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| Fascinated by the stage. |
The curious position I found myself in tonight, was that of an audience member, watching actors feeding me their passion through their impossible-to-fake tears, their taut bitchy faces or extravagant kingly gestures.
Watching all this unfold in the audience is magnificent and frightening at the same time for you know not what will come, and have no power to control what should be.
As a director, you advise, you bark orders, but on the night there is nothing left but to trust. These actors whom you see possessing a multitude of abilities are trusted to relive those rehearsed moments, but not only that, bring something inexplicably raw and uncompromisingly real to the stage.
In these moments, the voice of the director is a faint memory as actors themselves conjure up unforeseen capabilities that no order could inspire.
It is this capacity of actors to relive past pains, draw from that experience and drown in the sorrows of their stage skins that made being in the audience such a curiously wonderful experience.
In rehearsals, what we see, are sometimes tired faces that have memorised lines; walking the familiar walk to their positions.
However, on performance night. These sluggish specimens seem transformed. Their complexions glisten with a wilful wisdom as they strip away their inhibitions. From these expressions of complete concentration, you can almost envision their minds eye, seeing them enclosed in a cocoon, seeing the exterior slowly cracking away with each step they take towards centre stage so that as soon as the light hits them, these slugs become unimaginable creatures you cannot recognise. The beauty and grace of these stage vixens and beasts overcome their calloused, tired, human lineament. Inhabiting an otherworldly presence. One that can grasp your gaze and hold your breath at the same time.
'Acting' n.: the art or practise of representing a character on stage or before cameras.
Simple to read, hard to act upon.
In the dark, you see these forms before you, playing out the scenes. The fine line between reality and fantasy exists on a scale that the actor must balance precariously on. The weight of their performance can see them falling over the edge becoming too superfluous dragging you out of the scene, or so lacklustre as to make you aware of the dust dancing above their heads as they deliver their lines without sincerity, or even expression.
No, walking that fine line between reality and fantasy is an uncompromising necessity. A tyrannical rule which seeks to defile the sanity of directors and leave actors in a bubbling mess of self-loathing over the slicing words of harsh critics.
It's hard to walk on this tightrope of stage craft. Hard to find that balance, but when it's struck and the actor unfailingly captivates the audience as a daredevil does on that rope 200 feet in the air, you know you've chanced upon something extraordinary. You've laid your eyes on a person with the devilish finesse of a con artist twirling you around her pinkie. The stage vixen however, not only wants your attention, she craves your emotions. By the pure daring of her vulnerability laid bare, it seems you are allowed to open yourself up to the scene unfolding before you.
True beauty lies in performances that no longer allow for the definition of acting. The beauty of stage craft is the moment you no longer see the world around you as seats and the stage. The beauty becomes the moment you're invited into the life of that being in the actor's minds eye. The one you could've sworn you caught a glimpse of as he was heading towards the spotlight centre stage. The one that now exists before you as the remnants of the cocoon remain in the wings. A new being, a new life. Explosive energy and vivacious technique. The master of the craft is a master at trickery. Able to con you with their tears. The beauty of it is when you are awoken by the dampness of your cheeks having fallen as you caught that glimpse of theirs.
Actors. Like ghosts, the visions of you will haunt me as I walk out of those theatre doors.
Humbly yours,
Joselyn Khor
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