Aggravation (143) Anxiety (93) April Fool (1) Bitchiness (65) Bobby (84) BP (7) Burning in Hell (36) Bush (66) Calme au Blanc (13) Catholic Church (33) Charlotte Cushman (11) Cobalt Blue (26) Confusion (11) Crime (22) Daily Life (144) Dangling Conversations (41) Deep Thoughts (45) Depravity (29) Depression (43) Divertissement (13) Embarrassing Moments (16) Family (44) Friends (110) Frozen (15) Fun (60) Gay (67) Gertrude Stein and a Companion (19) Glass Menagerie (34) Good Things (72) Government (58) Gustav (16) Hate (20) Holidays (36) Hope (35) Hugging the Shoulder (6) Humid City (9) Humor (154) Hurricanes (3) Internets (8) Jesus (5) Justice (6) Katrina (119) Latrine (15) Life in the Quarter (353) Louisiana (12) Mardi Gras (85) Mark Rylance (1) Movie Stars (35) Music (22) Nagin (20) New Orleans (126) News (28) Nighthawks (29) NOLA Partee (1) Obits (12) Our-Leaders-in-Their-Wisdom (111) Outlaw City (126) Personal (403) Photography (532) Pity Post (11) Politics (79) R I P (12) Religion (20) Retirement (11) Righteous Shit (23) Sadness (37) Saints (19) Search-Engine Crap (20) Sex (34) Sick Humor (60) Silly Stuff (150) Southern Decadence (22) Striking Words (23) Stupid Shit (217) Take Me Out (41) Tattoos (18) Tennessee Williams (64) The End (1) The Human Comedy (15) Theatre (508) Thinking Blogger Award (1) Thrill Me (37) Treme (7) Valhalla (42) War (28) Weekly Photo Challenge (41) Weird Shit (9)
Monday, August 22, 2011
And Now for Something Completely Different
That's how it ought to be, how it's meant to be. A thing is born, it lives, it dies.
Once gone, those left behind move on and, on occasion, "summon up remembrance of things past."
I'm lucky for the recollections I'll retain of working with two actors I'd never worked with before. Joe Seibert and Eli Grove gifted me with a sense of joy throughout the rehearsal process and a sense of awe as they became infallible in performance once the show had opened. Neither one of these young men ever made a false move or snatched the opportunity to ham it up for friends in the audience. They were always true to the text of their heart-breaking tale, a story built in brick by Jerrod Bogard.
Every theatre piece since All About Eve was first unspooled requires a Thelma Ritter character, and Hugging the Shoulder had one, too. She knows who she is, and she knows the gratitude I have for her and all she did for me.
I have the photographs. I have the sound effects and the music used. I can always play that siren sound whenever I feel the need to annoy the neighbors, or I can wallow in the limpid waves of being so lonesome I could cry.
And, always at hand, there are the memories of those people who came to the play and were moved.
Not much to be left with, perhaps, but enough.