On Tuesday at the conclusion of our first dress rehearsal for Legally Blonde, Emilia Richardson (costume designer for our show) said these words to the cast: “Your body is a solution, not a problem.” Emilia uttered these words humorously, part of her gentle encouragement for all of us to attend to the rudimentary necessities when one is in a play where so much action leaves many of us hot, sweaty, and in close proximity to one another. Bathe before the show. Wear deodorant, and apply regularly. These are important things in a show where so many of the cast are moving and shaking underneath hot stage lighting. Body odor is a thing. Emilia’s words are not indicative; they are imperative: make your body a solution, not a problem.
Emilia’s words to our cast took me back to the Sweeney Todd table read last summer. Emilia said the exact same thing to our cast one year ago, but in a different context. “Your bodies are a solution, not a problem.” At that time Emilia was discussing costuming, reminding us that in theatre our bodies are our gifts, things that we are sharing with others, not problems to be overcome or avoided. Her comment was something that stuck with me one year ago, and it is something that I’m thinking about again after last night’s dress.
I have this memory. When I was in high school, I performed in a Monty Pythonesque play entitled The Worst High School Play in the World. I played Ivanha, a prince who for completely convoluted reasons ends up being taken away from his royal family and raised by a pack of squirrels. The plot of the play revolved around Ivanha’s mighty quest to reclaim his rightful throne in the kingdom of Saxonia. The play was a blast, one of my favorite theatre memories from high school. Part of what made it so fun was that I got to play opposite my best friend, Derek, who was cast as the villain, Prince Viscera. The climax of the play feature a dance to the death between Viscera and Ivanha that is one of the most hilarious stage moments of my life. Combine that with all of the things that went wrong in the play (most of them scripted, but one not–a performance where the royal throne got rolled onto the stage but accidentally caught a set piece, knocking over half of the set in the middle of the scene, to the delight of our director, who insisted that we just roll with it and make it part of the show), the show was zany and delightful.
I love that play, but there was this moment early in the show that terrified me when I was performing. In his first scene, Ivanha laments that he is unlike all of the other squirrels in his family. When I first read the script, I recall this deep fear I felt about saying this single line.
“I’m ugly.”
Those were Ivanha’s words, and I was terrified to say them. I was terrified because at that time I felt ugly. This is a high school play, and I was terrified to say something as this character that hit so close to home for how I felt about myself. I imagined other students at school in the audience watching the play, hearing Ivanha say these words, and agreeing, “Yes, that is true. He is.” I dreaded this line. I got past the fear, mainly by overacting the line to make it sound so extreme and pathetic that anyone watching would simply laugh at the thought of a young boy lamenting that he didn’t look like all the other squirrels. Growing as a performer helped me to overcome at least some of those feelings that made this line so difficult to utter on stage.
At Tuesday’s dress rehearsal, some of that self-consciousness I remember from high school came creeping back. In costume for the first time, I’m paying more attention to my appearance. What do I see in the mirror? Words come to mind when I see myself. Skinny. Scrawny. Gangly. Gaunt. I can’t stand my long arms. I am hyperaware of their position at all times. I can’t stand to have them hanging at my sides; they are too thin and too long. I don’t like my natural posture. I look hunched over. At most angles and in most lighting I have these dark circles underneath my eyes that remind me of both my age and the impossibility of performing roles destined for performers much younger than me. When I am on stage I struggle sometimes to figure out how to make my body what Emilia says it is: a solution, not a problem.
I can’t decide what I believe. Is it the case that theatre helps us to overcome the insecurities that we have about ourselves? Or does theatre simply amplify them?
Emilia never intended her comments last night to be a sermonic word for people like me. She simply wants us to bring deodorant. That said, today I’m choosing to take her words in the mood that she intended them a year ago, a reminder that each of us brings something lovely and wonderous to the roles that we play: a physical body that is unique and that has the potential to inhabit a role in a way that nobody else can. On stage, our bodies are not something to be anxious about. They are vessels to be cherished in all of their uniqueness. There will never be an Elle, Emmett, Warner, Brooke, or Callahan like Patti, Spencer, Marco, Rachelle, or me. The story of our show is ours to tell. Our bodies allow us to tell this story in our own way.
Tonight is our final dress rehearsal. It has been such a thrill seeing my fellow castmates in costume. The show is tightening up nicely! I can’t wait for a live audience to hear the ending of Act 1 (that final note that Patti sings, I can’t say enough good things about it), and Act 2 (the final chord that the cast sings is killer; unfortunately, my character is the only one not on stage to sing along!). FOr me, these are high points in a show that is filled with them. I continue to be inspired by the actors with whom I am sharing the stage this summer. Get your tickets here!
I’ll close this post with a quick casting update. Due to some unexpected health issues with the dog originally cast to play Elle’s dog, Bruiser, my father’s dog, Belle, has stepped into that role. Meet Bruiser…
Belle is doing so well on stage, though last night the music from the live pit was making her nervous. She has really enjoyed hanging out with the cast, and she is so easy to take care of backstage during the show. If my mother were alive, I honestly believe she would be more excited about Belle being in the show than me. Anyway, Bruiser wants you to come to the show! Listen to her. You won’t regret it.