"When I thought about it, I started to cry. He was right. I was pushing way too much. 'You push too much...' That wasn't just what was wrong with my performance. That's what had been going wrong in my life. I was pushing too much. And I'm so glad I asked him because he really will tell you and be honest. He will help you. Have you ever asked him to help you?"
"Uh...No. I guess not."
A month ago I met up with Charlotte, a friend of a man in my California mime class. She lives in Paris and is an alumna of the Philippe Gaulier School, which is why my mime friend, YT, recommended the place to me; he knew that his friend had gone through a life changing experience there and that the school was worth checking out. So Charlotte and I finally met for coffee on a Friday morning to talk about all of it.
"Really? You just leave the stage each time he says you're boring?"
"Yeah."
"You should really stay up there next time and ask him for help. He'll probably say no at first, but it's just what he does. Be insistent! He'll help you."
Yeah. Charlotte had a point. On stage a lot of the time here, I was too nice and polite. I wouldn't assert myself. Boring. And, just as Charlotte said, problems on stage and problems in life don't exist in separate vacuums. I have a tendency in certain situations to be so passive. I'm usually not a confrontational person. And this tendency would show from time to time on stage. And when the moment ended, and I received "it was boring, please leave the stage," without asking why or insisting on staying, the tendency revealed itself once more.
But I realized the difference; I never disagreed when Philippe said I was boring. I never disagreed when he said I wasn't having fun. He was right. So I didn't have a problem leaving because, like he says, when you're boring your time's up. Charlotte reminded me of something crucial though: learning and improvement require involvement and persistence. It's not enough to be there and do it. You have to throw yourself into it, and in this case, that means refusing to sit back down.
On the previous Monday we started the new class, Neutral Mask and Greek Tragedy, moving on from the more general and basic, but also scary and hilarious lessons of Le Jeu (The Game/Play) to incorporate Philippe's philosophy into this specific discipline. By the end of class that Monday I found myself in a familiar situation: I started off interestingly when moving with the neutral mask, and then when the teaching assistant removed the mask and I got to speak the text, I wasn't good. Myself and two other people on stage with me each got the classic "boreeng!"
This wasn't really a situation where I could challenge him, so at the end of the class, I went up to Philippe.
"Hey Philippe, so it's been several weeks since I've done anything interesting, and I was hoping you could help me understand why I've just been boring lately."
"Take your time."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Take your time. Slow down--"
"Cause I feel like I've been crushing something. It's just not happening."
"Slow down. You are not bad. You have no big problem like some people. You just need to take your time. You're open, don't worry, but take your time with this...take your time to find the pleasure, to understand this all, how it works...let it be slow. You've got time. You're close to something. You'll find something good soon."
Philippe was different than during class. He didn't look bitterly at me from over his spectacles like he tends to do to everyone during class. During class, Philippe is his own clown, and he puts on a show. He finds joy not in crushing people's feelings, which some misunderstand, but in making an art of blunt criticism. It's in the word choice and the delivery that he finds the joy of his clown, not in the resultant grimaces or occasional tears of his audience of students. But now that class was over, he was earnest. He spoke quietly and looked through his glasses right into my eyes, and I smiled. Charlotte was right.
"Thank you."
We both left the room. Then I came back because I realized I'd forgotten to take my sweater.
This neutral mask work contains a tad bit of a paradox. As we were reminded, total neutrality is impossible to attain. It doesn't exist. It's just a concept. But like our movement teacher says, just as we must strive to achieve the speed of light in our space travel capabilities so that along the way we can make great advancements and at least get close to the perfect ideal, so must we work towards neutrality. In working to be neutral, we eliminate the tics, mannerisms, and other speed bumps that get in the way of our clear expression, and when we've gotten as close as we can get to being neutral, we'll be left with what we'll never in our lives be able to discard: our selves. We'll see the core. We'll see what we've been covering for years, burying under acquired behavior and personal misperceptions. What we'll find is what makes us who we are as people and thus what we have to share as performers.
Many of the exercises in neutral mask are pretty much the same; we get up on stage in groups of four or five, put on the neutral masks, Philippe puts on some orchestral music, and we move. It was often walking slowly or starting on the ground, waking up, and standing and moving with the music. By the end of the first week, we started to incorporate text, but not before spending a few days with just the masks. A funny thing happens when you put on a neutral mask; as soon as your face is covered, it's like someone's turned the volume dial on your body way up. He slouches too much. Her back bends a bit in one direction. He sticks his chest out. She lets this sag, he lets this hang, she shuffles, he jerks. Every oddity and imperfection sings out loud and clear.
So come Friday, it was time to work in the Greek tragedy text. We all worked with the tale of Hector's final battle against Achilles from the Iliad in our respective languages. English Edward "Beautiful Mustache" Rapley went up and Portuguese Pedro followed, with Brazilians Juli and Joao rounding out the group. The men put on the white masks and lied down on the ground. Philippe banged his drum. Boom...boom...boom. Philippe fuddled with his iPod for a moment, settling on Verdi. Regal trumpets filled the air, and it wasn't long before the music's bombastic crescendos, soaring horns, and mighty strings surrounded us with Verdi's storm. Edward raised his long limbs and rose up from his feet slowly, his eyes wild.
"SOOOooooo SPEAKing, he drew the SHARP SWORD that hung long and heavy AT HIS SIDE, gathered himself, and SWOOOOOOOPED to atTACK, like a HIIIIIGH FLYYYYYING EAAAAAGLE darts down to the PLAINS through the dark clooOOUUUDS to seize a tender lamb or COWERING hare."
Edward was soaking in Verdi's magnificent, torrential downpour, riding on top of the cacophonous waves that slapped the walls of the room.
"Like the loveliest star set on its path amongst the the stars in the darkest of the night, so shone the brilliant gleam of the spear Achilles held quiver in HIS HAND as he purposed DEATH for GOOOODlike HEKTOR!"
It was as if the elements themselves could no longer do a thing to contain their explosive euphoria at the sight of these two exemplars of the human form, these two men so perfect in their ferocity, concentration, and bodily mastery about to battle, that the very sky exploded and the seas did, too. The gods themselves had to not just recognize that their brilliance had been approached by a man, but revel in the incomprehensible wonder that it had been attained by two men, and that one of these men would do the impossible: kill the other.
It was one of the most deeply moving, stirring, rousing performances I've ever seen, and it couldn't have happened with anyone else; it was totally, completely, and thoroughly Edward. Tall, mustachioed, fiery haired, English Edward was the conduit for this shocking eruption of passion and furor, the announcer to the greatest boxing match the universe had ever seen, in a way that was just so Edward! And I guess that's the goal of all this.
I couldn't stop smiling. I was shaking. In this moment, my classmate had found something fantastic that the neutral mask work had helped to unearth, to excavate. I so wanted to feel this kind of power run through me that I sprang up when it was time for another group to give it a shot. I put the white mask over my face and lay down on the ground. My body slowly started to gyrate with the rhythm of the new, gentler, music and I found myself moving over the floor, rolling backwards over my head, and sharply sitting up. The assistant took off my mask.
"So speaking...he drew the sharp sword...that hung long and heavy--"
And I was cut off so another classmate could have a chance to say the text. It all ended with "boreeng!" None of us would be given the chance to channel something like Edward did. And I couldn't disagree.
It took a few more weeks, but at the beginning of the end, something finally happened. I was working on one of Jason's speeches from Medea, when he curses her for killing their children and destroying his life. At this point we began without masks, doing movement on the ground as an element or a material until we felt the impulse to speak. I chose hot oil as my material and rock as my element.
My limbs began to shake and writhe and bounce, and my trunk, and my head, and then I started the text.
"You LOATHSOME creature, hateful beyond all other women, to ME, to the GODS, and to the WHOLE...HUMAN...RACE! You have had the RUTHLESSNESS to drive A SWORD into the CHILDREN WHOM YOU--"
"Sank you, zat eez enough," Philippe banged on his drum.
"Like ee just did, is zere a single woman een zis class, oo would fuck eem? Would anyone in ere fuck Avery de la sol [Philippe's nickname for me having to do with some region of France]? I'm not saying een life, but on stage? No? No...no. None, Avery. Sad. You see, like zat, you are unfuckable. You are too agressive, loud, eet is ugly. Not good. Bon. Go put on a suit like a banker and come back."
Bertrand happened to have a suit that happened to fit me (and became the go-to suit for everyone in the class and fit all of us for some reason even though we're different sized people) and I borrowed Ric's black turtleneck sweater and Tom's black shoes.
"Bon. Go to ze back of ze room. Now, slowly, walk towards us. Look een a mirror. Put on aftershave, while telleeng yourself, 'Avery de la sol, you are beautiful.' Smile at yourself. You want to seduce someone. When I bang ze drum, tell yourself you are beautiful."
Slowly, I walked towards the class, smiling at my imaginary reflection while rubbing aftershave into my face.
Boom.
"Avery, you are beautiful--"
"NO! I said 'Avery de la sol, you are beautiful!' Do as I say!"
"Sorry."
BOOM.
"Avery de la sol, you are beautiful."
"Now slowly, Avery de la sol, sing us cowboy song. When I heet drum, say you are beautiful."
I kept rubbing my face, smiling, and started to sing.
"Rocky Racoon...fell back in his room...only to find...Gideon's bible."
BOOM.
"Avery de la sol, you are beautiful...Rocky had come...equipped with a gun...to shoot off the legs...of his rival."
BOOM.
"Avery de la sol, you are beautiful...His rival it seems...had broken his dreams...by stealing the girl...of his fancy."
"Now slowly, say your text."
I fixed my gaze on Irene, the Italian from a German speaking town in Italy that was Austrian before World War I. The week before she had done an incredible Electra in the style of the fuhrer. It wasn't terribly hard to imagine her ruthlessly killing my children. My body was still and I looked her in the eyes, smiling.
"You loathsome creature, hateful beyond all other women--"
"Shut up."
...
"Speak."
"To the gods, to me--"
"Shut up."
...
"Speak."
"and to the whole human race."
"Now slowly put your 'and in your pocket. Keep looking at ze fascist [Philippe's nickname for Irene]. You 'ave a gun. Take eet out fast and aim."
I pulled my hand out of my pocket and aimed it, as a gun, at Irene.
"Speak."
"You have had the ruthlessness to drive a sword--"
BOOM.
"Avery de la sol, you are beautiful...into the children whom you bore."
"Shut up. You can shoot 'er, ten times, making a sound each time like ze gun. Zen talk a beet."
"You have destroyed me and left me childless! Psshhoo...pshoo...pshoo...pshoo...pshoo...pshoo......pshoo...pshoo......pshoo....pshoo...pshoo."
"Did I say eleven? Did I?"
"No."
"Zen why'd you shoot 'er eleven times?"
"I wanted to be sure."
"Good. Continue, still aiming ze gun. When I bang ze drum, sing a Frank Sinatra song."
"You have done these things, and you can you look upon the sun, and the earth, YOU, cruel perpetrator of the most unholy--"
BOOM.
"Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars. Let me see what Spring is like on, Jupiter and Mars."
"Speak."
"the most unholy of all deeds. My curse on you. Mind is clear now, but it was not clear when--"
BOOM.
"In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling kiss me."
"Speak slowly, and shoot 'er again."
"I took you from your home in a barbarian land...pshoo...pshoo...pshoo...pshooo...to a house in Greece...pshoo...pshoo...pshooo...disaster that you are, traitor to your father...pshoo...pshoo...pshoooo...and the land that nurtured you. The gods have launched on me the curse which should have punished you--"
BOOM.
"Fly me to the moon...and let me play among the stars...let me see what life is like on...Jupiter and Mars."
"Speak."
"Swooping down on me. It was after killing your brother at your hearth that you embarked on the Argo, the fair-prowed ship. That was how you began, and then, after you had--"
Boom.
"In other words...hold my hand. In other words...darling kiss me. Fill my heart with song and let me play forever more--"
"Shut up. Keep ze gun aimed......Look at 'er.......Slowly put down ze gun, and leave."
I did.
BOOM.
"Bon! Like zat, we love eem, no? Like zat, you are beautiful. It is gentle, you share wis us, you do not poosh. We love you like zat. Eet is not all ze way, but it eez a good start. Eef you start zere, you will be good. Yes."
Come Thursday it was time to audition for the showcase, in which chosen acts would perform for all the students of the school and whoever they invited to come see the show. Each student auditioned with either a monologue or a scene. The morning was off to a timid start, as there were over forty students since the two sections of the class were put together for the audition.
"Anyone want to go third? Come on, there's no point in waiting. You'll do it eventually."
Jaime, the assistant teacher, wasn't convincing anyone.
"I might just pick names from the list..."
I got up and walked to the back of the room, facing the crowd.
Walking forward slowly, I began to touch my face, choosing a focal point on the wall, above the crowd.
"You loathsome creature, hateful beyond all other women to me, to the GODS, and to the whole human RACE! You have had the ruthlessness--" I drew my gun"--to drive a SWORD into the children whom you bore. You have destroyed me and left me childless! Pshoo...pshoo...pshoo...pshoo...pshoo...pshoo....pshoo.....pshoo....pshoo....pshoo....."
I lost sensation in my abdomen as my core collapsed on itself a bit, and my arms started to tingle. Something very weird was happening.
"You have done these things, and yet can you look upon the SUN and the EARTH, YOUU, cruel perpetrator--"
BOOM.
"Sank you! Well, zat was orrible, no? Bad. What happened, Avery de la sol? Last time you were beautiful. We loved you. Zis time you poosh so hard, you crumple your face, your body looks terrible...A shame. Today, you deed not want to be beautiful. Goodbye."
This was the first time I auditioned for a show and didn't get in, and certainly the first time I wasn't allowed to finish a monologue during an audition. It felt bad. Because he was right. But at the same time, it was liberating.
Towards that end of that Thursday, after Philippe cut off another student, there was a little protest.
"I want to be good Philippe. I want to be beautiful, I really do."
"Sorry."
"I want to be good."
"Look, if you really want to be good, you are an ass-licker. If you want to take something around the space and discover something, whether it is good or bad, then you are honest...You are young. You have time to be bad. But be bad with panache, with something special."
That was my problem. I wanted to be good. I wanted to impress. And as a result, I closed off and rushed. I didn't explore. I failed, but without panache.
And that's what I love. That whether you're "good" or "bad" at the end of the performance, no matter what, you can still have panache, something special. And that's what's worth striving for.
I came here four months ago having never been out of the U.S. and knowing pretty much no one except for the family I was fortunate to have here. Tomorrow, I'm leaving with a passionate love for a new place, and incredible friends from all over the world.
It breaks my heart that when I come back to study again at L'École Philippe Gaulier, which I inevitably will when I finish college, my friends will have already moved on. But nevertheless, I can't wait to pick up another phase of this adventure. This place is so worth coming back for. The lessons and the people...I love them. I can totally see how this place changed Charlotte's life. It definitely changed mine.
