The Tempest
Four o'clock didn't mean very much on Tabula Rasa. Hell, Geoffrey didn't even own a watch, it wasn't as though he ever had any intention of starting the performance at a particular hour. But the gist of four o'clock seemed to have trickled down to the island population -- that is, late afternoon, when the sun started to descend and the air started to cool -- and the audience assembled just about exactly when Geoffrey had intended.
As to the actors, well, they were being actors, and Geoffrey had never been so glad to have Kate on hand to take some of the backstage burden from his shoulders. Some people milled about behind the curtains they'd finally hung to give them some semblance of a backstage, mumbling their lines to themselves, some looked faintly blank and panicked, as though they had no idea what they were doing there, someone was actually off doing yoga. Geoffrey took a moment to try to reassure Bran that he did, in fact, know what he was doing, and another moment to try to reassure Withnail that he did, in fact, know where he was; the former was slightly more successful than the latter. And even thought he winced as he heard the unmistakable sounds of Jack Crew retching in the underbrush behind the stage, especially when it became clear he probably wasn't the only one, it was somewhat of a comfort to know that some things never changed.
But the moment of truth finally came, and in the absence of a curtain, the sails started to flap on stage and the play was begun.
There were all kinds of reasons for Geoffrey to have bad feelings about the squid incident, but he had to admit that it left a portion of his mariners actually looking like people who lived rough and were being tossed about by a great storm. It was a nice contrast to the immaculately groomed Stephen Colbert, who pronounced each line as though the boatswain was the most important person on the ship. Which, since the boatswain thought he was the most important person on the ship, worked out rather nicely, all in all.
The sails flapped and twisted on the stage, between and about the noblemen and mariners, and combined with the rumbling sounds of a salvaged piece of sheet metal backstage, by God, it was a storm. Even the first disaster of the performance, the headfirst tumbling of one of the mariners off the edge of the stage, contributed rather than detracted from the general chaos of the storm. (Though thank God for Dairine, who dashed out from backstage, half in costume and half in practical trousers, to help him back onto the stage.)
Prospero's first appearance was a different kind of riveting. For the first time Geoffrey got it, saw in the man's bearing and magnetism that he really was King Arthur. And Miranda, oh his Miranda, she was just as fresh and endearing as the first time Maladicta had read those very lines with Geoffrey all those weeks, months, ago. Geoffrey could believe they were father and daughter, close in some ways with a self-imposed distance in others, and if Geoffrey could believe it then he bet everyone else could, too.
Bran, after a few tense moments of silence when he first took the stage, shed the stage fright that had been painfully evident in the moments before the show and lived up to every bit of promise he'd always shown. A couple of minutes in Geoffrey closed his eyes and mouth a line alongside him: 'Hell is empty and all the devils are here.' The line had become a personal talisman for Geoffrey when it came to this play, and as he mouthed those words he really started to feel like it was all going to work.
Jack Harkness' Caliban was a few degrees of disturbing beyond even what Geoffrey had at first envisioned, but he made it work, scowling and ragged and looking beastlier than even a couple of hours in a make-up chair could have done for him. This was a wronged man, but he was no innocent, and the friction between he and Miranda was palpable and probably more genuine than people knew.
It made the contrast with Miranda's relationship with Ferdinand all the more poignant. Miranda, who had never known men, and Ferdinand who had never known a woman so sweet and guileless as Miranda. Jack Crew, professional that he was, made his nerves work for him, using them in his performance to make Ferdinand lost and uncertain, washed ashore on an unknown island and ready to do anything to have something so solid and lovely to hold on to.
One of Geoffrey's greatest joys was seeing Shakespeare and Rosencrantz take on the roles of Antonio and Sebastian. It could have been ridiculous, and there were moments where Geoffrey's head spun with the metatasticness of it all, but somehow they pulled it off, looking devious and menacing when it was called for and a bit pompous and ridiculous during the brief sword fight that was Yorick and Johnny's legacy in the play.
And Billy... honestly, Geoffrey couldn't be prouder of the work he was doing, in a role that most would have said he was completely unsuited for and what was possibly Geoffrey's boldest bit of casting. The hours they had spent together, pouring over poutine and the text, had in no way been wasted. Between him and Withnail, who once he took the stage completely inhabited the role of Alonso once again -- a relief since Geoffrey had begun to worry he'd forgotten his own name -- they led a group of stranded noblemen on an adventure through a strange new world. He could hear Gonzalo's wisdom in maturity in Billy's words, see Alonso's grief in Withnail's posture, feel the confusion and desperation of the other nobles from the expressions on their faces to the masterful work Angela had done with their costumes.
Geoffrey could have killed Jim when he realised that he'd been injured wrangling with the squid -- there was a bit of sympathy, yes, but mostly he wanted to smack him -- but he was still able to bring the same sense of both playfulness and ambition to Trinculo that he'd shown Geoffrey during his audition. And God, Geoffrey really did love that hat. He played well against Archie's Stephano, a bit of fortunate chemistry, and both of them were a marked and delightful contrast with the menacing Caliban, making a truly odd and occasionally over the top trio that was a delight to watch. Even if Geoffrey winced and scowled very time he looked at Jim's bad arm.
Ultimately, The Tempest needed a strong Prospero in order to work, and with all the difficulties Geoffrey had encountered in casting the role he'd worried more than once that everything was going to fall apart, but Arthur had an innate understanding of both family and politics, and that was what he brought to the role. It was all Geoffrey could ask that he know the lines and the blocking in the time he had been given to learn the play, but he brought so much more, more than Geoffrey could have hoped for.
The masque was one moment that Geoffrey knew was going to be a challenge, with the music and the dance and the large and inexperienced cast, so it was a blessing that he'd stumbled across a choreographer to work on it. Such a blessing, in fact, that he'd expanded the dance as written I the text, instead of aborting it almost immediately as Prospero remembered he had other pressing business, and let it play out as the celebration of marriage that it was meant to be.
It was a shame Geoffrey's three redheaded goddesses were on stage for such a short time, for although their performances were a bit untutored, if genuine, they had a stunning visual effect and their voices really were lovely when they sang. And he couldn't help but feel a bit of swelling in his heart as Sunny toddled across the stage, such a fitting symbol of fertility for the masque that Geoffrey didn't have to feel the least bit of guilt at finding a place for her in the play. He was sure her family was here watching her, too, feeling the same burst of pride and adoration.
Jack had once told him that the chess scene was his favourite scene between Ferdinand and Miranda, and watching it now from the wings Geoffrey could see why. It did show a different side to the characters, showed a glimpse of a moment that was intimate and personal and very real. And when the scene opened up to invite the rest of the cast, all of the nobles, the island residents, the mariners, Geoffrey really got a sense of the scope of everything they'd done. The nobles remained in clothing that was stripped and dishevelled from the storm and their time on the island, which was possibly one of the best choices Geoffrey had made. Their ship had been restored, Prospero's magical machinations had come to an end, but it hadn't negated everything they'd endured.
Every production of a play is different. Geoffrey had seen productions of The Tempest where the political machinations took the forefront, where the relationship between Ferdinand and Miranda was the foundation on which the play rested, and even one in which it was the interplay between Miranda and Caliban that informed the rest of the action. But this production, it was about being stranded on a strange island, about encountering inexplicable magic, about forming relationships with people you could never have imagined meeting. You could see it in the faces and the performances of every single actor that took the stage.
And at the very end, when Prospero turned to address the audience, to ask for their forgiveness and understanding, there was a hush that spread through the crowd, the action on stage commanding the full attention of nearly ever soul in the clearing.
Geoffrey couldn't have asked for more than that.
[OOC: And there we have it! The actors have done their part; your reactions are your own. Gather, and enjoy the island's first piece of (intentional) theatre!]
As to the actors, well, they were being actors, and Geoffrey had never been so glad to have Kate on hand to take some of the backstage burden from his shoulders. Some people milled about behind the curtains they'd finally hung to give them some semblance of a backstage, mumbling their lines to themselves, some looked faintly blank and panicked, as though they had no idea what they were doing there, someone was actually off doing yoga. Geoffrey took a moment to try to reassure Bran that he did, in fact, know what he was doing, and another moment to try to reassure Withnail that he did, in fact, know where he was; the former was slightly more successful than the latter. And even thought he winced as he heard the unmistakable sounds of Jack Crew retching in the underbrush behind the stage, especially when it became clear he probably wasn't the only one, it was somewhat of a comfort to know that some things never changed.
But the moment of truth finally came, and in the absence of a curtain, the sails started to flap on stage and the play was begun.
There were all kinds of reasons for Geoffrey to have bad feelings about the squid incident, but he had to admit that it left a portion of his mariners actually looking like people who lived rough and were being tossed about by a great storm. It was a nice contrast to the immaculately groomed Stephen Colbert, who pronounced each line as though the boatswain was the most important person on the ship. Which, since the boatswain thought he was the most important person on the ship, worked out rather nicely, all in all.
The sails flapped and twisted on the stage, between and about the noblemen and mariners, and combined with the rumbling sounds of a salvaged piece of sheet metal backstage, by God, it was a storm. Even the first disaster of the performance, the headfirst tumbling of one of the mariners off the edge of the stage, contributed rather than detracted from the general chaos of the storm. (Though thank God for Dairine, who dashed out from backstage, half in costume and half in practical trousers, to help him back onto the stage.)
Prospero's first appearance was a different kind of riveting. For the first time Geoffrey got it, saw in the man's bearing and magnetism that he really was King Arthur. And Miranda, oh his Miranda, she was just as fresh and endearing as the first time Maladicta had read those very lines with Geoffrey all those weeks, months, ago. Geoffrey could believe they were father and daughter, close in some ways with a self-imposed distance in others, and if Geoffrey could believe it then he bet everyone else could, too.
Bran, after a few tense moments of silence when he first took the stage, shed the stage fright that had been painfully evident in the moments before the show and lived up to every bit of promise he'd always shown. A couple of minutes in Geoffrey closed his eyes and mouth a line alongside him: 'Hell is empty and all the devils are here.' The line had become a personal talisman for Geoffrey when it came to this play, and as he mouthed those words he really started to feel like it was all going to work.
Jack Harkness' Caliban was a few degrees of disturbing beyond even what Geoffrey had at first envisioned, but he made it work, scowling and ragged and looking beastlier than even a couple of hours in a make-up chair could have done for him. This was a wronged man, but he was no innocent, and the friction between he and Miranda was palpable and probably more genuine than people knew.
It made the contrast with Miranda's relationship with Ferdinand all the more poignant. Miranda, who had never known men, and Ferdinand who had never known a woman so sweet and guileless as Miranda. Jack Crew, professional that he was, made his nerves work for him, using them in his performance to make Ferdinand lost and uncertain, washed ashore on an unknown island and ready to do anything to have something so solid and lovely to hold on to.
One of Geoffrey's greatest joys was seeing Shakespeare and Rosencrantz take on the roles of Antonio and Sebastian. It could have been ridiculous, and there were moments where Geoffrey's head spun with the metatasticness of it all, but somehow they pulled it off, looking devious and menacing when it was called for and a bit pompous and ridiculous during the brief sword fight that was Yorick and Johnny's legacy in the play.
And Billy... honestly, Geoffrey couldn't be prouder of the work he was doing, in a role that most would have said he was completely unsuited for and what was possibly Geoffrey's boldest bit of casting. The hours they had spent together, pouring over poutine and the text, had in no way been wasted. Between him and Withnail, who once he took the stage completely inhabited the role of Alonso once again -- a relief since Geoffrey had begun to worry he'd forgotten his own name -- they led a group of stranded noblemen on an adventure through a strange new world. He could hear Gonzalo's wisdom in maturity in Billy's words, see Alonso's grief in Withnail's posture, feel the confusion and desperation of the other nobles from the expressions on their faces to the masterful work Angela had done with their costumes.
Geoffrey could have killed Jim when he realised that he'd been injured wrangling with the squid -- there was a bit of sympathy, yes, but mostly he wanted to smack him -- but he was still able to bring the same sense of both playfulness and ambition to Trinculo that he'd shown Geoffrey during his audition. And God, Geoffrey really did love that hat. He played well against Archie's Stephano, a bit of fortunate chemistry, and both of them were a marked and delightful contrast with the menacing Caliban, making a truly odd and occasionally over the top trio that was a delight to watch. Even if Geoffrey winced and scowled very time he looked at Jim's bad arm.
Ultimately, The Tempest needed a strong Prospero in order to work, and with all the difficulties Geoffrey had encountered in casting the role he'd worried more than once that everything was going to fall apart, but Arthur had an innate understanding of both family and politics, and that was what he brought to the role. It was all Geoffrey could ask that he know the lines and the blocking in the time he had been given to learn the play, but he brought so much more, more than Geoffrey could have hoped for.
The masque was one moment that Geoffrey knew was going to be a challenge, with the music and the dance and the large and inexperienced cast, so it was a blessing that he'd stumbled across a choreographer to work on it. Such a blessing, in fact, that he'd expanded the dance as written I the text, instead of aborting it almost immediately as Prospero remembered he had other pressing business, and let it play out as the celebration of marriage that it was meant to be.
It was a shame Geoffrey's three redheaded goddesses were on stage for such a short time, for although their performances were a bit untutored, if genuine, they had a stunning visual effect and their voices really were lovely when they sang. And he couldn't help but feel a bit of swelling in his heart as Sunny toddled across the stage, such a fitting symbol of fertility for the masque that Geoffrey didn't have to feel the least bit of guilt at finding a place for her in the play. He was sure her family was here watching her, too, feeling the same burst of pride and adoration.
Jack had once told him that the chess scene was his favourite scene between Ferdinand and Miranda, and watching it now from the wings Geoffrey could see why. It did show a different side to the characters, showed a glimpse of a moment that was intimate and personal and very real. And when the scene opened up to invite the rest of the cast, all of the nobles, the island residents, the mariners, Geoffrey really got a sense of the scope of everything they'd done. The nobles remained in clothing that was stripped and dishevelled from the storm and their time on the island, which was possibly one of the best choices Geoffrey had made. Their ship had been restored, Prospero's magical machinations had come to an end, but it hadn't negated everything they'd endured.
Every production of a play is different. Geoffrey had seen productions of The Tempest where the political machinations took the forefront, where the relationship between Ferdinand and Miranda was the foundation on which the play rested, and even one in which it was the interplay between Miranda and Caliban that informed the rest of the action. But this production, it was about being stranded on a strange island, about encountering inexplicable magic, about forming relationships with people you could never have imagined meeting. You could see it in the faces and the performances of every single actor that took the stage.
And at the very end, when Prospero turned to address the audience, to ask for their forgiveness and understanding, there was a hush that spread through the crowd, the action on stage commanding the full attention of nearly ever soul in the clearing.
Geoffrey couldn't have asked for more than that.
[OOC: And there we have it! The actors have done their part; your reactions are your own. Gather, and enjoy the island's first piece of (intentional) theatre!]