I
had not watched a single English play in my growing up years. As a student of Bharatanatyam, I was in every form of dance that ever was performed in school
and college, hence had nothing to do with plays or skits. I really hated the
dancer tag for this reason, because I never felt included in the main show
where most of the girls participated and bonded over rehearsals after school
hours. And all I had to do was practice at home with my dance teacher and carry
a taped version of my item to the show. Sometimes the song started too soon -
even before I took my position on stage and at other times I froze in a pose
and the tape refused to play! Worse, the tape would get ‘stuck’ midway through
the number and I had to repeat from the beginning. Who knew about tech rehearsal and sound check?
I was lucky if the song synced with my dance, for God’s sake!
In
Chennai I watched English plays, mostly by Madras Players and English theatre
as they call it, began to grow on me. I think it is an acquired taste, much
like any classical art form that calls for a certain sensibility and
understanding. Good theatre is devoid of frills and leaves a lot to the
imagination of the viewer - no ostentatious sets, elaborate costumes or foot-
tapping music. I watched many plays in Museum theatre – a hallowed venue for
English plays in Chennai. The ancient heritage building, (so poorly lit that
one could miss it for the first time) with its unique stage and circular
seating arrangement lends itself to the niche audience that patronises English
theatre. No loud banners or crowded canteens; people walk in discreetly and
watch silently; even laughter is never raucous- rather muffled and applause is
hard earned. I always marveled at the memory of actors when they reeled off
pages of dialogue in an alien language as if they grew up learning them. I
wondered if they felt any stage fear at all? What if they suddenly had cold
feet and did not appear in their scene when they had to? How can they perform
with so many eyes glued to them, listening to every word they uttered?
I
have acted in a few plays and skits performed at the Gymkhana club and my own
Rotary Club, but they aren’t worth counting as ‘experience’, as the audience
were mostly indulgent members who are happy to cheer for a known friend
attempting to be versatile. The closest I got to knowing how those big plays
were produced was when I acted in a short play directed by Yamuna – a big name
in Chennai theatre. Yamuna was a perfectionist, a tough task master with an eye
for detail and a stickler for correct diction and pronunciation.
Sometime in 2013, I got a call from a young
actor/ director Abhinav Suresh of Crea Shakthi - the youngest theatre group in
Chennai. He offered me a role in the next Madras Players’ production which he
was slated to direct. The other actors were seasoned by years of experience and
I was the ‘new face’ of the production. Imagine my thrill, trepidation,
diffidence, nervousness, disbelief and what not! I agreed without much ado as I
am prone to plunge into new ventures with gay abandon. I may never emerge
richer or more successful than from where I began, but I always think it is
worth the experience.
Theatre
lingo is so unique. Actors first are summoned for a ‘reading’ of the script –
each of us reads our parts. Then ‘we get
our lines in’ – simply means we memorise
our dialogues. We watch out for our ‘cues’ – the last line of one actor that
triggers the first line of another actor, which is why we should be familiar
with everyone else’s lines as well. Then the Director ‘blocks’ our scene – we go on the floor and decide where we stand,
sit, walk and talk our lines. That done, we familiarize ourselves with ‘props’
– the properties that each actor carries with him or uses on stage that are
crucial for the play. And we rehearse and rehearse – at first just our scenes
individually and closer to the play we have ‘run throughs’ – when the entire
play is rehearsed in real sequence and time. Closer to the show, we have
costume rehearsals and one or more ‘tech rehearsals’ – we practice on the stage
with sets, lights and sound. We are urged to ‘project’ – throw our voice and
speak loudly so that the old deaf woman in the last row of the auditorium can
hear us! And oh, in case you didn’t know, English theatre shuns microphones and
actors who cannot be heard have no business to be on stage.
It sounds like a lot of work, yes. Most
certainly for the director, who has the formidable task of breathing life into
the playwright’s story, bringing to it his own vision and creativity. The
‘back-stage crew’ takes care of the props, moving furniture in between scenes
and the like.
The
cast in a play come from different walks of life and are usually in varying age
groups. From being near strangers in the first reading, till the play goes on
stage for the first time, the cast morphs into a lovely family, having bonded
over rehearsals and photo shoots for hours on end. We are taught to trust each
other and work as a team with the common goal of giving the audience a smashing
show. By the end of four intense weeks of rehearsals, we know every actor’s
lines well enough to ‘prompt’ when one of us fumbles or misses a word. Each
move on stage is carefully choreographed to appear more natural and less contrived.
The first show of my first play I remember
feeling numb with excitement and going suddenly blank. The thought that I would
go on stage in a few minutes to perform before an audience that has paid to
watch me among others, was unnerving – to say the least. A bundle of nerves, I
prayed fervently, grabbed my script, scrolled my lines one last time and peeped
out of the wings to catch a glimpse of the crowd that seemed like a big black
blurred sea of heads. What am I doing? How will I pull it off? My co actor was
a picture of confidence and composure and that certainly didn’t help!
When it was time to enter, I just walked in
with fake confidence. In a second I felt swathed in yellow light and the
thought that I was in sharp focus before hundreds of eyes was exhilarating. I
spoke my lines, rather threw my voice earnestly, and it almost felt like
someone else’s. Then on, everything just flowed beautifully. I did not forget
my lines as I feared; I actually forgot I was performing. I didn’t care who was
watching or what they were thinking although I could vaguely see a few familiar
faces in the front rows. Nothing mattered anymore. Just that this wonderful
craft had enthralled millions of enthusiasts for ages and I was a miniscule
part of it.
I
worked with the legendary Mahesh Dattani this year. From him I learnt that actors should always be truthful to their
character and never play to the gallery; to carry the intent of the character
in every word of our line; to form our vowels well and ‘hit’ the consonants; to
be completely professional and focused in our roles; to trust and be trust-
worthy; to give to other actors and be willing to receive; to work as a team
and keep the spirit up; to never lose track of our immediate objective and
super-objective; to tune into the energy of the play and other actors; to be
open to feed-back and yet not be swayed by it; to know that the play is larger
than any one actor and no actor is less important than the protagonist; to be
truthful to the playwright’s vision.
To
someone who thought acting in a play was all about delivering one’s dialogues
at the right time with emotion, just these two plays have taught invaluable
lessons that I could never have imbibed otherwise. Theatre is not a
money-spinner unlike movies. But it is rewarding each time a play is staged in
myriad ways as no two performances are alike, no matter how many times one does
it. And when the play touches a chord even with one person in the audience, it
has been well worth it.
Once
the shows are done, a sense of emptiness engulfs the actors as if everything
has come to a screeching halt. We miss rehearsals, the excitement and euphoria
of performances and of course, each other too! Until the next one…
