Chapter 4: Landscape of the Body
GLOSS #5
Next Time: Chapter 4: Landscape of the Body
[this is a GLOSS on Chapter 4, which has been linked here for your convenience. NOTE: I am no longer re-sending the chapters themselves to your inboxes, but will share them on Substack’s Notes along with the in-gloss links here, from now on. Hope that helps.]
*
Talented and/or Gifted
Am I hearing correctly, from current parenting peeps, that we’re not doing T&G anymore? I sure hope that’s true. It doesn’t serve any of the kids it’s supposed to, and sets up narcissism and isolation. And elitism. Not that I have a huge problem with the idea of elitism–on the contrary, I feel like honoring the learned and those with expertise is too absent and sorely needed in our society, in today’s world of the proudly ignorant. But that’s a whole ‘nother essay. Ones like the essay I recently guest-penned on
‘s Beyond the Bookshelf. The one on lifelong learning? This one:
https://matthewmlong.substack.com/cp/153612816
I’ve known more than one young actor who was praised so much for their talent, that not only did they develop a dangerous and toxic arrogance in their ego, but proceeded to not improve their craft, get better and succeed later in adulthood, but crash and burn out before they had a chance to. Of course, other life factors played a part, I have no doubt, but this pedestalizing of the talented was certainly a central issue for these tragic kids.
Feeling like you’re special, too, leaves you susceptible to the grasping claws of a narcissist. If you’re already convinced you’re extraordinary, you’re not only blind, but wide open to that first phase of the narcissist trap: the over-the-top, insincere admiration dump. You let yourself get put up on a pedestal because you’ve grown up thinking you deserve to be up there. By the time you notice that you’re chained to it and can’t get down, it’s far too late.
So many farces, so little time
Fun fact: though the maid was a small part in A Flea in Her Ear, I was set free to choreograph a full movement sequence for myself to execute as the cold open to the show. The director played me the peppy, farcical intro music a couple times, and told me it was up to me, since I had such good movement and clowning experience, to open the show with the right energy, silliness, and mood that would set the whole ball rolling. So I did. (That director went on to cast me in some interesting and strange roles after graduation, at the same theatre company that had done Landscape. So there’s that too.)
A local theatre reviewer said of me in Flea that I was a ‘cross-eyed sweetie’ and had elevated physical comedy skills that made him compare me to Carol Burnett. Which is a huge compliment. Also, yeah I guess I can kind of see it; can you? (see below)
Techie? I hardly know he.
Though I always dearly detested doing theatre tech work, I understood why we acting majors were required to not only take tech courses, but log backstage work hours as part of our BFA requirements. My dad was a machinist all during my child- and teen-hood, and I respected the hands-on craftsmanship of the construction and sewing processes, and the visual art/painting techniques of the makeup division.
For A Flea in Her Ear, I was put on as co-foreman of the set construction team, along with my equally smart cohort companion, one Maiz, who was also acting in the show. As the tech professor told us, we were the only two out of this group with good brains in our heads, and hey: it’s that much more important for us to do a good job constructing this set, since we were the ones having to walk on it. Which. Yeah, even back then I was like: that’s fair.
To this day, I have been rewarded by the grateful surprise of many a tech professional as they work with me, being so accustomed as they usually are to snooty actors who feel superior to the grunts that do dirty work. Having an actor that not only knows how to wield a Mikita, but that says things like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and doesn’t expect the world to revolve around them? I imagine it’s pretty refreshing. Plus, it’s nice to know something about how everything else works: I remember once during strike for a show down in …Boulder, I think it was? It was after the musical 9 was concluded, I believe. But anyway, since I hate strike, I took it upon myself to sit down with the lighting designer’s big box of gels, and proceeded to organize them all by color, including the ones he was removing right then for strike. He thanked me heartily: it’s a time consuming and tedious task that he’d kept meaning to do himself but had no time. That I had the know-how to be able to do this for him correctly, and was only too happy to sit on my tired bum and file through the pretty colors, was a win-win.
*
TODAY’S BIBLIOGRAPHY:
Feydeau, Georges. A Flea in Her Ear. Paris, 1907.
Frayn, Michael. Noises Off. London: Lyric Theatre, 1982.
Friel, Brian. Dancing at Lughnasa. Dublin: Abbey Theatre, 1990.
Guare, John. Landscape of the Body. NYC: Public Theatre, 1977.
Long, Matthew. Beyond the Bookshelf. On Substack. Available:
As a former techie, I LOVED this post! Thank you for the appreciation ❤️