My wife is under water. I smile, I wave across the table: uh-uh, zero recognition. I’ll need a scuba tank to say hello. Well, this is Saturday, six p.m., and at eight Laurie will open her third new play in ten days. Saddle block of the mind she has right now. But that’ll happen to actresses here, at the O’Neill Theater Center in Waterford, Connecticut. One month in Waterford can feel like a career. Somebody else’s career.
At OTC the actor is equipment: a full utility belt: well-machined, extremely serviceable, but not decisive. The OTC National Playwrights’ Conference is for, um, playwrights. A place where new dramatic material will be given intensive simulator training. Four days’ rehearsal: then perform: then perform again, often with dialogue that is still being rewritten as you make your entrance. A script must be lugged along: but where? Lover and lover kiss passionately while—flip, flap—they turn to the next page behind each other’s heads. Yet this is more than a cold reading: fairly full performances are expected. The actor must jump—and fast—at a clear, strong dramatic choice. No time for specific emotional work: might as well try to “be” Greek on a layover at Athens airport. This can be both liberating (OTC critics and staff aren’t allowed to comment publicly on your performance) and head-bending (George Roy Hill or someone with similar pull-strength might be out there). Worse: no actor can select or turn down a part. Yet, I’ll be dag-boned, the stagework is marvelous at OTC. I saw five plays and, with maybe one exception, performance was dead superior to text.
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