Romeo And Juliet: Learning to Play "Love" as a Jaded Pessimist

In my Shakespeare class, I've been assigned the most cliche scene in all of theatrical history, the Romeo and Juliet balcony scene. For anyone familiar with the acting world, this is a HUGE challenge because the scene has been done eight-bajillion times, most of the time, terribly. So it is quite a difficult feat to bring anything new to the piece.

Unlike some acting classes, though, the focus of this class is not to try something bizarre so that you milk a "good performance" from an otherwise archaic work...so that any random schmuck can forget that it's Shakespeare and buy into it--ie, making it "relevant." Instead, my professor discusses how Shakespeare should be honored for the verse it is--that by utilizing the style of Shakespearian theatre, infused with a genuine truth brought by the actor, you will achieve a good performance. In layman's terms this means that I can't dress up weird and do something "creative" (read: awkwardly different and flashy) to distract my 5-member audience from seeing that I don't know what the hell I'm doing.

At first, I was excited by the challenge. Then, my insecurities got the best of me: how in the world am I supposed to play this passionate, young lover, from the view through the smudgy-colored glasses I wear? Like most actors, I have my own blend of different acting methods, so when I approach a role, I pull a little bit from Stanislavski's emotional recall (which oversimplified is the idea that if you want to cry on stage, think about your dog dying in order to fake the emotion) and a bit more from Meisner's idea of being "in the moment" (kind of a form of elaborate "pretend"). Part of really putting myself into the shoes of another is thinking about the connections that I have with the character. For instance, if my character is dealing with a huge break-up, I think about times that I experienced something similar--maybe not the exact circumstances, but a time when I felt great loss. Through this, it becomes easy for me to convey how my character feels because I do understand it to a certain degree. A tangent that I'll leave for another day is the theory I have about how actors are always more messed up than normal people because we have to have experienced a lot of crazy crap in order to genuinely play different circumstances.

Digression aside, for me to play Juliet, the first step I take is to make myself a laundry list of all the obsessive "love" feelings that I've had--which is where this character becomes initially complicated. My pride does not let me admit that I have ever, nor do I currently, know what it's like to deal with being passionately "in love." A wise, but perhaps too honest, friend of mine once told me that it would take a while before I ever got into a relationship because I'm "jaded." I still don't really know what that means, but I assume he was referring to the fact that I hate all those mushy feelings and have spent my life training myself to ignore, suppress, nay, obliterate, any hint of "worldly" affection for a member of the opposite sex--the idea being that 1) these emotional feelings only lead to lust issues, dwelling on a man instead of God, and all sorts of other sin problems, and 2) as long as I'm not emotionally attached, they can't hurt me. The truth is, though, that I haven't always been as guarded as I would like and I can think of quite a few examples where my heart got involved and things got fuzzy, with pink (but never pulsating...) hearts, fireworks, weak at the knees, the whole nine yards. (Sorry to disappoint, but that laundry list isn't going to make the cut for publishing this post.) I don't like thinking about this stuff. It's depressing. It makes me want to vomit. That kind of emotion is the enemy!!

But I'm playing Juliet. And she is head over heels for Romeo. And she lets those feelings wash over her. Granted, as I learn more about her and the play, I'm starting to admire that she doesn't follow blindly and she isn't weak. She has several monologues in which she expresses this conflict of emotions--not wanting to be rash or make heat-of-the-moment decisions, but fighting all the passion inside her that she eventually just can't beat out. Dare I admit that I'm seeing more and more of myself on these pages..? Whether I like it or not, I completely understand Juliet. I relate to her because I've been there (both ten years and ten minutes ago). I just really, really don't want to go there. Acting can be dangerous in that way--because playing a part like this means opening up some areas that I'd prefer to keep shelved and allowing myself to live for a time in a mind-set that I don't necessarily want to define any other parts of my day. I've learned in the last couple of years that it is SOO important to train my acting in a healthy way. It is not ok to let myself go to a place, emotionally, mentally, physically, that I cannot handle or put away when I walk out of rehearsal. I don't want to dwell on love because it makes me think about all the difficulties I have defining the term for myself and dealing with its aftermath. Frankly, my brain is already over-worked with ponderings and theories, and I don't especially need to encourage it to meddle any more than necessary.

So I ask myself--why do even bother with this? How can I really think it's "fun" to emotionally rip open pieces of myself so that other people can watch me bleed?

What kind of sick freak am I?

But the answer is right in front of me. Do you remember "blood brothers"--the pact kids used to make with each other--before AIDS and disease told us that it wasn't ok--where they would prick or cut themselves and touch wounds so that the blood would mix? Acting is kind of like that. With a mask on. I've learned that mature, intentioned vulnerability is a way to blood-bond yourself with another. As scary as it may seem, admitting your inner thoughts and feelings often leads to a shared connection with another person--because they've likely felt the same way at one time or another. The two of you come together in a sigh of relief to discover that you are not alone. Acting is a kind of three-way blood brothers. Not only do I share red and white cells with my character, but I also mix those with the audience. It seems safer to emote when you can always use the excuse that it wasn't you, it was "the character." So playing Juliet means that I can experience her world from the safety of "it's just acting." I can lie to you, which I've of course already botched via this post, saying that I'm just pretending, but the safety gets all muddled here on the home-front where I am allowing myself to stand strong in the uncomfortable place of weakness--where emotions are vibrant and real and penetrating.

Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
But trust me gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

(Don't really get it? See the NoFear Shakespeare translation.)

Thus, I return to my studies--memorizing lines that I'm struggling to open my heart up to. Wish me luck.