PHASE #2. highs and lows

Just when I’d thought it wasn’t possible, today’s class took me by surprise again! The local education may have turned me into a bit of a cynic, but I stepped into the rehearsal space expecting some seriously draggy and dread-worthy tasks. Yet again, I was wrong.

We began with the exercise on creating frisson. I loved how we could so easily share a magical bond with nearly complete strangers; after all, I’d barely known my classmates beyond the first lesson. But we were able to walk past one another, sharing smiles like we were keepers of a common secret. I suppose this had something to do with our shared passion for works of theatre and how we were less afraid to make mistakes in front of one another.

We began to leak information, as Andrew liked to call it.

LEAKING . . .

We were leaking all over the place, laughing at Crystal losing the ball of energy and Jannah being the last to stop while we walked (or strolled or ran) across the space. I remember Andrew telling us that it is more essential to be genuinely bad at something – and then improving, of course – than to try too hard to be perfect from the very beginning, because the former allows for much more space to grow and to learn.

I think that I discovered that for myself today. To be honest, I consider myself to be somewhat of a formal person: I’m always polite and always politically correct, and embarrassing myself in public would probably fall slightly below eating worms on my list. But in the little space we had, I actually felt okay, maybe even comfortable making mistakes and being bad at the exercises. It was liberating. As I felt myself loosen up, expression could flow more freely, and I became more prepared for the performance I knew was coming at the end of this module.

My favorite exercise of the day was the activity that taught us about levels. While Andrew turned us into paupers on their knees and kings with their noses in the air, we understood the significance of different levels, created by our bodies or other physical objects, in theatre. Apart from simply differentiating between characters, levels could also signify varying social statuses in a literal way, as well as illustrate the relationship between said characters.

We had so much fun experimenting with highs and lows. For one activity we buddied up, and we had to take turns to close our eyes and place utmost trust in our partners to guide us around the classroom with chairs and tables as obstacles. Kind of like Aladdin showing Jasmine the world on his magic carpet.

Yup.

To say it was scary would be an understatement. Thank goodness my buddy Zhengliang took good care of me, without forgetting to be playfully annoying as he brought me to slide under the table and come out from the other side.

With our eyes closed, we could embrace the standing up and kneeling down without reservation. Though we as actors might be aware of character statuses and relationships, we could transmit that same idea to the audience with our body languages, via levels. At the end of the lesson, I emerged with a much clearer idea of what it meant to communicate onstage ideas to offstage audience.

PHASE #1. oooh's and aaah's

What if it doesn't work out??

screamed the voice in my head as I stepped across the imaginary boundary between NTU and NIE for the first time. Oh, and seriously, where is that rehearsal space??, too. 

It should probably explain my reaction when I mention that I am in no way seasoned when it comes to theater. Sure, I've had some experience, being the assistant director to the lovely Hall Productions committee of the university's Hall #2. I've worked with the backstage crew, messing around with the audio system and the script and stage makeup ( which looks truly ghastly in normal lighting, I must say ). I've worked front stage with a talented cast ensemble, while picking up a few things about stage directions and theatrical expression myself. But nothing could have prepared my stage-fright-laden heart for what I should expect in this module. 

Yet when I finally found my way to the central corridor, chiding myself for being late, my fears were drowned out by inevitable excitement. I liked what I saw. Our tutor was jolly and looked really fun! There were no stiff lecture chairs and wordy slides! We were going to begin by sitting around in a circle!

Kids, gather around now!

As my classmates streamed in and I was acquainted with their diverse backgrounds, our tutor - affectionately known as Andrew - handed out the lesson plans, I thought, oh, here it comes, the theory talk. He's going to throw us a script and assign us characters. Stage fright seeped in.

But guess what - it never happened! 

Instead of a thick stack of papers full of words, Andrew preferred to go back to basics. He took us to examine space and to interact with it. No rigid memorization of scripts, only Andrew leading us in turning the little rehearsal space magical.

The best part about class that day was the exercises. As a member of the audience, I liked to imagine that every movement and reaction on stage was fictional. Until that day. Andrew taught us a few nifty activities. Simple, but nifty indeed. I remember sending a ball of energy forward and backwards around in a circle with a clap of my hands and the aaah feeling in the air as it was passed on without stopping. More memorable still was the walking activity. Yes, walking. As we took ownership of the space at different walking paces we had to stop randomly and hope for telepathy with the class before restarting, again hopefully in unison. When that did happen, we were overcome with an oooh feeling.

We called it frisson. 

And that was when I learnt that the best on-stage reactions came not from well-scripted lines or even flawless acting, but these genuine ooh's and aah's that transpire between actors.