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Why I Don’t Need Therapy, no. 165: I looked out of my dream window and saw a beloved face, more beautiful than ever. She was lying by a curb, in puddles of rainwater, luxuriating. I called to her, pronouncing her name the way she liked: “Hedy (rhymes with Lady)! Do you need any help?” She replied, “I’m fine, darling. Isn’t the rain wonderful?!” I closed the window and went back to my dream. 
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 Such a funny thing, being an actor AND a writer. Writing is something you can do alone--anytime, anywhere, for no reason at all, or for some specific goal or time slot or word count or deadline. Acting is something you cannot do alone--ever. Even a long monologue requires lighting designers, costumers, a director, people to drum up an audience, box office, ushers, graphic artists, stage managers, and, in Elsa's case, a piano player. (Lucky I'm married to one, huh?). Even when you write a piece just for yourself, to be Zoomed or YouTubed--you're hoping someone, somewhere, will see it. As an actor, you're never really alone.
Martha's Vineyard Playhouse just hosted four developmental performances of my newest solo piece, Elsa Lanchester Tonight! I'm eternally grateful to the staff there--and to the handful of people who saw the play and said they enjoyed it--even more grateful to the ones who asked questions and made me rethink a few moments. I've been percolating Elsa for decades, actually been writing the show off and on for maybe ten years, focusing on her for about three years, and---the script's still not right. It's fun--it's getting there--it's worth doing--but it needs another couple of rewrites. Even the brilliant actress Mary Louise Wilson took years to develop her legendary solo show, Full Gallop. (She'd disagree with me there--she wrote in a maid character who has maybe three? four? lines). In her delightful book MY FIRST HUNDRED YEARS IN SHOW BUSINESS, Ms. Wilson wrote that she worked on perfecting Diana Vreeland's voice alone, while she painted her kitchen. She negotiated with Ms. Vreeland's family for rights. She collaborated with a writer friend. She performed the piece here and there for pals and strangers and backers and, most importantly, she hung in there for ages--until somebody realized that she and her show were forces to be reckoned with-- and gave her a shot. Why does it take so long? For me, a lot of it is back to the actor/writer thing. I've been a professional actor for forty some years, with proof: check stubs and playbills and photographs and reruns. I've been a writer even longer--but just for myself, until recently, with very little to show for it. In the middle of a writing project I loved, I've dropped everything to take an acting job I didn't love nearly as much. Plays and poems get put aside for weeks or months or years to use the very same part of my brain that writes. Don't get me wrong, I'm GRATEFUL. I'm incredibly lucky that I've mostly done what I like throughout my life. It's a luxury, it's a privilege, and I am almost always happy onstage. What I learn from my next role might illuminate a unexpected facet of Elsa for me. This informs that, and so on, forever. But I'm gonna miss the old girl for the next couple of months, while I go away to do two plays in beautiful, bucolic Wisconsin. Maybe I'll cheat a little on the acting and sneak in a little scribbling, after rehearsals. Shhhhh! Just for myself, and Elsa. |