Week 14: Gesundheit
May 29, 2012
3 February 2012
A frightening trend has emerged in rehearsals this week. I have taken to sneezing at particularly tender moments in the plot.
It has now happened one time in each of the three plays we are rehearsing.
The first time was in The Comedy of Errors. Emilia had announced that she is the wife of Egeon and the mother to the twin Antipholuses, from whom she was separated by a wreck at sea. My interjection to this scene of reunion reads as follows:
EMILIA: Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons.
ANKUR: [as a Messenger, sneezes]
All turn to look reprovingly at the Messenger
EMILIA: and till this present hour
My heavy burden ne'er delivered.
The next day, I made my mark on Viola's big announcement in Twelfth Night. As Viola explains that she has been living as a man, my reaction was:
VIOLA:
If nothing lets to make us happy both
But this my masculine usurped attire,
Do not embrace me till each circumstance
Of place, time, fortune do cohere and jump
That I am Viola—
ANKUR: [as Curio] Achoo!
The Tempest opens with a storm, and in rehearsal (now predictably) my sinuses decided to accurately react to the (imaginary) cold and damp conditions.
GONZALO:He'll be hanged yet though every drop of water swear against it and gape at widest to glut him (A confused noise within) Mercy on us! – We split, we split!
ANKUR: [as himself] Oh no. [as a Mariner in a high-visibility life jacket, and fluorescent yellow waterproof one-piece] Achoo! Achoo!
ANTONIO: Let's all sink wi'th' King.
SEBASTIAN: Let's take leave of him.
ANKUR: [as a Mariner] Achoo!
GONZALO: (to the Mariner) Bless you.
(to all) The wills above be done, but I would feign die a dry death.
Perhaps I'm succumbing to the virus floating around the rehearsal rooms. Perhaps the impending arrival of spring has my hayfever in overdrive. Perhaps I need to Hoover my flat.
Actor Amie Burns-Walker provided this suggestion: 'When we are on stage, look into the light,' only to come back to me the next day, horrified, saying, 'I'm sorry, don't look into the light, that can help you if you want to sneeze on stage.'
I have started using a Neti Pot, which grosses me out (if you don't know what this is, I'll spare you a graphic description). My father swears by it, and reminds me it comes from Hindu Ayurveda, with a proven track record older than Shakespeare.
by Ankur Bahl
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