I reached my hand up to my forehead and then quickly looked at my fingertips to see if they were bloody.  The tempo of the throbbing seemed to match the blinking of my emergency lights that automatically turned on.  I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned up to look in my review mirror.  Still surprised not to see blood, I was thankful I was in one piece.  It was more than I could say for my 1986 Honda Prelude.

I wasn’t paying any attention to the road as I swerved around the corner, but in all fairness, the road was empty.  It was early, dark, and cold.  Neither my heater nor my defroster were working.

If only I can get this fan blowing, I thought as I leaned over into the dashboard jiggling the lever and trying to see the settings in the early morning blackness.

I looked up through the frosted glass of my windshield and realized that I was headed directly for a giant oak tree.  Gripping the wheel with both hands, I slammed my foot down hard on the pedal, but only accelerated until I collided. The sound of crunching metal rang in my ears.  My car and the oak became intimately acquainted when in my panic, I hit the gas pedal instead of the brake.  An already small Prelude now resembled a large man’s accordion more than the vehicle that was going to get me to my job – My Job!

It was February eleventh and the second day of my first real, honest to goodness, benefits paying, sick days offering, room for advancement job.  It’s also the night that FringeMan was taking me to see Phantom of the Opera on Broadway.

My heart sank to my toes as I staggered from the driver’s seat into the road.  It looked worse from outside the car.   A man, about my father’s age, had pulled over and was already giving me the third degree about drinking and driving and how partying was all young people thought about these days.  The sad truth was that I hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet.  In fact the water that trickled down the back of my throat while I was brushing my teeth would have to suffice until lunchtime or later, the way my day was already going.  When I finally convinced him that I was on my way to work and not on my way home, he offered to call the police for me.

As soon as he hit ‘end’ and flipped his phone shut, he picked up on my lecture.   Just when I leaned up against the side of his car to settle in for the fourth and fifth degrees, a woman from across the street ran over and began ushering me back to her house.  She was a nurse with good intentions who regularly attended accidents with ‘my’ tree.  I’d already claimed a chunk of it and it obviously had claimed a bigger piece of me.  While I sat on a stool letting this nurse apply ice to my head, she tried her best to convince me a trip to the hospital was not only necessary, but possibly life-altering.  All I could think of was the pain involved when I’d  be fired from my new job.

Finally the cops arrived and saved me from the lecturers. “Totaled” they insisted, but they also took pity on me, tried to assure there must have been a patch of black ice involved, and called a tow-truck.  Just then my mother came to my rescue.  Before we left the scene, the nicest officer salvaged my ice-skates from the trunk.  It was enough to lose my car, but I couldn’t let my ice-skates go to rest in the tomb of twisted metal junkers.

February eleventh began with a bang and ended with FringeMan coming to pick me up for our date.

Buzz, Buzz, Buzz…

I adjusted the bodice of my black dress to cover the bruises left from my seatbelt this morning as my mother rang the buzzer allowing FringeMan to enter the doors below.  FringeMan made his way up to our second story apartment, just as I dusted my forehead with one last swipe of powder.  I didn’t want any bumps showing tonight.

The air was charged as we raced into the city.  I hadn’t been to see a Broadway play since my uncle treated me to Annie for my fifth birthday.  We found a parking spot a million miles away from the theater, but not even the frigid walk through Manhattan dampened my spirits.  I simply snuggled into FringeMan’s arms and forgot the morning’s events.

Phantom of the Opera, an unparalleled masterpiece, is the longest running show on Broadway.  I sat fascinated in my front/center balcony seat and didn’t even feel the bruises lining my chest and stomach.  My accident faded into memories from an earlier life.  All was suddenly right in the world as FringeMan slipped his arm around me.

I stood and applauded with exuberance beside the rest of the auditorium as the final curtain closed.  FringeMan gave me more than a special night, he turned my bad dream good.  We started back to the car on a cloud and while I lost track of time replaying my favorite scenes, FringeMan drove aimlessly through the city.  I finally looked up and realized we should have been back to my house by now and we were still only about five blocks from the theater.

“What are we doing?”  I asked.

“A surprise.”  He whispered with a gleam in his eye.  I couldn’t imagine anything better than we’d already enjoyed, until FringeMan pulled over at exactly twelve midnight.  Reaching for my hand, he asked me, “Do you know what time it is?’

Not wanting to break the gaze of his green eyes, I incoherently muttered, “What time?”

He slowly leaned toward me and slid his free hand up behind my head and into my hair.  “It’s your Birthday!” He breathed and sealed my surprise with a kiss.

For more love stories, visit A Future Pastor’s Wife.

            Let me begin by announcing my formal intent to place a moratorium on all future productions of Romeo and Juliet.  Henceforth, and for the next seventy-five years (since I doubt I’ll be alive and kicking at 101, and probably in no fit state to go to the theater even if I am), all productions of this play will be forbidden by anyone who has achieved their high-school diploma.  Don’t try to weasel me on this, either.  If your lunch isn’t between Algebra III/IV and American History, put down the book and step away from the Bard.

            My distaste for this particular classic above all else is simple:  everyone knows how it ends.  More than that, what else can be said about the message?  Don’t be a dick.  Tru Luv always dies.  Yes, your parents are assholes.  This may be glib, but fortunately, TAO’s production allowed me to add another curmudgeonly bullet point:  Romeo and Juliet is the story of a couple of kids who can’t stand the idea of being poor.  I’m not sure if this realization struck me because of the changes made to the statistics of the story’s players, or if it’s because my mind was forced to wander to prevent me from stomping out over some serious, consistent, and not-glib disagreements with the director’s vision and execution, but either way, when Romeo and Juliet are both of age, or nearly, living in what is ostensibly the modern period, trapped in an illicit love affair that ends (sort of) with one banished and the other under threat of it, well, why don’t they just elope?  Move to the big city, where being gay (which is the SHOCKING TWIST, more on that later) isn’t such a big deal, and nobody knows or gives a damn about what your last name is.  Go, young men, to the Church of Elvis.  Shalom and God bless.

            Back to the production.  I’ll start with full disclosure:  I only went because I am friends with some of the cast members, which is a precedent that was set long ago (attending shows because I’m friends with them, not the actual being friends with them) and it is one I’m not sure if I can endorse any more.  My hatred of going to theater—or anything—is what I’m afraid will end up being my legacy instead of something positive and laudable, but here we are.

            The black box was set up, rather ominously, in an approximation of a stage in the round.  The audience was banked on all four walls, and there was playing area in the exposed corners.  A balcony, of course.  A small two-step platform in the center of the stage.  “We’re going minimalist” seemed to be the vibe, but the problem with this was one I have seen over and over, especially in the (dreaded) Community Theater, a rule that is so frequently broken I start to wonder if people just aren’t aware of it:  minimalism is a choice, not a default.  Let me say it again, just to be an asshole:  minimalism is a choice, not a default.  You must put two coats of paint on your exposed areas and whatever beams, set pieces, etc that you are using.  You must do this, or everything just looks amateur and your set looks dirty.  One of my smallest objections to the production, yet one that nagged at me the entire time, was that the trellis (for lack of a better word) next to Juliet’s balcony appeared to be natural wood while everything else appeared to be either painted flat gray (a bad, boring, lazy choice) or made of steel beams.  Maybe the wood was painted flat gray to match the steel, but if that’s the case, why would you leave an enormous, obvious piece of your set unpainted?           

            The lights were lovely, colorful and emotive.  Too many gobos for my taste, since the lighting design ended up being almost impressionistic, with a little dash of the Baroque, while the set was attempting (again, I challenge the designer to call it “intending”) some sort of industrial anti-space, not only poorly executed but dull.  But high marks to the lighting designer.  If I had kept my program maybe I’d discover they were the same person, but I deeply doubt it.  If so, stick to lights.

            The immediate problem, which hit me before anyone even emerged onto the playing area, was that of nobody being able to see anything unless the corner was on the opposite side of the room.  This proved to be true over and over again, and when coupled with the absolute train wreck of almost all the blocking, made it nearly impossible to follow what was going on, and by extension, to care.  But this will take more time to discuss.

            The cast was certainly very attractive, and it was pretty clear the director had intended this and in some cases valued it more than talent.  But yes, all very pretty, especially the two lovers.  Romeo was quite good in that I could understand most of what he was saying (in terms of diction and phrasing) and, even better, I could tell that he also understood most of what he was saying.  Juliet, on the other hand, mumbled and rushed his lines so extremely that I am not exaggerating when I say I could not decipher a single complete idea his character was supposed to be expressing.  He mooned beautifully, though, and I mean this sincerely.  One of the most positive aspects of the show was the legitimate chemistry and ease of intimacy between the leads.  Many of Romeo’s clique were good, though Mercutio, a part most actors would kill for, was almost totally squandered.  Why have Mercutio played by a woman?  More on that later, also.  However, the point was that the actress clearly had no idea what the lines she was saying actually meant.  I’m sure she got the gist of it, but the brilliant thing about Mercutio, the reason actors want to play that part, is because Mercutio is one of the cleverest, wittiest, most romantic and most tragic three-act characters in Shakespeare, and by extension, plays in general.  To know intimately every word, every joke, every pun, every indictment is the great excitement of Mercutio (the Queen Mab speech has its own Wikipedia page) and to portray and experience the swooping levels of emotion and expression is the whole point.  

            I credit Friar Lawrence, Lord and Lady Capulet, the Nurse, Benvolio, and Balthazar, along with Romeo, for doing a fine job.  They all seemed to know what they were saying—in most of these cases they (thankfully) transcended the fearful Shakespearian English and actually acted instead of declaimed.  The rest of the cast was young, stylish, and reminded me of the Sex Pistols’ third single.  Cruel, yes, but I’m breaking the rules just a bit and making known my awareness of actors whose talents I have seen and respect being passed over in favor of people who have limited experience and unfortunately lacked the kind of direction that allows an actor to grow and develop their craft.  I don’t blame the inexperienced or mock their commitment, I am just saddened by seeing more experienced, stronger performers sidelined in favor of the PYT.

            All right.  Here is where I’m going to talk about the things I really didn’t like, in great detail. 

            This production had, without a doubt, the absolute worst blocking I have seen in any show that I can remember.  Did I stress that enough?  It’s not that I disagreed with some of the director’s choices.  It’s that most of them were just flat wrong, and that  I disagreed with the rest. 

            First of all, most glaringly, least forgivable:  blocking Romeo and Juliet to stand twenty feet apart and on two different levels during the entire balcony scene.  I would repeat that sentence but I’m not that much of an asshole.  Not only was it apparent that the actors were fighting instincts to get closer together—and no, that is not the point; this is The Big Scene where they get to be close together, where they are able to escape prying eyes for a few precious minutes.  It’s not a question of Romeo having to run away when he’s already escaped detection by his friends by hiding near the aforementioned unpainted trellis.  He’s done it once, he can do it again.  It’s not a question of ratcheting up their desire for one another by keeping them physically separated.  This technique of playing the opposite, used over and over, can be very effective when a director needs to communicate a complex emotion or situation, but Romeo and Juliet falling in love is the farthest thing from complex that has maybe ever been written.  The whole idea is that it’s love at first sight, unbridled passion, and then later it gets complicated.  They want physical intimacy in that first meeting.  The audience wants physical intimacy.  It serves no one by keeping them apart.  It doesn’t feel interesting or build tension.  It’s just wrong.  I was initially all hopped up to pin this on latent homophobia, which I can’t entirely dismiss, but after actually seeing the production I’ll have to lay the bulk of responsibility squarely on the director not having enough basic skill and understanding.*  This happens again when the Nurse is telling Juliet of Tybalt’s death by Romeo’s hand.  This is super-sad, yet the Nurse, Juliet’s lifelong confidante, companion, and surrogate mother, is seated on the opposite side of the stage from Juliet, also seated, and there they remain, like bumps on a very long log, sobbing wildly into thin air.  This struck me almost as cruelty.  It was certainly perverse.

            There was no happy medium with the blocking.  People were isolated and motionless, or there was total and absolute chaos.  Before the director fumbled what is ostensibly one of the most romantic scenes in literature, he fumbled what is ostensibly one of the most romantic meet-cutes in literature. It was so poorly executed I didn’t even realize it had happened. 

            It’s the Capulet’s fancy-dress party, bizarrely set at a rave-like to-do (which one of the wealthiest and most powerful political families in Verona would totally throw) and featuring an unspecified amount of pointless dancing, with probably 25 people on stage, and action happening in the corners.  Action that I did not know was happening since there was action everywhere.  And it’s not the kind of thing where you gradually realize what’s going on and your focus is allowed to redirect itself accordingly.  No, it was as though I was actually at a party where something really important was happening.  But it was happening to people I didn’t know, and I was probably in the (metaphorical) bathroom, because one second everyone was dancing and the next everyone was fighting and running away.  Good thing I know the plot.  Part of this could’ve been those damn floor-level corners coming back to haunt the blocking with their monumental inefficiency—during the time I presume Romeo was having his world rocked by his first sight of Juliet, I had my view blocked by a couple of actors playing at making out.  The whole time.  I was sending them “step away from the audience’s crucial sightline” vibes but my telepathy isn’t what it used to be.

            I was also sending “stop talking backstage because I can hear actual words you are saying” vibes, but that’s neither here or there.

            The director seemed very fond of choreographing elaborate group scenes, and for modern dance they weren’t bad.  For Shakespeare, where the words are sort of important, it was abysmal. 

            Two more things.  First, in addition to cross-gender casting for Juliet, the director also switched the genders of Lord and Lady Capulet (and also their attending pronouns) and Paris, the lord (lady?) who is after Juliet’s hand in marriage, and the aforementioned Mercutio, and the unmentioned Tybalt.  I can understand it for Juliet, but in all the other cases there was absolutely no point for this to happen.  By shifting Juliet’s parents’ genders, the gender and relationship dynamics were essentially unchanged.  Sure it was interesting for a while to see Lady (Lord) Capulet as a ball-busting, powerful woman, but other than a little girl power it made no material difference to the story, didn’t enhance or alter the relationship between Lord and Lady Capulet or between her (him) and Juliet.  Shakespeare did in Romeo and Juliet a watered-down version of his neat trick in Macbeth, which is to make the wife the actual seat of domestic control and back-room influence in the household.  Lady Capulet is widely considered something of a villainess, and lots of actresses want to play her, not only because she’s one of a very few women’s parts, but because she’s interesting and complex and manipulative and a little bit cruel.  So swapping genders didn’t really make any difference.  It was interesting to see Lord (Lady?) Capulet talking with his son, since the relationship was basically the same, but that seems more a credit to Shakespeare than it does to the director. 

            Mercutio and Tybalt were both played by women—not especially well, and for no apparent reason.  Tybalt clearly wasn’t up to the challenge of the part–unfamiliarity with the language and flatness of delivery, sort of a similar problem to Mercutio’s but on the opposite end of the speed scale–which was a shame, since that relationship is the explosive analogue to the entire play.  I don’t know if they realized it, or if the director realized it, but it was wasted, no matter what the gender of the characters.  Perhaps Mercutio as a woman was meant to add some complexity to Romeo’s character and the relationships he has with his friends, but since the issue of Romeo’s sexuality seemed to be incidental, this conjecture falls flat.  Perhaps, given Mercutio’s incessant grinding on her cane, the director felt like he needed more exploitation and eye candy.

            Note:  the audience is not stupid, and generally sees a dick joke for a dick joke.  The point does not need to be driven home quite so much.  GET IT?  DRIVEN?  LIKE A COCK?

            This dull vulgarity took up too much of the focus in the Queen Mab speech and indeed, any time the young ones were all together.  This is symptomatic of another ill—the pacing was oddly off throughout.  If too much time was spent making the audience realize yes, that was another penis reference, not enough time was spent making the audience realize these two characters are absolutely, irrevocably, fatally in love.  Part of this was the fault of the blocking, which I’ve already bitched about, and part of it was the pacing.  Nobody took the moments they needed to take, whether directed that way or because of a lack of awareness, so when Romeo and Juliet meet and fall in love, we just have to take their word for it.  When Juliet is “dead” and the Nurse is devastated, we have to take her word for it.  These are two instances of a scene moving too quickly, without giving time to the emotional build-up required for the audience to develop empathy.  In the text, Romeo and Juliet are suddenly in love.  The Nurse discovers Juliet’s body because s/he is suddenly dead.  These things don’t have any textual build-up.  The director needs to take their time with them and allow them a degree of emotional reality.

            Speaking of emotional reality, the entire gimmick of the production is the gender of the title characters.  I was initially really, really uncomfortable with this idea—not because of what it is, but because I was afraid of what would be done with it—and after seeing the production, I’m not so much outraged as apathetic, which is possibly even worse.  There is so much potential for the story to be updated to incorporate homosexual attraction and romance and relationships as the tragic, fatal issue as opposed to houses of birth, which doesn’t really hold much water any more.  But in order to do that successfully, I feel very strongly that some cuts needed to be made.  As-is, there is no ambiguity in why Romeo and Juliet cannot be together.  No room for interpretation.  Their families hate each other, end of story.  Since nothing was cut from the script (bad idea), there wasn’t really anything to indicate that the reason everyone was pissed off might have had something to do with R&J having a case of the gays.  Indeed, for the most part it went totally unremarked, in word, action, or reaction.  Romeo might as well have been married to a duck for the amount of scandal it caused.  Yet another wasted opportunity.  Instead of being a powerful, meaningful, timely statement, the concept ended up being what I was afraid of—a gimmick.

            On the whole, I can confidently say I did not hate this show like I thought I would.  I can confidently say that because of a handful of actors who made whatever good choices they could manage.  It certainly has nothing to do with the production itself, or the directing, which, looking back, resembles nothing so much as a series of missed opportunities.  I can’t in good faith heartily recommend it, mostly because of the excruciating run-time for a show that, again, everybody knows the end.  When everyone in your audience is more or less guaranteed to know what happens, the onus is on the director to shape a production that creates tension by upping the emotional ante, making the audience really feel empathy and concern for the characters.  Didn’t happen.  I cared about Friar Lawrence, whose scenes had the luxury of being small, quiet, and played on a larger part of the stage, but everyone else’s connection potential was negated by chaos, incoherence, or off-kilter pacing.

           I haven’t mentioned the costumes, which were for the most part inoffensive street clothes except Mercutio who was dressed like Angelina Jolie in Hackers for some reason, or the music, which was as bad as the blocking.  Nickelback?  Really?  No, I mean, really?  My companion for the evening pointed out the folly of using contemporary rock or pop songs in a play—those songs are usually totally inappropriate somehow (musically or lyrically or what have you) and anyway, if they’re even remotely popular, the audience is going to automatically apply their own experience to them, taking them even farther outside the immediate experience of the show than they may already be.  This was the least offensive of the show’s offenses, and probably the most unintentionally funny.  But really, on the whole, the evening was tolerable; this is from someone who spent the weeks leading up to the performance in an ever-growing fog of anxiety and dread.

            One last thing, as an express note to the director:  if you are going to give a curtain speech, please do not refer to the company producing your show as “they” instead of “we”—it comes across as unbearably rude and arrogant.  Also, don’t announce your insanely loud gunshots in advance since the first time the audience sees a gun they immediately disengage from the production to shield their ears from the sound and every other time they just hate you for it (to say nothing of the questionable choice to fire what appeared to be powder-based stage weapons in a black box).  And finally, when you have a three-hour production that you haven’t bothered to cut even though everyone makes cuts and they would have really allowed you to shape your concept, please don’t feel the need to reinforce how long your show is.  At the very least, don’t reinforce it more than once.

            Thank you, and good night.

*UPDATE:  Yes, I was just reminded that the balcony scene is supposed to have Juliet unaware of Romeo’s presence, and both of them essentially talking to themselves.  This did happen and made some sense with the blocking, but at line 52 they are aware of each other and conversing.  This production did not have them actually physically near each other until much later.  Nitpicking?  Well, I feel that strongly about it.

**EVEN LATER UPDATE:  Yes, this review is pretty harsh.  And I feel kind of bad about that.  But I am refusing to edit the rough parts out as a lesson to myself.

Last Friday a bat came to visit the Mounds Mall Ten. The problem is that he didn’t have a ticket so, obviously, he or she ( how do you tell if a bat is a boy or a girl any way)  was asked to leave. I can’t really say how the bat got in or where it came from. What makes the situation even stranger is the fact that this isn’t the first time a bat has been in the theatre. The drawings below are what exactly happened, or rather how exactly I remember it happening

.

-Andrew

"Having de(a)lt with Bat removal in the Past, I formulated a plan of how to get the bat out of the theater ..... a broom."

"Rather than grabbing on to the Broom the Bat just Swooped at my head and went In th eopposite direction, to the lobby."

"In the lobby the Bat Terrorized A person in a wheel chair, someone who HAD to be related ot Richad Simmons, and another peson in a Wheel Chair."

"Realizing the Broom thing wasn't going to work, I decided to Just let the BAt ol the Back Door."

"And as quick as it came, the Bad was gone! To this day we've never seen him again. But it's only Been one week."

THE END.

]]> http://alphabeticaprime.wordpress.com/2009/03/22/atmospheric-disturbances/ Sun, 22 Mar 2009 20:58:48 +0000 alphabeticaprime http://alphabeticaprime.wordpress.com/2009/03/22/atmospheric-disturbances/

Happy Tres de Marzo!

According to a Reading University team, the ‘Oldest English Words’ have been identified:

“We use a computer to fit a range of models that tell us how rapidly these words evolve,” said Mark Pagel, an evolutionary biologist at the University of Reading.

“We fit a wide range, so there’s a lot of computation involved; and that range then brackets what the true answer is and we can estimate the rates at which these things are replaced through time.”

Here they are: I, we, two, three (Has a ring to it, no?)

I wonder what happened to ‘one’?

The words predicted to fall to extinction are: squeeze, guts, stick, bad.

For this reason, I intend to do everything in my capacity to keep these suffering words alive.  Bad has so many uses that I don’t see it dying in my lifetime.

“I stick your bad guts and squeeze!”

Here is a lame poem I also came up with:

I, we, two, three

tens of thousands

of years -

words

being replaced

through time rates -

squeeze, guts, stick, bad.

—

I also saw a sad sunflower sitting at the Aztec Cafe yesterday:

Wouldn’t you say?

Stem gazing sunflower

standing in faucet water

and vase,

Isn’t it a beautiful day

to be alive?

—

Ok, so both of those are pretty bad, but I squeezed all of the life out of them I could find.  My sticky guts laugh at us both.

—

I’m witnessing a Shaggy resurgence on the airwaves the past few days, it must be Spring — ‘Act like you know, Chico.’

—

I’m not trying to make this like a Twitter feed, but am doing badly at it.  I will stick to my main squeeze – pure guts.  And like Kanye, I did it for the Glory.

I even made sure to give you the dirty version to stick it to the man.  Squeeze all the dignity from his empty guts for his bad smell.

—

I’ll stop with that word thing now because I’m forcing it, if you didn’t already notice.

—

I have done something that I have never done before in my life – I read two books, cover-to-cover, in two days.   I was proud of myself because I almost gave up on Camus’ The Stranger last night, but I persevered and saw to it that his indifferent ass got the guillotine.  I wasn’t disappointed.

The other book I mounted was Candy Girl by Chicago-Minneapolis-LA transplant Diablo Cody, of Juno fame.  This is ‘A year in the life of an unlikely stripper.’  It takes place in Minneapolis and I enjoyed recognizing all of the scenery and names and inside jokes about the frozen tundra.  She calls Mpls the ‘White City’ for both all of the snow, and yes, all of the white people.

Here’s a pretty funny interview with Mrs. Cody and Mr. Letterman talking about the book – Dave definitely has a crush on her.

I kind of find her annoying and charming at the same time, akin to the hipster waitresses at the CC Club on Lyndale that I think I’ve posted about here in the past.

—

Check out this sucker!  Oh, wait.  I still can’t figure out how to post external links within the post, so just copy/paste it to take a gander.  It’s freaking incredibly detailed and anthropomorphic and fantastic.  Thanks to The Rumpus‘ ‘Morning Coffee’ links!

The Theater by Ben Tolman:

http://www.bentolman.com/theatre.jpg

—

I had a record streak at my freelance gig thanks to the influx of mid-term capers I knocked out last week!  I’m off to a great start this week and hope to continue the trend so I can get my Passport and maybe a bus ticket to somewhere in Mexico for the Summer/Fall.  I’m hoping to continue this gig (where I was promoted again for some reason) and at the same time become fluent in Spanish and tutor students in English.

Plus I’ll just kill tacos like everyday!

And margaritas.

Photo Credit: Fatimah Namdar

Rhona’s Spotlight Link

Sometimes, language learning can take you to exotic places and enrich other people’s lives as much as your own. Rhona Foulis tells her story:

Hi, Rhona. Would you like to introduce yourself?

I am an actress, English tutor and theatre reviewer. Having graduated with a First Class Honours degree in English and Drama, I worked in the theatre industry for four years before training as an actress.

Did you have a natural talent for language learning at school?

I find learning languages fairly easy because I’m fascinated by words and the ways in which we communicate with each other. I’m definitely an arts rather than a science person.

Has being able to speak more than one language helped you in your career?

I’m not sure whether my Spanish and French have directly helped me in my career. They probably would have proven more useful if I’d become fluent, but the acting took over after my A Levels.

Learning a language is no longer compulsory (in the UK) for schoolchildren once they reach the GCSE options stage. What are your views on this? Do you think children should be encouraged to learn a language at school? What can be done to make children enjoy learning a language?

It’s really sad that children aren’t encouraged to learn languages. We suffer from serious linguistic complacency in this country, assuming the universality of English, which is very ignorant. Undoubtedly, it’s easier for people to learn languages if it’s encouraged from a younger age; then learning language becomes synonymous with discovering the world, rather than a classroom lesson. Beyond childhood, visiting the host country is ultimately the best way to learn.

You taught English as a foreign language to children in South India. What was your experience of teaching in South India like and how did you get involved in teaching English as a foreign language?

Having graduated from university and undertaken several theatre internships, it felt as though I was at a turning point. I decided to make the most of not having any fixed responsibilities by travelling. In my last year at school, we were given a talk by a man who set up an orphanage in South India, the King’s World Trust for Children. Having lived in the Middle East and travelled extensively as a child, he whetted my appetite for an Indian adventure! I wanted to do some voluntary work and thought teaching English would be the best option for me. The tiny village school in Tamil Nadu was like nothing I’d ever seen before – almost like a mud hut – and there were very different methods of disciplining the children. The classrooms were pretty chaotic and full, but you soon learn ways to keep the children interested and engaged.

You’re an actress, an English and Drama tutor and a theatre reviewer. Where does you passion for the theatre come from?

I don’t know! I was hooked after my first performance during a school assembly, aged 10. My passion developed through further opportunities at school and Scottish Youth Theatre.

Have you ever directed a play?

I’ve never directed anything. However, it’s certainly something that I imagine doing in the future, once I’ve had more acting experience, feel more knowledgeable about the theatre and confident in my choices.

As a reviewer, is it hard to write critically about other actors and actresses work when you’ve got first hand experience of how hard the actors work and how much effort goes into staging a production?

No, I think it’s interesting to apply an actor’s perspective to a critical review of a performance, as long as that’s not your only perspective. A reviewer should also consider production values, direction, the writing etc.

Would you agree that Drama and the Theatre Arts are great tools for helping people to overcome the language barrier and communicate with each other? Can Drama and the Theatre bring different sections of the community together?

Absolutely. The structure of the theatre industry itself is traditionally elitist (unfeasibly high ticket prices) and the national curriculum doesn’t give nearly enough value or importance to the arts. However, drama itself is all about people, team work and communication – fantastic tools.

Which would you rather have: critical acclaim or fame?

Critical acclaim over fame. However, I don’t think that either is particularly important to me. What’s important is being able to do work that I enjoy and feel challenged by.

If someone wanted to hire you for English or Drama tuition, how could they do that?

I’m happy for anyone to email me at rhonafoulis@hotmail.com.

What are you working on career wise at the moment?

I’m performing in an exciting, improvisational performance with Fluxx Productions.  “Night, London” runs for the first three weeks in March at the Tristan Bates Theatre.

Finally, what do you think of my language learning challenge? Have I bitten off more than I can chew or is it really possible to learn many languages in just 1 year?

In some ways, the more languages you learn, the easier they are to learn. You can begin to make connections between languages and common grammatical rules. But there’s a danger of mixing them up in brain overload!

See the Marty Meets: Rhona Foulis interview on the Up & Coming Talent Blog.

In the latter part of the nineteenth century, when “moving picture shows” became available to the populous as merely a carnival attraction, it was said that this new medium would render ”the theater” obsolete. 

It didn’t.

Here we are in the twenty-first century, and people still flock to see live performances of musicals such as, “Wicked,” “Phantom of the Opera” and “Les Miserables.” (Just to name a few.)

Only two decades into the twentieth century, the invention of “Broadcast Television” was sure to put “The Movies” to bed permanently.

It didn’t.

All three forms of entertainment have not only survived, but flourished. Together, these mediums have built a multi-billion dollar empire.

BTW – They said computers and personal game consoles (wii, PlayStation, etc.) would diminish other entertaining mediums. Have these items completely conquered and changed the way humans spend their money on entertainment?

No.

Recently when the ebook became available, it was whispered that this new medium would replace the printed word.

It won’t.

Ebooks will become merely another medium by which we earthlings amuse ourselves. 

Personally, I love having so many forms of entertainment at my fingertips.

G.

It began in the end,
as the curtains closed and everyone stood up,
cheering and praising the scenes they all had encountered before their eyes.

It was beautiful.
It wasn’t odd,
or different,
or scary.

It was just right.

They could feel it,
and the world could feel it.
And as they came out of the theater,
nature greeted them with blossoms of every color,
as the sun shined like a rainbow would after a rainy day,
even though it was midnight.

Their faces turned red,
as they smiled and bowed,
waving thanks to all the wondrous things that awaited them outside.

And then he took her hand,
and they began to move sluggishly to wherever it was the wind would take them,
because they were in love,
and their love was ponderous.

The end is a magnificent thing.
The end could be a great beginning. 

This eBay auction popped up in my Google alerts today, and I found it hilarious.

It’s a book with the full title Social Dynamite, or the Wickedness of Modern Society (ha!) By a guy named T. deWitt Talmage.

Apparently he’s an evangelical who clearly deplores the “wickedness” of” modern society” (both of which are still around today in 2008, some would say).

Here’s some “sermon” samplings for you: Two Highways, Evil Companions, Dark Deeds, The Babylonian Feast, High License, Intemperance, Mormonism, Divorce, Profanity, Drunkenness, and The Social Evil, Gambling, Suicide, Immoral Literature, Foes of Society, The Theater, Right and Wrong Amusements, Dancing, Fashion’s Follies, Clubs, Watering Places.

Damn! And there’s seriously like 500-plus pages of that crap.

It’s enough to make ME say Good Lord.

But check out that awesome lettering on the cover! They don’t make em like that anymore.

Kickass 1889 logo text lettering.