Sunday, February 20, 2011

Saying Goodbye to Mr. Zero

It's a strange thing for an actor, to leave behind a grand production. It's a difficult thought in regards to the many hours contributed to creating and performing a theatrical work, and to the countless moments between friends, family, or even one's self that had to be passed on because of the commitment made to the art.

In high school, theater was everything. It was a home away from home where everyone loved and experienced in ways that no other groups or individuals in the school could. We were better people then all of them, because we saw into the hearts and souls of that which no "normal" person could ever hope to. My high school theater experience did no less but define me completely and utterly as I am today. The relationships created, experienced, lost, forgotten, or destroyed in those three years will be carried within the depth of my heart for an eternity. The moments shared on that stage or in that black box theater will forever cause an ache in my heart at their very remembrance. The roles I played and the direction I was given not only crafted my skills and abilities to become the actor I am today but helped shape and mold the individual I have come to be. Every character one creates lives on in one's self long after the show is over. It's impossible to let them go, because they are a piece of you; therefore, pieces of them must remain and create who you are.

It's funny how often I question how much of me is actually one hundred percent original Trysten Cain. As I've performed roles, and moved on from productions, I have always had physical, emotional, or mental attributes of characters linger on into the crafting of the next one. And these characters were formed from original ideas as well as borrowed attributes from the world around me. If this is what makes up who I am, there's not really any of me that's truly just me.

And at the end of each show, it was not uncommon for most individuals in the cast to be emotional. Usually it was simply the fact that the show was over, the fun was finished, and the experience had come to an end. Rituals were shared and torches were passed literally or metaphorically within the structure of the theater. As the years have progressed, and productions have been had outside of high school, the end of a production has become less traumatic as it had been before. Reaching the point of becoming a professional actor, and starting a career, one simply comes to the realization that this project is finished and it's time to move on to the next one. No tears or rituals or big deals. Shakes hands and hug the ones you've shared this work with, and feel proud of what you've accomplished. Some of these people you'll be fortunate enough to see or work with again, and others will be completely forgotten. Such is the way.

Through my college career thus far, I had not been quite blessed with such an opportunity as The Adding Machine has given. My resume on the campus stood as small, wacky, supporting characters amongst grand worlds and giant roles. I've participated in Shakespeare and Restoration pieces, classical works that I personally am not quite attracted to. When this show came about, it was certain that this role was mine to lose. I heard this from my ever supportive friends, and I felt this in the depths of my soul. This was my chance to show everyone what I was capable of. This was my chance to really create something I'd never had the chance to before.

I can say, without a doubt, that Mr. Zero is the masterpiece of my repertoire thus far. Never have I had a role so demanding on so many levels as I had here. The physical work was like none I'd done before, with hunched postures and deep, brooding vocal work. The memorization was great, though memorizing has never been an issue for me on any level. The simple fact, however, that all these things were on my shoulders for the world to see for two straight hours was a challenge. The show was carried on my back with phenomenal supporting characters there to help me along the way.

I am an actor known for his subtle and honest acting. My strength is bringing a scene to the stage that seems as normal as a conversation in real life. I usually am Trysten Cain Playing Such and Such. It's obvious it's me, but I'm someone else. This was the first time I really took the leap to create a total character and leave Trysten Cain behind. My fault in this program has always been I was too scared to take chances. I never just "went for it" or made strong, passionate choices. I played it safe, never wanting to seem "too big." This is something I've worked strictly on with teachers, directors, and faculty in general. This is the culmination of all that hard work. I think I achieved something I never could have before.

What an achievement that is for me. This is yet another defining moment in my life, personally and as an artist. And what a thing it is, to know that I will not get to share this particular story or character again; at least, not under these circumstances. The run of the show is over, just as I was getting used to the idea of going on a full run as this character with these people. I came to love the cast and crew like any other show, but I truly came to love these individuals within the world of this play. I have spent so much time in the mind and heart of Mr. Zero that I look at the actress playing Daisy, and my heart truly glows with a love for that woman. I spent two hours every night for the past two weeks going through the life and afterlife of Mr. Zero. I shed my life away and existed as another being, going through the things they go through. Thinking their thoughts and feeling their emotions, desires, and pains. Every night I lived the life of Mr. Zero, and I died as Mr. Zero. And that is not a light ideal.

One of the reasons I do what I do is because my life is simply not exciting enough to live through every second of every day. It can be extremely boring and mundane, luckily with many chances here and there to escape to another world through music, film, or text. I am an actor because I crave the opportunity to escape from this world and be someone else. I want to experience things I can't or won't ever experience in this life. I want to take chances and risks that are far too dangerous to do in reality. The highlight of my day is knowing that at some point I get to live as another person for even a few moments.

With that in mind, and the knowledge that this show is over - I find myself lost once again. It's been a mere several hours since the closing of this run so I've yet to get back to the cycle of work and classes and the normal things that I do; however, for the moment my heart is heavy. I am not shedding tears, though there's a knot in the back of my throat, and my heart does ache deep down. I already miss it. All of it. I no longer have it to look forward to each day. As odd as it sounds, I am lost without a life to live beyond my own.

I act because it's my passion. My love. The only thing I can truly do right in this world. I do it to entertain people. To provoke thought in others. And selfishly, to escape.

I am truly blessed to have such a talent and ability to do such a thing as this. And I am even further blessed to have such an incredible amount of support from friends and family who love me and love what I do. I cannot truly share my appreciation for all those audience members who decided (or perhaps were forced in a few cases) to share all of this with me. I do this for you as much as I do it for me. What I do is meaningless without your eyes, minds, and hearts to take it in.

Thank you. All of you.

No comments:

Post a Comment