The Lesson for Today
This shit's famous. You get cast in a Shakespeare show and you're the latest in a line of thousands of people who have played the part before you. Also, in my case, I'm playing a part featured in a particularly famous spin-off, and initially I found it hard to get Tim Roth's Guildenstern out of my head.
So the temptation is that my joy at getting to be Guildenstern #24601 leads me to try and wring every single moment I can out of my time on stage, which leads me to be all over-played and self-conscious. I have seen it in other Shakespeare productions, too: there's such a sense of privilege at getting to do those famous scenes that you out-Herod Herod a little bit.
I realised this today after reading my favourite book for the umpteenth time in my favourite coffee house (on the advice of Julia Cameron, I am taking myself on weekly Artist's Dates), and this quote stood out to me:
He is like a man who plays Yesterday on the piano with Brahmsian amplitude & lushness and so casually kicks aside the very thing which is the essence of the songand also:
Lord Leighton (the painter) specialised in scenes of antiquity in which marvellous perplexities of drapery roamed the canvas, tarrying only in their travels to protect the modesty of a recruit from the Tyrone Power school of acting. His fault was not a lack of skill: it is the faultlessness of his skill which makes the paintings embarrassing to watch, so bare do they strip the mind of their creator.
So off I go to learn how to hold all my research and nuances and technical work on the language with a very open hand, with the hope that not everyone will get everything every single time I'm on stage. And that's why I'm so lucky to be Guildenstern #24601.
P.S. If you have a few spare dollars, please consider helping this brilliant company out so I can continue doing good theatre with the Classical Theatre Company. Or at least watch the video in the link and laugh at how cute our director JJ Johnston is.