Real life lying vs. theatre truth

I’m supposed to be working right now. It's 3:05pm on a Wednesday. I’m sitting at my desk at my day job office, but I have my notebook with all my Trickster notes open as well as two scripts for auditions I have coming up in the next few days splayed out across the estimates I’m putting together for my clients. I work for a graphic design company. I should be doing graphic design related things right now. But I’m not. I’m working on scripts, thinking about Coyote, and writing this blog. I don’t have ADD, but I AM impulsive, and when I have an impulse to do something (or in this case, not do something), I do it.

One of the many things I’ve always loved about getting to the theatre for rehearsal at night is the fact that in many ways it’s easier than “real life.” Real life: meaning day jobs and meetings and quotes and clients and deadlines and bottomless cups of coffee to get through it all. That’s hard. In that world, you have to lie. A LOT. I hate that. In addition to being quite impulsive, I’m honest. I can’t lie. It makes me feel like a scumbag. I find that I have to lie about things on a regular basis at my day job. A print project gets produced wrong, and we have to figure out a good lie to give our client to explain it, versus just saying, “We screwed up. Sorry. We’ll fix it.” That doesn’t always fly in the business world. Often I have the impulse to tell clients how ridiculous they’re being and to fuck off. But I can’t. That’s rude. That’s against the rules of “decent society.” Why? Because it’s impulsive. We’re always supposed to think things through and weigh the pros and cons of everything we say. Ugh. It makes me nauseous, and what’s more, it’s exhausting. Following an impulse and telling the truth is so much easier.

Actors are trained, taught, told, reminded to remain, told it’s safe to be, and yelled at for not being completely open, honest, impulsive and vulnerable. I don’t have to lie. That’s always been easy for me. In the theatre, I can be as open and honest and impulsive as I want, and not only it’s alright, IT’S ENCOURAGED AND APPLAUDED!

Coyote’s journey in Trickster is simple, but not easy. Coyote’s task is to rid the world of monsters. Simple. However, it’s not easy from either the character’s or actor’s perspective. The character essentially must deal with the weight of the world on his shoulders. If the world goes completely awry, it’s pretty much my (Coyote’s) fault. How’s that for some pressure? In addition, the actor must deal with and embody all elements of this complex animal, this complex animal’s personality, and this animal’s movement and physicality. I can’t play at the Coyote’s physicality. I have to be the physicality; own the physicality. It must be me. Onstage, Scott has to rid the world of monsters. Onstage, Scott must face the consequences of not completing his task. Once all of this has been absorbed into my brain, it must then be forgotten. In this world, there is no use for a plan, for step B in any plan is as likely to get dashed to bits as step Z is. All of the characters who exist in this fractured, desolate world certainly do have goals, but they have no idea how to achieve them; how to get from point A to Z. And therein is where the beauty of this story lies. How do they get there? What impulsive choices are made to get from point A to B, and then B to C, and so on…. What’s at stake by acquiring or not acquiring what you seek; what you yearn for? Everything exists from moment to moment to moment, and most of the time all there is to guide and protect you is your impulses, your reaction to each moment, in the moment. Coyote must bring equilibrium and peace back to this world. That’s a pretty daunting task, but when broken up into a series of high-stakes moments, it seems a little easier to swallow. No lies, only truth. No thinking, only impulses. Seems easy enough, right?