Focus, Focus!!

"I don't know what the heck happened...!" I spluttered after the first botched take of Sarah Skinner's Little Mermaid, for the Venus Uprising DVD of their latest show, Objects of Desire.

Cast as the Sea Witch, it was my job to figure out how to convey the following in about 20 seconds of stage time:

(1) The Little Mermaid has fallen in love with a shipwrecked prince, whom she has rescued and wants to trade her tail in for legs.



(2) She asks the Sea Witch, yours truly, for legs -- but the Witch demands a price. She offers her jewels and hair, but I grab her voice instead.



(3) Then, how to de-tail her (mmmm ... sushi!!).... Sarah, an expert seamstress, created a skirt with a mid-length side zipper. Armed with a scary (and real) knife, I appear to jab the blade into her side, then grab a cord looped into the zipper's pull tab with my thumb, and yank the zipper and knife down so it seems that the blade is raking through her body. (You can see the hilt of it in her side, here:)



Needless to say, I was worried through the dress rehearsal and each performance that something would go wrong with the zipper or knife.

Thankfully, all went smoothly -- until the filming.

Earlier that afternoon, I had been talking with a dancer in another number about my segment. She remarked, "The stuff with the knife looks very scary and real!"

"That's good to hear," I explained, "Because it's hard to grab the zipper and keep the blade straight."

"Well, actually," she said, "You can't see the blade at all because your other sleeve covers it."

This was sort of good news, but I was a little disappointed to hear all my struggles with this prop weren't making much difference.

And this weighed on my mind straight into the filming.

At the moment I "jabbed" the knife into her side, my eyes darted for a half-second to my sleeve. Was it covering? No? Yes? Maybe? I hooked my thumb into the zipper's cord and pulled down.

And it jammed. I fumbled with the knife, nearly dropping it. I yanked the cord again but still couldn't unzip it. Sarah looked down, frustrated, and ripped the zipper open herself.

I felt like crap.

I apologized profusely -- but it turned out part of the frame was blocked so we were going to have to do another take anyway.

"I don't know what happened..." I bleated... But of course I knew exactly what went wrong. Focus, focus!! It is everything in live performance. It's important in filming, too, but less so...

And maybe it was because we had all been so perfectly focused during the mishap-free live run, that we simply had to let up a bit.

Ultimately, we did about four takes because each time SOMETHING went wrong with a prop (other than mine... :-> ) or costume piece.

So yeah, I felt bad -- but not all that bad!

And I re-learned a good lesson: Focus, focus, focus!

Blogging Badawiyat and Beyond

Oh the pain!!!

Don't get me wrong, though -- the performance at P.S. 122 went well -- really well -- so much so that the good people at LaMama have asked the Collective for a reprise at their space in May.

BUT... I suppose there is always a tinge of bad with the good.

I haven't seen the video yet, but as far as I could tell, we started off fine... all in synch and in stoic Bedouin character.

And then came the veils.

Let me tell you a little about the veils......

Now, these are beautiful veils, and a huge part of Dalia's vision for the piece, as we sweep from a stoic debke line into the piece's sandstorm climax.

As you might expect, they are a deep, sandy gold, made of heavy poly-silk, which drapes beautifully and glows in stagelight.

And they are long. Long, long long. Mine was the longest, at over 4 yards. The shortest was just under 3.5 yards.

We start sans veils -- very stern, lean and mean.

About two minutes in, the group of eight splits, with my half exiting as the others hip-twist forward.

My group returns, ritualistically draped in our veils (sorry, I can't show you a pic of that here... these photos are from the DNA performance in October '07).

Anyway. We cross forward and split to the four corners of the stage.

Now, bear in mind, it looks like the veils are draped very simply over us, so we look like a bunch of sandy ghosts, but in fact they are slyly tucked into the backs of our dance pants so at the right cue -- woosh!

The veils go up, forming a sail behind us. This looks especially nice when you spin.

So, while I'm there spinning my little head off, I feel something at my feet. Of course I can't look down. But I feel a tug at the veil in my hand.

Ack!

During the first cross, my veil came untucked from my pants and was dragging on the floor behind me, completely ruining the effect of the sail!!

And what killed me was that, in all the rehearsals and performances, I have never had a problem with my veil. In fact, I think this whole sail-veil thing may have been my idea!

So my pertard was firmly hoist (and, no, a petard is not a sail or other nautical device... it's actually a bomb -- no kidding!).

But I didn't look down, and I didn't trip. I just went on as normal for the minute or so that the section lasted, and then leaned waaaaaaay back, as far as I could, so Yowalka could grab the veil -- as planned -- with a spectacular flourish.

Beautiful, huh?

Anyway. The people I spoke to after the show said it looked all right. It helped that I kept on going, which is the most you can expect from anyone in a prop/wardrobe malfunction situation.

And sometimes it is exactly the malfunction that shows just how professional you can be.

Feeling my pain, a friend sent me this hysterical clip of the unforgettable Anita Morris. Keep your eyes on her little skirt -- especially around 2:41.

Yes, she was a goddess -- and a great inspiration to us all!!!