Passionate & Pathetic

We did a Mélodrama today in which a mother and father are sitting at a dinner table, the mother mentions the fact that she can't stop thinking about their son/daughter (who ran away 15 years ago and never sent a word). 

The father snaps telling the mother to never utter that name in his house again and leaves (although we see that he feels pain from the situation). Then there is a knock on the door, the mother goes to open it, and it's the son/daughter. There is a dramatic reunion between him/her and the mother, then the son/daughter announces that they have come to say that they are going to die in the next few days (as they have tuberculosis, or AIDS, or something) and that they wanted to die back home. The father reenters to find the son/daughter, there is a scene, and the son/daughter is banished.

I got up and did the scene as the father, with Rocio as the mother, and Nonika as the runaway daughter. We went after the break, just after Philippe had told us all for Mélodrama we needed to be more passionate. So I went for passionate! Rocio and I had good complicité - we do - we play well together. Our scene started dramatically, with us avoiding each other's stare at the dinner table. And then Rocio had a scene about how she misses her daughter. And then I had a scene in which I told her never to mention the name of our daughter ever again. I went big, threatening, powerful - trying to find this rich, deep 'actor's voice'. I ended up really going for it in the scene - as if the father had lost it. I went full on, and although it was possibly a bit pushed, for the scale of the scene it worked. Then Nonika came on and the scene started to die, I came on to the warning sound of 'boring-clicks' and took major, then eventually went crazy again (haha) forcing our daughter to leave. When Philippe critiqued me he said "he wakes us up", but said I could have more 'effects'.

Afterwards he got Rocio and I to repeat the opening scene and he worked with us a bit (he works with those who give, it seems). I worked on looking to the fifth gallery more often, as I hadn't done that the last time. It came to my time to be in major - I stood up and said never to mention the name of our daughter in this house again, with my arm stretched out pointing at Rocio across the room. He paused me, and got me to keep my arm outstretched, but to slowly walk backwards as I said my text. Then after a bit of walking backwards, lower my arm slowly, and drop my head, and say my text quietly to myself (but so the audience could hear it). Then later, after Rocio had had another scene in which she was crying, but keeping her face open to the audience, he got me to stand up, I walked slowly behind her. Then he got me to say, in a deep voice "I'm leaving you...I hate women that cry." I looked at the fifth gallery, then exited. 

These moments, like changing from big and loud with large gestures, to small and soft with head down, are the 'effects' Philippe is talking about (I think). As are the looking up at the fifth gallery moments. Philippe was encouraging Rocio to "exaggerate" throughout our scene. This is a good clue to how far we can go with the form. And he said to me "you could be more pathetic." 

I was happy with how I worked again today. I put my guts on the table. I risked. And I really committed to the risk. 

~

"It's always a beautiful scene...always."

"When you open a door, it's cold. It's good when you don't know what to do...It's cold...You could get Tuberculosis."

"We don't ask [for you] to be an actor. We ask [you] to have fun to pretend to be an actor."

"May I have an idea when I enter? You may. But you can't destroy the complicité of the scene."

"If we say: These actors, they don't put their guts on the table...a la puta cayé!" [translation: 'getouttahere!']

~

"Monsieur Dumas, please, don't pass away."

Philippe yesterday told us that he had heard 'news' that Monsieur Dumas (the head of the famous Mélodrama school where all the great Mélo actors learnt their chops) was very sick, and may be going to hospital. 

Today he told us that he indeed has gone to hospital, and that his wife has requested that we send him telepathic best wishes. He's an atheist you see - but he does believe in telepathy! So we were encouraged to whisper him messages whilst we performed our scenes.

~

"Everyone (except the nastys) have to think: he's going to kill me...please...help me..."

A few times in this workshop Philippe has got an actor to 'punish' somebody on stage by pulling their arm tight behind their back and kicking their butt, or slapping their face. And then getting the punished actor to look up to the fifth gallery and plead for help. This helps the actor find the vulnerability, sensitivity, and 'pathetic-ness' needed for Mélodrama.

pa·thet·ic/pəˈTHetik/Adjective

1. Arousing pity, esp. through vulnerability or sadness.

2. Miserably inadequate.