Try telling that to an actress.
Now, before I cause offense or anguish, let me define some terms.
(Believe me, I have no intention of using this blog to say mean and hurtful things about anyone who has done mean and hurtful things to me. The blog is public, and I can be too easily tracked and run to ground.)
But back to a definition of terms:
- A male who can act and take direction is an actor;
- A male who likes to look pretty and ignores direction is a twat;
- A female who can act and take direction is an actor, too;
- A female who likes to look pretty and ignores direction is an actress.
As a director, I have one great, glaring flaw. Being the kind of person who gives free rein to creative actors and technicians, whenever one asks me for pointers or notes, and I give them ... well, when that person then argues with me over what I just said and objects to my direction, I turn my back on them. I focus my attention on the people who want my input and leave the other to her own devices. It's a fault. I know it is.
Well, no, I don't. I'm a grown-up, working with other people whose ages indicate adulthood, and in this gathering, I'm the Godfather, and they need to behave, dammit.
I'm not pointing any fingers here, believe me. I'm just saying that when one gets involved in a theatrical enterprise, the world turns topsy-turvy, and one often finds oneself hanging by one's heels high above the center ring. When gravity inevitably yanks you down to the ground, the resulting thunk can be a relief.
I hit the ground last night, and a couple of hours later, I slept.
You see, the force that jerked me from that flying trapeze was that of a young lady who appeared at our rehearsal and announced she was there to be my lighting and sound guy.
"Huh?" I asked.
"I'm going to run your lights and sound."
"Your producer hired me to run your lights and sound."
"He didn't tell you?"
"Do you want to run them yourself?"
And thus a new relationship was born.
She took my script and deciphered my cues.
At the end of the first Act, I approached her and whispered, "I am not worthy."
At the end of Act Two, I prostrated myself and asked her, "What can I give you? Rich, jeweled raiment? A diadem bright as the star that shines at noon? Shall I fill your belly with sons?"
"You come near my belly, I'll have your balls."
"What time's my call tomorrow night?"
"Whenever you want it to be."
"I'll be here 'round six-thirty."
What else could I do after that but sleep?