You walk a very fine line when playing a real person. How do you capture one’s essence, one’s soul, without imitating or – worse yet – mocking the person you’re portraying? For every Cate Blanchett-as-Katherine Hepburn, there are a dozen Faye Dunaways-as-Joan Crawfords. As I rehearse to again play Quentin Crisp in the play Carved in Stone opening June 19, I find myself walking that line once more.
When I played him in the 2002 San Francisco production, I was terrified. I’d never performed with a British accent before – much less played someone twice my age! I hired a voice coach, in addition to the one the show had retained. Luckily, Quentin was never camera-shy, so I had many film and TV appearances to study. I read every book by and about him I could find, listened to recording after recording, and wrote at length in my journal about all our similarities. I felt it was as important to think like him, as it was to look or sound like him.
I approached it much like I prepare for a day’s shooting. On a film, I work out every beat and nuance intellectually the night before. Then I throw it all away when I arrive on set, staying open to the moment and my fellow players. With Quentin, I’d try to imitate him as closely as I could at home – physically, vocally, emotionally – then try not to think about it at all at rehearsal. I’d do vocal and physical warm-ups, but allow the “simulation” to seep in unconsciously.
While it’s tempting to be self-aware, listening to yourself can be fatal. There were moments, during the first rehearsals, when I’d hear myself sounding like him and would think “Good!” But that would throw me right out of the “moment.”
Eventually, I found playing him easier than most roles. There were so many “hooks”: his accent, voice, tone, posture, attitude. I could focus on any number of things when I’d feel Quentin slipping away and Leon slipping back. I never thought “I have to be him;” rather, I’d focus on embodying his individual traits. It seemed to work, as it was the most gratifying stage work (and earned the best reviews) of my career. But I want to go even deeper this time.
One can be too respectful. Watching YouTube clips of the SF production, I realize I was perhaps too serene, too referential. I hope to correct that this time, and have help from our “Oscar Wilde,” Jesse Merlin, who lived in NYC in the late 1980s and befriended Mr. Crisp. He’s been an invaluable resource, and I have been picking his brain like mad. He’s helped me realize there was a private man behind the public image, who laughed, sometimes swore, had a wicked sense of humor, and could even be rude or get drunk on occasion. I look forward to exploring those sides of this endlessly fascinating man.
|
