"And as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet's pen turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and name." --A Midsummer Night's Dream 5.1, William Shakespeare 

Drop Curtain of "The Light Princess" at the National Theatre

I don't know who decided that having an imagination was childish, but obviously he was not an actor.  This week, through a performance of "The Light Princess" and in my classes, I've experienced the invaluable congealing of three important entities: movement, thought, and imagination.  These three pieces can only be useful to an actor if they're used in conjunction with each other; otherwise, an actor will simply be caught in his head, always thinking and never acting on impulses, or always moving without intention, or exploring so much with imagination that the embodiment of the character strays from the clues in the text.  Regardless of being an actor or an audience member, imagination is used by both sides in every show as we suspend our disbelief for an hour or two and enjoy a story about people, their struggles, and the relationship between the two.

On Monday night after classes, I made my way with two friends to see the National Theatre put on an incredible theatrical feat: "The Light Princess."  (Can I interrupt real quick: OMG I get to see amazing theater on Monday nights after going to acting classes all day.  This rocks!)  The word 'light' isn't referring to actual light, but to the property of being physically light, since the main character (Princess Althea) has lacked the ability to feel deep emotions since her mother passed away and from that time has floated in mid-air.  Yeah, I don't know how George MacDonald's original 1867 production of this fairytale compensated for having a main character who floats in mid-air, but I'm sure it was interesting.    

Advertisement for the National Theatre's "The Light Princess"

But I will tell you how the 2013 production of the mature fairytale pulled off this challenge:

 In the very first scene, Princess Althea is supposed to be descending in front of a very large, Wicked-reminiscent bookcase (I'm guesstimating about 20 feet tall) to about a foot off the floor.  It was clear she wasn't using one of those "whoops, I just saw the invisible string" wires.  No, no.  Instead, she was fashionably harnessed (it fit right in with her orange outfit) in the back to a movement man dressed in all black.  He was facing the bookcase and crawling down it very slowly (with a 5'8'' full grown woman attached to his back as she belts songs).  I promise you, I gasped out loud, pointed with my finger and remarked in a whisper, "Fuck!  Do you see him?" (very British with the "fuck") to my friend Victoria.  She nodded in agreement with big eyes and equal astonishment.  The Princess really looked like she was floating; I had to look closely to even notice the movement man since he was practically hidden behind her!  Throughout the play, the number of movement people taking on her entire body weight increased, and at one time there were four people dressed head-to-toe in black clothing on the stage, moving Princess Althea's limbs and torso with such flawless execution and fluidity that at times I forgot that she wasn't really floating.  At one point, one movement woman lay on her back on the stage, supporting Princess Althea with only her legs and feet.  As Princess Althea tilted her head and upper back down to the stage in order to float horizontally, the movement woman simultaneously adjusted her legs, placing one leg on the actress' spine and the other on the back of her upper leg.  I have no idea if the moves were choreographed down to the second, but I never once felt that Princess Althea was in danger of being dropped and cracking her head, even though all of her body weight was being supported by movement professionals that were essentially invisible to the audience members who bought into the story and used their imagination to believe in a floating princess.  When I can find another actress who can be so relaxed physically that she can convince me she's floating AND sing beautifully at the same time, I'll let you know.

Today in movement class I got to experience another mix of imagination, thought, and movement, but this time I wasn't in the audience.  Our movement teacher repeated that phrase that we hear all too often at drama school: "walk around in the space." (To be fair, walking is just about the most neutral physical activity a character can do.)  So we followed instructions, like obedient school children, and all 12 of us walked naturally and fluidly through the space (we had spent the previous 45 minutes stretching and soothing bodily aches, so we were all very happy to obey her orders).  Now Fey gave us another thing to do:

"I want you to pick a person in the room.  Be subtle about it!  I realize that's not an easy task for actors, being subtle, that is.  But, pick a person and notice their walk.  Do their shoulder rotate?  Do they swing one arm more than the other?  Do they stick their bum out?"

As I ticked through a whole checklist of that person's movement in certain body parts, their walk evolved into a predictable system, not just something random that a person does to achieve walking around a room.  Our walks reflect what injuries, tendencies, and inadequacies we've had in the past. We're constantly compensating for aches and pains.  Therefore, each person's walk is uniquely crafted for that certain somebody.  Fey recommended we don't share who we picked, so for this blog I'll call the person I picked Jenny.  Jenny's stride was pretty short, kinda like mine.  She swung her right arm a bit more than her left, but overall didn't rotate her shoulders much.  Her mouth formed a small, determined pout, and her head was slightly tilted back.  These are just a few of the characteristics I noted.  Then Fey took it one step further:  "As I count down from 10 to 1, 10 being your walk and 1 being the walk of the person you chose, I want you to embody their walk.  This is not time to impersonate somebody's walk or your opinion of their walk.  This is fact, and merely an embodiment of their walk."  Slowly I adjusted, remembering all that I had noted about Jenny.  My shoulders stopped swiveling, and became stiffer, my mouth turned upside down slightly, and my speed decreased just barely.  Then Fey asked us to create a character based off this new walk we had taken on.  Who would walk like this?  Where are they going?  Where are they coming from?

Joanna would walk like this, but everyone calls her Jo for short.  She's on her way to her flat from her job at a cafe, one of those little places that sells lattes and little breakfast pastries.  She's exhausted, and just scraping by with a meager job.  She thought she'd be someplace better at the age of 27.  She's going home to see her boyfriend, they've been dating for many years, but he hasn't popped the question. She's kinda one of those tough girls, she doesn't have many acquaintances, but the friends she has are lifelong and trustworthy.

So I came up with that whole character and background story in about three minutes of just walking like Jenny.  That's imagination.  That's connecting a movement with a thought.  It was surprisingly easy, to be honest.  So maybe I wasn't floating with the support of movement professionals like Princess Althea, but my imagination was floating and bright for the first time in many years.