Week 27: Playing Dromio(s)
June 12, 2012
4 March 2012
Today was my theatrical bar-mitzvah-by-fire. In a public understudy run I played Dromio of Syracuse and Dromio of Ephesus in the RST. I went from being the actor with the fewest lines in The Comedy of Errors to the one with the most.
The build-up
The moment understudy castings were announced in November, I started loitering in all of Felix Hayes' and Bruce MacKinnon's rehearsals. I took sound recordings for accents (I am American) and took copious notes on the character decisions that were made (I am neurotic).
My script is littered and bejeweled with these notes. My favourite is: 'Dromio of Ephesus is like an electrocuted hamster.'
In the days before the performance, I worried: 'What if the audience doesn't think I'm funny?' Actor Jon Slinger played Dromio of Syracuse at the RSC in the past, and reminded me that the play is funny, and if I played the truth of the stories, the comedy would sort itself out.
In the moments before the lights went up, my head was a mush of lines, entrances, exits, and intentions. To stave off a mini panic attack, I plugged into my iPod and busted a move in my own private dance club—a dark corner backstage.
The show
Endorphins pumping, heart rate racing, adequately petrified, I crawled on my hands and knees to the sub-stage entrance, from which I appeared as Dromio of Syracuse.
Approximately one minute later, I exited upstage right, and sprinted to Stage Manager Christie Gerrard for a quick-change. Our only verbal exchange: 'downstage left' — Christie's instruction for my first entrance as Dromio of Ephesus.
Rushing to the entrance, I reminded myself of the scene to be played: 'run on, get chased in circles, climb on house, 'my gold' speech, come down from the roof, get kicked, punched, slapped, run off.'
Scene after scene passed in this spitfire succession.
The performance is now a blur in my mind. My body, however, reminds me of the sprinting I did between the 15 entrances and exits, eight beatings, and seven quick changes I encountered in the play. I have not been so sore since my dance company days.
A particularly disorientating moment came when I watched Bruce run onstage as the Messenger, the role I normally play. The actor I understudy, understudied me. Should I ever go off, Solomon Israel will play the Messenger, but as Solomon was filling other roles, Bruce stepped in for the understudy run.
The characters
Understudying presents a tension between replication and ownership.
If you have to step in for a principal actor, the other actors rely on you to deliver a performance that resembles the original for the smooth running of the show.
But most actors find mere mimicry unsatisfying. So, each understudy tows a delicate line between placing their own stamp on the character, and copying an existing performance.
To develop my Dromios, Assistant Director James Farrell encouraged me to draw from the physicalities developed by the principal actors. Felix's Dromio of Ephesus is loose and grounded, his arms hang heavy by his sides, and he runs from bent leg to bent leg, gliding across the floor. Bruce's Dromio of Syracuse holds most of his energy in his upper body, constantly twiddling his fingers, picking up his knees when he runs.
However, I also had latitude to make some of my own choices. Most of these choices come in the nature of comedy; no two performers will deliver a joke in the same way.
One example came when Dromio of Ephesus delivered an unscripted rap.
Felix's rap is:
'Shi* mo'f**ker, yeah, mo'f**ker ding dong, I gotta bat, do you wanna play ping pong?'
My rap was:
'Shi* mo'f**ker, yeah, mo'f**ker pee ka, I gotta chicken, do you wanna eat a tikka?'
Talking to myself
The trickiest moments came when the Dromios were in a scene together.
In Act III, Scene I, the Dromios argue with each other, separated by a door. Movement Director Isabel Mortimer, James and I developed a way to 'transform' from one Dromio to the other.
I extended a leg, rotated, passed from one side of the door to the other, and took up a stock position that would indicate which Dromio was speaking. Dromio of Ephesus: legs apart, knees bent, arms by his sides, deep voice, working-class accent. Dromio of Syracuse: pigeon-toed, straight legs, twiddling fingers, shoulders up, high voice, middle-class accent.
In Act V, when the brothers first confront each other face-to-face, I ran from one part of stage to another, delivering lines when I arrived in each location. My fellow actors suspended the action during my transport, and the audience was hugely supportive, applauding after I delivered the lines of the two men in sprinting succession.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE: I, sir, am Dromio, command him away.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS: I, sir, am Dromio, pray let me stay.
(V. i. 335-336.)
My focus was tested most heavily in the final moments of the play. As all the other actors exited, Sandy Grierson (playing Antipholus of Syracuse) gave me a particularly gleeful twinkle of the eye when he said, 'embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him' (V. i. 412-413.). Left to close the play alone, I heard the audience laugh, knowing there was no brother there for me to embrace, curious how we would solve this theatrical conundrum.
Postscript
The likelihood that I would go on as both Dromios again is nearly nonexistent, but it raises an interesting proposition.
Felix and Bruce are of similar build, and can pass, in the theatrical world, for twins. They are both 6-foot-two(ish), white, and English. I am 5-foot-8 and Asian-American.
Though the wig department has crafted a blond coif for me, and I can replicate accents, I will always look like the runt brother who spent a lot of time in the sun. If it happens, I'll let you know; it should be a riot. It will just go to show, there are no impossibilities in theatre, only opportunities.
Photo by Felix Hayes: Assistant Stage Manager Christie Gerrard, my guiding light during the understudy run.
by Ankur Bahl
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