Yesterday I starred in a Commedia Del’Arte show up in the
Bronx. For the past several years, I have done this show and have been a part
of this troupe. We have some normal staples, a guy by the name of Franz, a
fellow puppeteer who lives in my neighborhood, and Audrey, a Goucher College
grad who has studied commedia in Italy. Lest we not forget Carlotta, an Italian
import from Venice who is also a professional opera singer. Additionally, our
director Jenny, a native from South Africa, has a way of placing people in
various slots. These days she teaches mask, commedia, theatre, and movement at
the college level.
This year we had some newbies. We had Jake, a senior in his
final year at Hampshire. Then there was Lacy, a young woman who recently
completed an MFA in Physical Theatre and Clowning. Add in two students on
holiday from England that attend a circus school wanting to hone their chops,
Max and Clarice. Either way, as we all dawned clown white, put on our masks,
and got into costume, we were itching and ready for show time.
Like the commedia
performers of old, we are always out in the square, mingling with the people.
In this case, we are performing for an Italian Heritage Festival called
Ferragusto in the Bronx. It has taken place the first weekend in September for
the last 15 years. The place is inundated with the smell of food from various
vendors, crafts, opera music and Sinatra tunes playing interchangeably, along
with the status of Mary having dollar bills clipped to her. There is a part of
me that laughs, because it is as if Jesus’s mama is a gogo dancer with all that
money being put on her. Nonetheless, as the people go from activity to
activity, they bring their loved ones and children, who have toy guns and
poppers. It’s the way Arthur Avenue celebrates the ending of summer, warm
weather, and welcomes the impending season change. Lovers walk arm and arm, and
children run along with knees scuffed from summer play, but yes, this scene
shall soon change.
As we the commedia company make our way into the festival,
we are usually greeted by a mostly Italian American public. Commedia is the
oldest form of theatre, and the stock characters have inspired not only the
Shakespeare archetypes but the characters we see in the movies today. There is
the Prince and Princess aka the Lovers. Of course there is the Evil Doctor who
wants to marry the Princess and is betrothed by the Drunken Father. Add in the
servants, with the Prince’s foolish servant, the Princesses foolish maid, and
the head maid who was our director and is actually the wisest out of the fools
aka the one who is the smartest of them all. I myself was El Capitano, the official
who is a bumbling idiot but is also insightful at times. He is the man’s man,
bragging about his adventures at sea, and how tough he is. El Capitano also is
a ladies man.
However, when it comes to an actual fight he backs away if not
outright loses. Basically, he is all talk.
I am El Captiano in case you are wondering. Yes, April
Brucker is the manliest of all men. Translated, I was dressing in drag, doing a
little genderqueering. My captain’s name is El Capitano Maximo Mucho. His bragging
right is being so touch when a nail saw him it said ouch. Or when a great white
saw him, it swam away. He also apparently defeated an army of zombies with his
bare hands, and while he was at it defeated his foe, has his face in a bag, and
carries it around.
As a troupe, instantly the people take to us in an adoring
way. Immediately the cameras come out, and the photos are being snapped. The
festival goers, some which have been drinking from the second they were allowed
in, get into it. They talk to us and they dance with us. Heck, I got to dance
with some beautiful women. I can sense my straight male friends getting a tad jealous.
(Come on, you know you are).
The day with me in drag started out kind of interesting.
Right off the bat, my opening line was to Miss Italia. I told her she was a
beautiful princess, and her eyes were like oceans. Right away, Miss Italia knew
I was a woman. A girl’s girl, she had a French manicure and looked like she
never got dirty, even if it was to kill a spider. The idea of anything remotely
Sapphic, intentional or not, threw her for a loop. However, she was a good
sport about it. Despite the effort to deepen my voice and act all macho, I
could not hide my XX Chromosome. Miss Italia said diplomatically, “You are a
great actress.”
Sure, it was out of her comfort zone. Miss Italia wasn’t mean
about it, she just didn’t swing that way. Neither did the other women for the
most part, but they were more developed into their skin. Many went along with
it, and as I mentioned I danced with a few of them. Others loved my pick up
lines that I used, promising to take them away and take them no where. I also
promised to let them ride on my steed to my ship on Arthur Avenue, and we could
sail off forever. Most of the women got a kick out of this. As women, we have
all heard these tired assed lines. This is where being a female came in for me.
Others remarked my nose was growing from all the lies I told. I tried to hide
my laughter under the mask. It was true. I told them I didn’t use those lines
on everyone, only every third woman. They thought that was funny.
It made me realize on one hand, if I came back in the next
life and could enjoy the benefits of being part of the upper hand of the
patriarchy, perhaps it wouldn’t be that hard to be a man. On the other hand,
maybe I was simplifying gender roles too much. Approaching women is scary. Plus
there is pressure to have swagger and be a bad ass. This is why so many dudes
run their mouths about bullshit because they buy into that gender role bullshit.
Maybe masculinity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
The guys didn’t protest my gender and went along with it.
They actually had a great sense of humor as I tried my darnest to be the best
man I could be. They freely let El Capitano hit on their women with no
objection, probably because I was not a viable threat physically. Not to
mention I am somewhat effeminate because I am a cisgender female. Plus in their
gut I also probably evoked the memory of some dude from the block, always
running his mouth about the latest dude his beat up or the latest woman he
banged. Truth, the rest of the guys were intimidated until they saw him get
pummeled or they saw a line of girls just reject him like a person with
horrendous credit applying for a Master Card. Others honked me on my snozz. Or
then there were those who pretended to be scared by my Nerf sword I carried as
a part of my faux swashbuckler motif.
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| A swashbuckler, her sword, and a fierce hobby horse |
The first half of the day, in the midst of playing with
patrons, we got ready for our ultimate plot line, the wedding. Yes, the Prince
and the Princess wanted to get married but the Princess was to marry the evil
doctor. What was going to happen? The first half of the performance I felt
alright, but I also felt like I was pushing for the laugh. It is a force of
habit. As a standup comedian and singing telegram delivery person, I am used to
being the one and only. For years, I have not been a true ensemble performer. I
gravitated towards standup because if I fail, it’s on me. Then the singing
telegrams, well again, if I fail it’s on me. The writing, if you hate this
blog, that’s on me too.
I remember required devised ensemble work in college, and
how sometimes it worked out and sometimes I just felt like there was dead air
and I always had to fill it. I had an acting teacher, a Broadway veteran, once
scold me that I was so busy going for the laugh that I totally missed the point
of acting: listening and the truth. Still, I was always a problem child,
especially in improv. I was high energy, and everyone else was a fearful dead
weight. Another part of it is I am a bratty, annoying middle child scared I
will not get my moment. Either way, there are some former cast mates that don’t
like me so much. Then again, when we are live and you missed three crucial
lines and are bumbling like a fool, one does need to keep the audience
occupied, asshole. Look at me excusing my shiteous, ego driven behavior.
I have always historically swung big. For the first half, I
repeated history, challenging patrons to duels. One kid even tried to defeat me
with a mock ray gun. We joked that he had a weapon from the future and knighted
the young three year old squire. However, all the mock dueling was making me
get mad wardrobe malfunctions worse than Janet Jackson at any Super Bowl. As I
continued my huge bush strokes and my hat and wig falling off, something
magical happened, my fellow actors came to my rescue.
Jake from Hampshire, a servant, used it as a part of his
character to help me with my various clothing drama. Max the Prince also used
it in his script, making me straighten out my hat and other things. Jenny, our
maid/director, stepped in to help as well. There was no judgment or criticism.
It was only working together as a unit. At that moment, the magic began. In the
truest sense, an ensemble is like a platoon, you need to have each other’s
backs because a live show can be like a battle. I felt like I could trust my
fellow actors. In the world of the New York Theatre, where everyone in the room
can act, write, sing, dance, and is as good if not better than you are, they
all want to role and will push you into traffic to get it. It’s get the break
or be broken. Ego and fear of failure rule the roost. Selfless actors are as
rare as a black pearl. Yet right here I had them. The diva bone in my body
began to relax, and I began to feel out my ensemble. That is when the true fun
began.
I was no longer in my head, and didn’t try to hide my
femininity. For better or for worse, I am a woman. It is something I have had
to pay for as an artist and as an intellectual. Yet it is also a part of my
fabric. So instead of denying it, I began to work it in. Whenever someone used
the she pronoun or questioned my masculinity, I fired back by saying, “I am so
manly that no one has ever called me a woman!!!” This line always got a massive
laugh. That way I wasn’t denying their claims, only making a joke. Plus it was
the obvious and no one’s intelligence was insulted. It was all fun.
As I relaxed, so did my fellow commedia players. They began
to back my outrageous claims. In turn, I began to back them as well. As we
connected, I hoped this spark would continue as we took our lunch breaks.
The second half of the day was absolutely magical. While the
first half of the day was spent feeling each other out, I felt we listened and
were present in a way that is utterly in the moment and amazing. Jenny gave
Lacy, the woman who was playing the evil doctor, a note. Lacy was playing the
doctor not as an evil brute, but rather as a pompous, arrogant know it all with
a silly side. This interpretation let us all run wild with our imaginations and
brought a vibe that had never been there before. Anyway, Lacy was now to tell
people that instead of being sick they were dying. Up the stakes. Oh, mind you
my wardrobe had been corrected. That was already an improvement.
In the square, as a group we preformed emergency “surgeries”
aka pretending to cut someone open and pulling scarves out, etc. Led by Lacy,
she informed them that she was a skilled doctor, and had studied in Africa.
Sometimes, as a part of the operation, she did a nonsense chant. Jenny would
explain that Lacy, who’s head was big as well as her belly, both costume
pieces, was so smart she had a brain in her head and in her stomach. During
these mock surgeries, Jenny would dust them off with her feather duster to
clean them. Then Jake would act as a mock table. Audrey would of course recruit
patients. I would “slice” them open with my Nerf blade. Lucy would pull out a
scarf or a necklace. This usually ended with applause. This was a hit, and soon
everyone was pretend wan and weak, dropping like proverbial flies.
In this ensemble spirit, as Lacy took her moment, others
helped facilitate. However, Lacy wasn’t a stage hog and shared. After Lacy was
done with her moment, Franz the drunken father said a few things and danced.
Then the Prince Max and Princess Carlotta had a moment, as Max improvised the
worst and cheesiest love poetry on the face of the planet. After which Audrey
the servant and Jake had a moment of their own with a slapstick routine. All
the while, each of us let the others have a moment in the spotlight, nicely and
kindly taking our turns.
Finally, it was my moment. I challenged a youngin to a duel.
The kid was no more than 10, and he wanted to defeat me. Jenny suggested my
director make this longer. In the spirit of the group and of the piece, Jake
came with the caution tape. He and Audrey served as the corner person to the
boy, and Jenny and Clarice served in my corner. The duel began, each of us
having a boxing glove. I roared and gesticulated in order to intimidate my
opponent. The crowd laughed. Then we each hit each other on the glove. I
continued this for two more rounds. Then finally, the kid “defeated me.”
I pretended to die on the ground, doing a mock soliloquy. As
I did this, Lucy the doctor declared me dead. That is when the mock
reincarnation ritual began.
There were audience members wearing chicken heads and
chanting, and the doctor preformed magical surgery and I was alive. Now it was
time for the wedding, but of course I had to first hug the audience members
wearing a chicken and duck mask as part of the magical ceremony.
As El Capitano, I was the closest thing to minister/priest.
So I married the Prince and Princess, but the Prince didn’t have his act
together so there was no ring. Then the Doctor replaced the Prince and then
there was some wedding stakes and then the Princess ran off with an audience
member and the Prince decided he didn’t love her. So then the Prince and the
gender bender Doctor married, but then the Prince changed his mind. I told him
he could not marry again. Of course our audience was into this. But the Prince
insisted it wasn’t him, it was a man with a British accent.
When that ended, the youngster who defeated me in a duel
demanded to get married. We asked him who he wanted to marry. He pointed to me
and said, “Her.” At this point I was done denying my gender. I was getting
married to an eight year old. Mary Kate Letourneau would have been so proud.
His nine year old friend acted as the priest. They put the veil on my head. To
the crowd of onlookers I shouted, “My mother would be so proud.” They laughed.
My young husband, so young he could have gotten me listed on
a website if this was for real, told me he had spent a mere $800 dollars on our
broken ring. I told him the budget was more like ten grand. He told me to shut
up. I informed him we had to be married at least ten years for him to tell me
that. The adults laughed at that line, and my child groom looked confused.
His nine year old friend flat out asked, “Do you take her to
be your wife, do you want to be her husband? And do both of you want to do this
whole thing?
We said we did. Then he took my veil off and the nine year
old priest commanded, “Now you may kiss the bride.”
To which my groom looked at me and said, “No.” And then he
kissed me on the cheek and ran away. Sigh. Love is a tricky thing.
Afterwards, I lamented my adventure to Clarice and she said,
“Well, when that happens it is not usually a good sign of things to come.”
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| Like Jennifer Lawrence, a swashbuckler can take a selfie |
From there we danced with patrons and took some more photos.
Then our director Jenny noticed that 6 PM had come. It was time for the
commedia characters to become unmasked humans again. We were bummed. As a group
we had become a well oiled improv machine, and we were having a blast. It was
like a mother telling a group of children involved in a game of make believe
that it was time for wash up for dinner. Except we couldn’t continue. The fair
technically ended at 6 PM, and they would soon begin to strike the place. Thus
it ended our theatre utopia, ensemble theatre in it’s purest form. The
improvisation, sharing and no ego, had ended. In our hearts, we were all sadder
than normal at the end of a performance. As a whole, we all knew and even lamented
afterwards this type of overall connection was rare in the self-centered
discipline of the professional theatre.
As we morphed back into people, the folks from England discovered
they had a classmate in common with some of the other actors who all studied at
the same commedia school. This girl, a little bit of a flighty nutcase like I
was when I was younger, traveled to study at the physical theatre school in the
UK. Anyway, this young woman had grown leaps and bounds as an actor, and had
become more grounded. I remember having those same struggles as a young theatre
student myself, and the notes my teachers gave me. I remembered the frustration
and the tears as I took their notes as a personal criticism, not as something
constructive.
As I remembered the humility ridden and ego puncturing
homework of looking others in the eye, breathing, and walking slowly down the New
York streets, I also remembered my NYU section mates. When I wanted to give up,
they cheered me on, letting me know that even though the instruction felt
strange it was making me better. They kept me on target, clapping everytime I didn’t
make eye contact. With me, they celebrated my victories and breakthroughs. In
my sections I felt safe. In my artistic home, I could make discoveries because
I failed often without consequence. This was a gentle reminder that while with progress
comes haters, there are also people who clap along with you. Translated: Stick
with the winners.
At the heart, the most central core, theatre is about love.
Being a cast isn’t about who has the biggest or smallest part, it is about trust.
Every link must be small from the bit player to the leading role in order to
make the show work. It is not about who has the most lines or spends the most
time in the spotlight. It is about doing your part to serve the script, each
other, but most importantly the audience.
At the heart, the most central core, comedy is about
service. It is about making others laugh and spreading joy. While one should
cater to the highest denominator, make sure you don’t treat the so called
normies like they are stupid. That is not only short sighted, but comedy is
also about making everyone feel included. People laugh because they feel a part
of, and because they can identify. This goes for a comedy club patron, an improv
show audience member, a group of people watching a commedia performance, or a
television viewer.
Add in performance, comedy or drama, is about not judging. Also, it is about learning a higher truth. After a day as a cross dressing pirate, I began to sympathize with those who identified as transgender. While in my case it was a joke, in their case they have one outside and another inside. Sure, I made a gag out of my femininity, but for someone who wants to be taken seriously as their true self, those words could sting. Now I admire those folks on a whole new level.
If I could go back and time and say one thing to my young
self who was sometimes questioning of the ensemble based training I received, I
would tell her to shut up and listen. Additionally, I would gently remind her
that to be a good cast member is not just about taking your moment, it’s about
listening. That way, you can take your moment and add to the moments of others
to make them better. Also, it’s about playing nice, let others have their turn
to shine. Don’t be scared, you’ll get your turn too. If you are good at
sharing, your fellow cast members will share right back. Lastly, it’s not just
going to make you a better performer, but most importantly, a better person.
