Full Moon Cartoon: Surreal Apocalypse

If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll know that I did a scene in my stage combat class playing a very strange fellow, Lenny, from a play called Marisol.

A very talented cartoonist, Brian Douglas, was tickled by what he saw, and, unsolicited, he made a cartoon from the first few minutes of the scene, dubbing in the actors’ voices. The sound quality is a little off, because of the sound quality of the original cellphone video, but I think you’ll be very entertained at Brian’s animated interpretation. He really captures the lunacy of it all in a short two minutes.

You can compare with the original scene here.

Maybe if we ask nicely, he’ll come up with Part Two . . .

It’s Outta My Hands


Yesterday, I started sending out my novel for feedback from a few readers. They are all writers with a sensibility similar to myself. They are the first to be reading it. I was enjoying making this past round of revisions, but as soon as I let the manuscript go, I had all kinds of misgivings. The bowling ball is halfway down the alley, and I can’t bear to see where it will end up. No amount of body English is going to make it roll more true. It’s in the mail, and my back is turned.

So funny how other people’s opinions are so important to me, no matter how much I try to be strong. Feedback is just feedback, I tell myself. It has nothing to do with my self-worth as a writer or human being.

Tell it to the judge.

Yeah–he’s right here.

Are Your Lessons Done?

I’m going to talk about something that I don’t think I am able to talk about directly. So let me tell some stories.

When I was in college, I had a very strange and seminal experience with my acting teacher.  During his office hours, I asked him an acting question. He told me to stop and try an exercise. He told me to focus my attention on exactly what I could sense with my senses, one by one, at that moment.  And as I did so, I sensed his aura grew stronger and stronger. My teacher was a short heavy African-American man. From the cloud of that aura, he transformed into a tall, thin, Russian man, who I recognized as Stanislavski.

I was not under the influence of any drugs at the time.

I was somewhat alarmed and told my teacher why; he was calm, and said, just remember what brought you to this place.

Sometime later, I performed a scene in his class, and as was his custom, after the scene was over, he said to me and my scene partner, “What were you working for, and how did it go?” I forget what the scene was, but it was always a little nerve-wracking to have to speak about my work, and I muttered something. Then he pointed to my foot which was jiggling up and down. “When,” he asked, “will we see that in your acting?”

From a different field: magicians have a way of shuffling a deck of cards that they call a faro shuffle. I’m not going to go into why magicians like to shuffle this way, but suffice it to say that there are certain properties of the shuffle that are inherently useful to a card magician.

Now the faro shuffle is not simple to acquire. For better or for worse, once you can faro shuffle, you generally are not considered a beginner at cards anymore. You can read a number of descriptions in the magic literature about learning this shuffle; how to place each finger, what the action of the left pinky and right forefinger are, how to adjust for the varying qualities of card stock and brands, and so on. But one thing almost all the books agree on is this: the way to learn how to do the faro is to find someone who already knows how to do it. Then you ask them to teach you.

American actors classify themselves into the Strasberg, Adler, Meisner, or Spolin camps. Magicians trace their lineage to Vernon or Marlo.

There is the written law, and there is the oral tradition. Furthermore, every religion has its exoteric and the esoteric traditions. Actors and magicians too.

Another time, I did a scene where I played a character who uses racist language. Afterwards, my teacher asked me to take a moment, and think back to when I–not the character–first saw my first Black person. My thoughts raced back to my childhood. He looked at me for a few seconds: “That.” My mind jumped at the indication. How did he know I was thinking that, then?

What book? What text? How is it preserved? What, exactly, is transmitted? Can the thread be lost? How far from me to you?