Nixon’s the One

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a political post. I’ll try for the most part to keep politics out of this blog, because otherwise like kudzu the blog would be overrun with nothing but political posts. This post is about acting.

Harry Shearer has a new YouTube series called Nixon’s the One where he plays Richard Nixon. It’s a six-part series and a new episode comes out every Tuesday. All dialogue is verbatim from the White House recording system that Nixon had secretly installed in the Oval Office. See Harryshearer.com for episodes and some terrific acting by a largely British cast that includes Shakespearean actor Henry Goodman as the manipulative and lugubrious Henry Kissinger.

Shearer held a live event last week promoting the show and he said a fascinating thing about acting. In a Q&A I asked him how he approached the part of Richard Nixon. He replied that he was basically an outside-in actor–he was very concerned about a person’s physicality, movements and so on. And then he said something I don’t think I’ve ever heard any actor say before, or read in any acting text, but I thought was very interesting. When imitating a real-life person, he said, it helps to figure out who that person was imitating. In other words, who were Nixon’s body influences, perhaps unconsciously? And after a while it came to Shearer. Although Nixon’s words were very macho: “Strength,” “Hard,” “Manly,” his physical movements were sometimes more feminine–especially when he loosened up a bit. So in one scene, Kissinger comes to visit Nixon in the Oval Office late in the evening and Nixon is pretty tipsy and feeling good. And Shearer said, he finally realized who the two people were that Nixon was channeling at that moment physically.

Would you like to take a guess? Spoiler below.

The relevant scene is here if you’d like to look before you guess:

*Spoiler:

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Shearer felt what helped him nail Nixon were the movements of Jack Benny and Bob Hope!

Poem: Surveillance

I don’t write much poetry, but here’s one that might be timely:

Surveillance (For Edward Snowden)

Just which secret do you want to know?
That I slept with my cousin the year everyone was 28?
That my grey suitcase was the one I stole from your bedroom?
That I didn’t love you?
That the secret ingredient was sugar?
That I walked behind couples so that I
Could know what one person says to another?
That I read your diary, that I used your brush,
That I peeked through the door, that I forged your name?
That I forgot to wear a green tie on assembly day?

That I wanted you to fail
That I made fun of a fat woman who took up two
Seats in the bus.
That I dropped out of school,
That I graded the essays without reading them.

Was it you who saw
Me rolling down the grass of Parliament Hill
Hugging myself?
Was it you who saw
Me sitting cross-legged on the floor of the
Elevator as the doors opened?

Was it you who saw
That I didn’t clean the corner by the radiator
Or the wet stains on the sheets and headboard?
You who saw
That I can’t get up this morning and
That the next cookie
Has to last
Until the next commercial?

Did you record
the sounds of the three of us in bed?
Did you capture
the joy in my heart while I was
Humming “My Favorite Things”?
Did you analyze
the underline I put under the word
“Beautiful” when I emailed my sister?
Did you scan
where I put the line
Break in my last poem?
Did you scrutinize
the timbre of my voice when I
Said “Perfect” ?
Did you observe that I wrote “resumé” instead of “resume”?

Do you have any idea that by “flower” I mean the
Rhododendrons by Highway 117 which yesterday
Turned from red to blue?

Come, sit down.
I’ll tell you everything.
You can be
In a poem.

On Keeping Secrets

Disillusionment.

The illusionist magician lives in a perpetual state of disillusionment. The magician knows how it is done. There are no secrets anymore. The magician can no longer feel what it is to experience the impossible. Every soap bubble once floating in the air has become nothing more than a wet stain on the ground.

Every magician has experienced the emotional upset of those who beg to know how the trick is done. If the magician relents, and gives up the secret, rather than being greeted with thanks, the magician is met with hidden and not-so-hidden resentment.

The spectators know, rationally, that there is no such thing as impossible, that there has to be a thread or a gimmick or a gaff, but they were hoping for something more romantic, something less pedestrian.  They start to feel stupid and angry that they could be fooled by pieces of tin foil. They wanted the Wizard of Oz but instead got the huffing man in a tattered suit pulling levers behind the curtain. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!”—but it is too late, the feeling of impossible has burst.

So magicians strive to keep our audiences in that state where they can hold onto a feeling that they rarely get to experience: the wonder of the impossible. It would be cruel to take that away. We are not trying to change anyone’s belief system, but to provide the experience of a feeling that is in short supply.

But what of the magician? Magicians as a group can be cynical, knowing how easy it is to fool the human mind and our senses. We are anesthetized, we can no longer feel in the same way as our audiences. If our approach to magic is only to prove our power, superiority, and cleverness over our audiences, then we will be trapped in a loveless relationship.

The only way out of the dilemma is to acknowledge that our goal as magicians is to  provide the feeling of the impossible to our audiences, and that in return we are dependent upon them for our feeling. Our job is to fan their spark into a fire, so that in feeling the audience’s glow, we magicians may share in the warmth of that fire.

We give a gift, and our pleasure—and salvation—is watching theirs. In that, the audience gives their gift to us, and we are thankful to them.

(With thanks to magician Simon Aronson for first exploring this topic of Disillusionment.)

Welcome!

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Hi, welcome to the new blog. Here, I’ll be posting my thoughts about writing, theatre, life, and the art of magic. It will also include some of the occasional photos I’ve taken.  I hope you enjoy it.

Above is picture of a lotus I took a few weeks ago at the fabulous Longwood Gardens in Pennsylvania. It’s enough to keep me going for the next month.