Topic: Soliloquy

Tempus Fugit

Date: 2016-09-18 22:09 EST
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"What I wear on and off the stage is my mask. You see, a mask doesn't hide you, it exposes you." - Nuno Roque

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Soliloquy

Three men sat in a room " you probably sense a joke coming, but let me build up to it anyway. A young man in his mid teenage years, wearing a look of scepticism as he folded laundry; a middle aged man holding a dog eared script, carefully folded in on itself as he studied it; and an older man, sitting with his feet up quite inappropriately on some piece of furniture, eyes closed, with a pipe stem fixed firmly between his lips. Several moments passed before the youngest among them spoke up.

"You're taking this more seriously than usual, how come?" he said.

"Because Colt, I'm starting to identify with Mark Cohen," Brend " the middle aged man " replied somewhat absently as he re-read. "Not just in getting into the character, more....his role among his fellows, I guess?" he said, casting a momentary glance towards the elder amongst them.

"Mark Cohen" Walking in Memphis" What's that guy have to do with this?" Colt asked, his tone genuinely confused.

"No not him, the character, not the singer. Isn't that artist a little before your time?" Brend's glance was slightly annoyed.

"Wasn't he a little before your time?" the elder asked Brend before the conversation could continue any further. "And is that really the reason why?"

"Why what?"

"Why you're taking it more seriously, of course." the elder's eyes had never opened, and he sat mock puffing contentedly " it seemed on his pipe. "I mean, I've already been there, and done that " so I already know. I just thought it was time for a little introspection."

"Don't use big words like that, the kid won't understand what you're saying," Brend returned, nodding towards a frowning Colt before unfurling his script and laying it closed beside him, sparing a momentary glance as its corners folded back up just slightly into the air. "Part of it's the ability to identify with the character. The other is..." he trailed off, only to refocus the conversation, "I can't figure out why that particular part, I guess. I don't like coincidence." He glanced towards the elder, "you know that."

Tempus Fugit

Date: 2016-09-18 22:12 EST
"Solomon," Colt interrupted, dropping the shirts he was folding, "wanna tell me why it is again I'm doing this while he get's to study?" his face soured slightly as he said that, perhaps because of the incredulous nature of the statement coming from a teenage boy, an albeit all too typical one in the ways that count. "And I know why you were cast in that part," he continued with an all too obvious tone of irony in his voice, "the casting director was desperate," he paused for effect, "to get rid of you!" he waggled his eyebrows as he finished, and took to laughing.

"Because then by the time you're Brend's age, you'll..." Solomon was answering Colt, but was drowned out slightly because of his laughter, "have a serious compulsion to clean things. Perhaps you should stop," he mused, then barked loudly, "put the rest in the basket!" which caused Colt to drop what was in his hands, and stare.

"Maybe she's....masochistic" Is that the right term?" Brend continued to muse over the role of Mark Cohen. He knew the term well enough, he just wasn't serious at his own suggestion. Not entirely, at least. Did actors feel humility when they were cast in certain roles" Was that even the type of thing that could lend itself to being a stereotype or cliche" No, that wasn't right. The cliche was that actors were all aloof and egocentric " which he had to admit he was a little guilty of, but when you passionately embraced becoming other people, so much so that you made a performance of it, he found it likely that a little egotism was necessary. "It's funny how being cast in the right role " something you can really identify with " can make you feel like the spotlight is really on you."

"That's cause its gonna be, genius." Colt muttered softly, casting cautious eyes from Solomon to Brend as he did so.

"Maybe it's faith." Solomon stated simply.

"Egads. That....would be horrible. Faith in me playing that' I've held many roles, many faces over the years," Brend answered him, "friend, prankster, narrator, lover even. But have I played the role of figurative straight man...?"

"Never!" all three men answered in unison, with a variety of chuckles and laughter.

"Faith," Brend harrumphed, "ill placed.?

Tempus Fugit

Date: 2016-09-18 22:14 EST
"I don't see how you can say that," Solomon said, sitting. "It's placed in a man, not an idol or....what have you. "It's not like you haven't done it before..." he trailed off, eyes narrowing as he took Brend in. "That's what it is, isn't it. It is the fact someone's showing faith that you can do it. It's the faith in you that's eating you. Because you're not some grand muckity muck in the sky, you can give answer. Not only can, but you're compelled to, aren't you." It was a statement, not a question, and the eyes of the man who stated it were knowing. "Say it, you know you want to." As Solomon kept egging him on, Brend had again picked up his script and was idly writing on it's back cover. Two words, which he then traced over top of again and again as the elder spoke. "You know I already know, I can't not know. You think you identify with Mark Cohen now" Wait until you're my age, and you've watched all your friends..." he trailed off again, as he was in the habit of doing when conversation took a turn he didn't care to venture down. Instead, he blew idly through the mouthpiece of the pipe, and bubbles foamed out of the bowl. "Is this really all you can give me?" he queried.

"House rules, I'm afraid." Brend said with a smile, "Prop pipes only, except during shows, and only if they're called for " which they normally aren't." He paused, considering Solomon's earlier words. He continued softly, "Like I said, it's a little of character identification and a little....something else. Maybe the other thing you said, but I don't think so." He couldn't figure it out. It didn't make sense, this feeling of attachment and peculiar determination with this particular production that had come over him. His sense of time became hazy, and the realization slowly dawned on him. "I was asked to make time." his look indicated that he was mere moments from possibly slapping himself in the face. He looked around instead, and noted that both Colt and Solomon were gone. On the floor in front of him lay a basked of half folded laundry, and prop pipe dripping bubbles, and his script. "Thanks guys," he said to no one in particular. "I needed to work that out." With that, he gathered the basket under one arm, pocketed the pipe, and gathered his script in the other hand and began the dangerous task of not only reading and walking, but half consciously singing. "Put on my blue suede shoes and boarded a plane, touched down in the land of the Delta blues...? Any oncoming traffic would have only the words he'd scrawled on the back of his script to greet them as he ambled into their path:

Challenge. Accepted.

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"Acting is not about being someone different. It's finding the similarity in what is apparently different, then finding myself in there." - Meryl Streep ~ ~ ~