Snapshots from Green Victoria (tedwords) wrote,
Snapshots from Green Victoria

Confessions of a Father Confessor

Okay, okay, I get it. In some bizarre way, a director is kind of like a father confessor figure. Someone you expect to provide guidance. Instruction, at the very least. Someone to help an actor take those first awkward steps until he or she is able to walk on their own and in the end command the stage, or at least, their own little corner of it.

Still, I think that the cast that I'm working with right now is taking things a little too seriously, and sharing with me information that I have absolutely no need for, or even desire to know. Take, for example, the email that I received last night, from someone who WASN'T EVEN SCHEDULED TO SHOW UP FOR REHEARSAL THAT NIGHT.

Hi Ted: I have to take an enema on Thursday nite, April 5th. You didn't have me down for the rehearsal that nite so I figured it was OK to get everything out of my system that day. I believe you are blocking other actors (not me) that nite.   

I mean, does he really need my permission to take an enema? Was I going to schedule him for a last minute emergency rehearsal involving squat thrusts and splits? Is there absolutely any reason I need to know about his need to get everything out of his system? And most importantly, did he really have to use the word "blocking" in connection with his other fellow actors?

If that was the only email, perhaps I'd just be amused and leave it at that. But consider this email from last week.

Ted, Just wanted to let you know that I can't do next Monday 'cause, between you and I, I'm getting my balls snipped and will be recovering.

Again, he wasn't on the schedule for that Monday. But, whatever. I wrote back to him and said simply: "Ouch."

To which he replied:

F'n' OUCH. Ya know, men go their whole lives avoiding two things.  The rain and even a slight glance of their balls. So I say, when you get caught in the rain, celebrate it. Do your best Gene Kelly and go for it. But your balls? Man, not only am I voluntarily going in, but they are going to stick my sack with a needle, dissect it, pull out the vas, clamp it in TWO places, burn the section out in between the clamps, RE-clam the sections with titanium and then, for the coup de grace, they're gonna point those ends deep and opposite directions so never the twain shall meet again!

I mean, it's very well written, you have to admit. It made me laugh, and you know how I like to laugh. But this, coupled with my enema story from last night? And this level of details about his poor nutsack? What's next, vaginal leakage? Anal warts?

I really am happy I have such a close knit case that clearly feels they can lay it all out with me. But sometimes...maybe they don't need to lay all of their cards on the table. You know what I mean?
Tags: theater
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