Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Memorizing is hard.

It's hard to memorize a one-person show.

You'd think that would be a no-brainer, right?

Duh, Kendra. Anyone could've told you that.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it's hard. And I don't just mean time-consuming, though it certainly is that, too. But it's hard.

I read recently, and I think I might believe, that all memory, on the basest level, is association. We use a "macro" form of association as a memory trick, at times. For example, if you learned to play the piano at any point, you may have learned the phrase "Every Good Boy Does Fine" in order to memorize the treble clef--each letter associates with each word in the phrase.

In the 32-page monologue that is My Name is Rachel Corrie, the association occurs in that her thoughts all have a sequence. Example: she talks about wanting to do right by the town she grew up in, which makes her think of her mother, which then makes her remember to call her mother, which then leads her to talk to the audience about her mother, which then leads her to talk about her father, and you get the picture. These thoughts are all associated with each other, which makes them easier to remember. If there is an order to the words themselves within the different thoughts--if they make sense, being together--then they are easier to remember.

It's when the beats don't seem to have any clear connection that the memorizing gets hard. I'll blank, all of a sudden--have absolutely no idea which line comes next. And, unlike "normal" plays, I will have no one up onstage with me to help bail me out if I get stuck. Not, of course, that any actor should rely on another actor to "bail them out," but you at least have the comfort of knowing that someone else is also responsible for carrying the story along with you.

Memorizing lines in a dialogue is also typically easier because, in a conversation, what you say (usually) triggers a logical response in someone else, which then triggers another logical response in you. There's a pattern and and a logic to it. With an enormous monologue like this, there are no cues but my own to trigger my memory.

So the trick, then, is to create my own associations for the lines where there are none already apparent in my head.
For example, the following lines:
Studying the history of this area roots me. We've certainly waded in the same water and wandered on the same beaches as very brave people. It makes bravery seem more possible. We can look at that history and decide which side we want to be on now, how we are willing to fight. We are not outside.  
Over a thousand people are still, as far as I can tell, being held somewhere in the United States, and it's unclear why.
That break in between those lines was difficult for me for a while. I could never remember what came after "We are not outside." Then (and I don't think it was ever really a conscious thing), I started remembering the next few words--"Over a thousand"--because of the "o" in over and the "ou" in thousand. I associated them with the "ou" in outside.

Now, this seems simple, and you wouldn't think this would be such a difficult process. But when you have to intentionally create four or five intentional associations per page of text (and sometimes more), it gets tedious and difficult.

That was a lot of detail about my memorization process.

Right now I'm almost halfway through. I have almost fourteen pages of thirty-two memorized.

And, it seems like, eons still to go.

But. I know I'll get there.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Caveat

In light of the fact that I have to keep a blog specifically for my summer internship, I just wanted to warn everyone that the deeper thoughts and philosophical-theological-aesthetic musings that are the usual fare of Thespian MK may dry up for a while. Not that I'm planning on abandoning Thespian MK for the summer necessarily--I may very well be doing plenty of musing and posting. But most of my blogging attentions will refocus on My Shakespearean Life - just a hop, skip and a jump next door. In fact, it's kind of a themed continuation of Thespian MK, and so I will link to the posts as they come into existence. And, come the end of the summer, I'll be back. Oh. I'll be back.

Friday, June 1, 2012

When euphemisms don't cut it

I'm going back in time a little today--I hadn't written about this and, for some reason, it was on my mind.

One of my very first posts, titled "Umbrella-less," talked about my attempts to get some of my fellow Communication majors excited about CinemaCom, a film colloquium for IWU Comm majors that was held over the course of this past semester. Sadly, my attempts rather failed, and CinemaCom has been discontinued after this one-semester experiment.

But! That's not to say that CinemaCom was a waste of time or effort. It was educating, entertaining, and enlightening for the couple of faithful followers who continued to attend week after week, and also for those of us who weren't there every week but sure tried. 

The last film on the schedule was Schindler's List, directed by Steven Spielberg. I'd seen it once before, and it was just as devastating the second time. The typical post-movie discussion was rather more brief than usual, and there were tears all around as we filtered out of Elder Hall at around 12:30 or 1:00 a.m. 

A certain individual, who shall remain nameless, walked with me for a bit. I could tell he was distressed--the movie seemed to have impacted him profoundly. He was shaking and crying and had to sit down on a bench after walking only several yards. I sat down next to him, leaking tears myself--the kind you just can't seem to shut off. He tends to be a bit of a rambler; I confess that I will sometimes tune out when he talks to me. He was certainly rambling that night, very emotionally, and seemed just the littlest bit more unhinged than usual. After a few moments, however, he fell silent. He swallowed, turned to me, and, rocking ever so slightly, his voice thick with emotion, he said, "Damn it. Damn it all! Damn it all to hell!

At first I was taken aback. I don't know that I had heard him swear before, and certainly never with quite that much vehemence. And then, after a nanosecond of surprise, I choked on a single sad, teary laugh. And I answered him, quite literally, "Yeah. Damn it all to hell."

The cruelty, monstrosities, hatred, despair, and evil.

Damn it all to hell.