|
History ensemble member Nick Asbury on trying to hold it in...
Corpsing
We did Richard II on Tuesday night. As per, I enjoyed it again more and more.
 Bushy becomes ever more camp. However, in Act 4 Scene 1 - the scene where Richard gives the crown to Bulingbroke which is preceded by the challenging of all the nobles with all of them throwing gloves at each other willy nilly - I'm playing the Abbot of Westminster, standing up on the first balcony on the tower looking all Vulcan, when Lex Shrapnel managed to do one of the funniest things I've seen on stage for a long time. There he was, all Hotspur and butch, giving it large in leather and he challenges the Lord Aumerle (Jimmy Tucker) with his glove. He lifts his arm high to throw it manfully, and at it's very apogee, the glove sails from his hand. His arm continues to throw the thing but it isn't there. It's sailing like a feather down on to the stage far behind him.
Dumbfounded, he turns like a trained dancer, fetches it and realising that all manly cover is blown, throws it rather artfully in the vague direction of said Aumerle/Jimmy who did very well I thought to restrain himself.
I, on the other hand, didn't. I let out a loud guffaw and was openly laughing on stage. Now, dear reader, it may not seem that funny. But corpsing - the dark world of bursting into laughter on stage - can come from the smallest of things. Let me say here that no actor will actively condone corpsing - let alone in this company. Let's face it, if you've paid good money to come and see a play, the last thing you want is some half-arsed actor giggling his way through his lines. But it happens. It's theatre. It's live. We are real humans up there. And sometimes you just can't help yourself. You try, man, you try. I fell this time into the classic corpsing mode. I laughed openly then spent the next half minute or so resembling a man in the latter stages of constipation, rearranging my face in increasingly uncomfortable positions. I pulled myself together. I was fine. What was I fine from? Thus the image of Lex and his glove returns like a ticking clock. Your stomach leaps. The muscles go and you silently guffaw again. Tears appeared in my eyes. These I tried to turn to my advantage, as I tried artfully to turn my shame into portraying the emotion the Abbot was feeling at the ensuing scene. Letting the tears flow - my face a portrait of angst. Honest. I sure I just looked like a bloke trying not to laugh. Like a guilty schoolboy before a master. Then you think you've cracked it. The tighness goes. You're back. You're in the scene. All is good. But then, out of nowhere, the image comes zinging into your brain like an eagle to its prey. More tears. More constipation. 'Actoplasm' all over the stage. Thank God I didn't have to speak until the end of the scene. It wouldn't've been pretty. Or intelligible, for that matter.
The scene ends. The horror ends. Others come off stage bearing similar signs of tears and pain. Lex couldn't speak. The exhaled wheezes and screams of laughter let out filled the air round the back of the Courtyard. The spirit of Ensemble lives on....
 Respond to Nick's blog
|
|
Latest blog posts
- Listen. Time passes. Listen.
- I feel alive
- Things happen to you
- Sleeping on ladders
- Battle of Barnet
- Buckets of blood
- Hamming
- Three and a half weeks
- Letting go
- Unforgettable
- Lighting grids
- A new stage
- Gloriously
- The men in black
- Really listening
- Making history
- Happy birthday!
- Bleeeuurghhh!
- Dead weight
- Card sharks
- Tomorrow I scalded myself with tea
- You stink
- Turning to slush
- The threshold point
- Holidays!
- All change
- Strange things in the bath
- Back to school
- Corpsing
Other blog posts
About blogger Nick
Likes: Cricket and music. Fields and dark pubs with no music
Dislikes: Lager, crowded streets and light bars with music |
