Posts Tagged ‘Monologues’
This week three new kiddos made their way into our class in the most charming of ways – one with a kind of effervescent blond little lady charm and two more with the energy of a freight train and moving at the speed of light. We made them welcome and I introduced them to the treat of making structures out of chairs and tables and fabrics – the joy with which children approach this activity makes one wonder how on earth we as a species ever got so far away from the simple pleasures of wooden toys and pulling the cushions off the couch to make a fort – and it was a delight to see them all on the floor…playing.
Our new friends created their characters and I handed out – with one exception – monologues all around. We are also expecting one more child and then when she completes her character we can begin creating our play.
And! I introduced them to Freeze, which they took to so beautifully it was a thrill to behold.
Very talented. And very, very cute.
I have been thinking for a while of another kind of project I’d like to do. I am not sure where to begin, but I know it is a project I want to work on with my mom, who would be perfect for the job.
I’ve been thinking for while that elderly people might get a lot out of writing, rehearsing and performing an original creation based on significant events in their lives. I want to help them write monologues – a la Quilters or Spoon River Anthology – and have them tell…oh goodness i am not sure what – the single defining moment in their lives? (I don’t ask for much, do I?) But I do know that everyone’s story is interesting and we can learn from the perspective of what older folks have seen and done and survived and processed. And it seems to me that the experience of creating and performing might fill a real need in the lives of many elderly people for a creative outlet. For some of them it might be a completely new experience in so many ways.
I remember reading (listening to) May Sarton’s last book and it made such an impression on me when she said she was hoping for one thing at the end of her life: another good poem. “That’s the thing that still might happen, you see” she said. Her statement has really stayed with me – that at the end of her life when so much was over for her, she still had that ideal in her mind, that she might possibly create another satisfying, beautiful poem.
My mom, with her background in teaching writing, would be a great asset to the entire project. I have got to get going on this. I can’t think of any way it could fail, as every part of the project – from the writing through the editing and rehearsing and performing – would be as rewarding and useful for the participants as any other part.
I spent some time this afternoon with a delightful young actor I had met when I first moved here. She was a real standout, and I was very pleased and honored when she asked me to coach her on her monologues for her professional auditions later this month.
We chatted for a while (ok, at least an hour) and then we got to work. It was so exciting to watch her go through the process of making the monologues part of her body and her soul. She was very well prepared and very open to suggestion. I especially liked the way she was able to take my suggestions and use what made sense to her as she developed her own meaning for the pieces.
I really enjoy monologue work. There are only the words and the actor – no place to hide. And the way the meaning of the piece begins to shine through as you work it and then suddenly - a big chunk of meaning will fall off and land in your lap!
This young woman was especially beautiful to watch – it was quite moving to see the monologues become part of her. I could see the transition – suddenly she would relax and you could feel her enjoying every word. At one point I could see that she was doing everything I had asked her but it wasn’t working for her. She looked unhappy and out of control. I asked her then to put back some of what she had originally brought to the monologue and just use what I had suggested to flavor it and Voila! There she was again, as comfortable as could be. It was quite wonderful.