it looks like Counterfeit Island’s designated creator is named “Master Mime”. I’ll discuss more on him later. Anyway, this post is titled “Scooter Chase”.

You will get to zip through Counterfeit Island on a cool scooter. Wheeeeeeeeee!


MASTER MIME

This post also marks the third creator to confirm Counterfeit Island. From this post, we can safely assume that players of Counterfeit Island will be riding on scooters.

Also, now I’m starting to wonder if this Counterfeit Island really is the rumored French Island that was first posted about on December 8th, 2008. This mime is wearing a beret, much like the girl in the picture in yesterday’s post. In addition to le thème du Français, more complete randomness is added to this mysterious French Island. First a Jazz Cafe, then fishing boat, then a security guard, construction worker and French girl, and now a French mime and a guy on a scooter. The only connection I see right now is French. All the rest seem almost completely unrelated. Which means, now we wait for yet another update to clarify what Counterfeit Island really is about.

Until next time,

-Fierce Sky

Taking a break…

from September 24, 2007

Marcel Marceau died today. He was 83 years old.

Marceau was the world’s most famous mime. While his face may not have been familiar, everyone knew his trademark striped shirt, bowler hat, and large flower. Frankly, he will not be missed.

He was a mime. And mimes are totally annoying. First of all, they don’t talk. Punch them in the nuts, they won’t groan. They are like the guards at Buckingham Palace, but less funny. Mimes walk around on nice summer days and pretend that they are struggling in the wind. Mimes laugh and cry at little flowers. Mimes get in your face and don’t get out until you give them money. Only pretentious PBS people like mimes. Supposedly they are practitioners of an art that goes back to ancient Greece. Big deal. The ancient Greeks had some funny ideas about young boys too.   

But I digress. Marcel Marceau’s funeral was a sight to see. A line of a dozen mimes, side by side, all pretending to be carrying a coffin. The last in line pretended to drop the invisible coffin on his foot and  pantomimed a limp the rest of the way. One of them pretended to pull the coffin with an imaginary rope. The eulogy was equally touching. Marcel was remembered by many of the mime community with these touching words: “     .”

Before he was laid to rest, the assembled mimes first struggled to get out of an invisible phone booth, then laid their oversized flowers on the grave.   

So Rest In Peace, funny man. Let’s hope the art of mime ends here.

I put my camera down and smile at the mime, trying to dispel the thoughts. It is Labor Day weekend and Venice Beach is teeming with mimes, pirate trailers and Bob Marleys. A girl, possibly in her teens, stands in front of a banner that reads Most Flexible Girl in the World, and twists her elbow several times like she were squeezing water out from a wet towel. People woot for her, oblivious to the evident gloom in her eyes. Can no one see how miserable she is? I wonder, and walk across to Waterfront Café. That ungodly morning on Barcelona has come alive once again, and I can’t stop thinking of the Fairy mime. I order a large Shiner Bock...

Twisting the brassy arch of her crown to set it straight, she cinched it to her head. The shine on her heels waned as she walked south on the smutty Las Ramblas. It was her turn in the month to mime on the spot outside Hotel Royale, which enjoyed an affluence of passers-by—the ambit of the highest wage along all of Ramblas.

I watched her as she set up her repertoire—a money barrel and a taboret to sit on—on the cold, hungry street, her body barely protected under her arabesque fairy-gown. She unwrapped her make-up kit and, like the gradual revelation of stars in a sky, metamorphosed slowly as silver dust on her eyelids and pink rouge on her cheekbones transformed her into a fairy. She blew onto the star of her silver-wand and wiped it clean with her petticoat.

I can still smell the Magdalenas that came fresh off the oven at the café that morning, and the torrijas—the Spanish excuse for a French Toast, but more suited to my taste. The wind is chilly and I hug my sweater tightly around me dreaming of the café con leche, trying to fight the memories from that day.

The clock struck nine in tandem with the sunrise and, almost like an impalpable wrapping on South Barcelona had unfolded, a gradually rising flood of people pervaded the street. Lovers flitted by, stopping in front of beaneries, speculating if breakfast was affordable. Little girls wended their way through the crowd, dogtrotting by their parents, every now and then straying from their guardrail for an ephemeral joy of touching her.

A Golden Man stands outside the café all by himself. He receives occasional glances from tourists but no one bothers to take pictures or fling him a penny. There are no little boys trying to make him laugh like those on Las Ramblas, who imitated the Walking Mime ‘with a flying tie’ or tickled him to make him budge. Their parents eagerly flung twenty-pence into his bucket, and fervently pulled their brood to the Tree-Man to click pictures of their children with their arms around ‘the tree’. Tiny fingers tugged at the parents’ exquisite attires towards the Mean Pirates, begging to be allowed to hold their shiny swords and pose between them, to feel brawny for a fleeting second. Their mothers hesitantly looked on and took pictures while the fathers found satisfying pleasure in seeing their little boys—whose voices hadn’t cracked yet—behave like brave soldiers. They happily dropped him a euro.

Little girls loved her the most. They sat on her lap, and shared their dreams with her, asking her to wave her magic wand on their little heads and sprinkle magic dust on their pretty long curls. Their parents dropped a euro and the girls left with an impassioned faith. If a girl asked if she could have her white gown, she would convince the girl that God would gift her the dress if she did good deeds.

Her gloom was palpable. I offered her a cup of coffee later [at break] and we chatted. It broke her heart to do this, she told me artlessly, after we had talked about her gown and her wand. Other mimes didn’t lie to little children to bring a smile on their faces like she did. They didn’t make promises to frail hearts. But she had to do this to pay off the honcho—a moneylender who had lent a huge sum to her [now] imprisoned father. She believed that she was the cruelest mime of all. Her heart sank every the evening when she collected the highest wages of all the mimes and emptied her barrel of sins into the hands of the honcho. I listened as she let out her emotions unrestricted, almost as if oblivious to my presence, almost as if this was the first time anyone had ever talked to her about her.

A Tree-Man walks past the café, followed by a horde of children [probably his own]. I think of the horrific tales she had narrated to me that morning. About the other mimes, and the prostitutes, and I remember how I’d sat there listening helplessly, thinking that something needed to be done about it. And I had done something. I had walked away. I was 19.

I walk outside to the Golden Man and take his picture. His money barrel is empty. I drop in a few dollars, knowing it’s not enough, but it’s something. Then I return to the café and gulp down my beer. A child [most likely a foreigner] poses with the Golden Man, and his parents fling a coin. I look outside into Venice, wondering if the fairy paid off her debt in time, and if the prostitutes still arrive promptly at sun-down. Or if someone did something about it

Today I was a mime.

“Louder Than Words” Slate

Rocking the ubiquitous creeper shoes and my favorite Boutique Onze dress for the occasion.

That guy is totally judging me.

Over-the-shoulder POV shot…

Mimes like their coffee black just like their souls.

Aren’t you dying to know what he’s saying?!?!?!
via fffound

JLS have waded into an X-Factor miming row by defending Cheryl Cole’s much debated performance of Fight For This Love after she was accused of using a backing tape.

But last year’s runners up, who are now trying to knock Cheryl off the number one spot in the charts with track Everybody In Love, have surprisingly OK-ed it for the judge to mime, despite her own acts being forced to sing and dance live.

‘Sometimes you need to give the best performance possible and sometimes you have to mime and for me, watching as a viewer I thought it was an absolutely incredible performance and she looked great and she danced amazing’, said singer JB.

‘It’s all about the song at the end of the day and we all think the song is great. We are going to get her album as well’, he said in an exclusive chat with Metro.

At the end of the day she is one artist. She can’t sing all four harmonies that there are going to be.

Meanwhile, ladies magnet Aston said because Cheryl’s a solo star who dances she was left with little choice to mime after her performance incensed message board users around the web who branded her show a fake.

‘At the end of the day she is one artist. She can’t sing all four harmonies that there are going to be. We are OK because we can sing the whole chorus fully live because we are four people. She needs backing stuff. Like on the dance bit. She needs the under part, the high part and then she is singing the middle part’, said Aston.

Meanwhile, singer Marvin, was keen to silence critics who slighted Cole’s dodgy fashion throughout the series.

Before rolling his tongue back in his mouth, Marvin said: ‘Cheryl is ..urgh..absolutely incredible. Cheryl could put on a black bag and she’d look amazing. She is fantastic.’

But all four lads were split 50/50 when they asked who was winning the hotness stakes between Cole and Dannii Minogue this series, saying that is one vote that should be put to Dead Lock.

Source

Why?: This is an easy one to answer – I love the circus and theatre. So much so, in fact, I’m surprised that with my lack of career direction that I haven’t joined the circus by now. Perhaps if it hadn’t been for my lack of circus-type ability I might have done. When I was a nipper, I saw the most incredible piece of theatre I have seen to date, Slava’s Snow Show, the memories of which will stay with me forever. It was so incredibly moving and the laughter and tears I experienced as an 8 year old remained fresh until I saw them again on my 19th birthday. When I heard that Cirque du Soleil were performing at the new Liverpool Echo Arena, I jumped at the chance to see them on tour. The appeal of something quite mystical and surreal was a major draw for me and I’d heard that they’re a “must see” from family friends and media reviews alike.

The show we had booked to see was called “Quidam”, a 12-year international sell out show that told the story of a little girl throughout the performance. Her curiosity draws her into a parallel universe where she discovers the wonder of the performers, with their exciting fusion of danger and mystery. On the night, we found the story a little difficult to follow, partly because we went into it with no expectations as to what would be delivered on stage. The circular stage took a central situation and was surrounded by seats packed out by children and adults filled to the brim with the same hesitant excitment that we were. Performers on stilts and with strange colourful costumes paraded through the aisles, often chosing an audience member to molest or play act with, which added a real buzz to the arena before the show had even begun.

A series of sketches followed, with the lonely girl character representing a deep isolation that contrasted hugely with the numerous performers in surreal ghostly costume. From rope-climbers to contortionists and men in rings to acrobats, the show had something for everybody. I remember several Chinese doll-like girls each wielding a diabolo, wrapping it around themselves and flinging them across the stage for each other to catch – it was tiring but fascinating to watch them. Towards the end of the show was a bowler hat clad character that was a big hit with surely ever ticket holder. He did no circus tricks or acrobatics, no flame throwing or similar to astound us, but he performed a sketch that lasted perhaps 20 minutes. His stilted friends plucked audience members to join him on stage and, using only the emotive power of mime, he acted out a scene of adultery and betrayal with his new Cirque du Soleil members. The emotions shared in the arena made it an intimate occassion.

From the hilarious spontaneous sketch to unfaltering fascination with the show put on by the contortionists and acrobats, the whole evening went by far too quickly. The raptuous applause and standing ovation at the end didn’t do them justice. Quidam may have been rather surreal and the story’s disjointed nature a little confusing, but the whole show was a beautiful and awe-inspiring spectacle. It’s still debatable as to whether the Cirque du Soleil experience beats the Snow Show, but it comes damn close – and that’s really something.