Posted in February 2012

I. Hurt. Everywhere.

Rehearsals for Titus Andronicus are going really, really well. I think. It’s hard to tell, honestly. I have been living with this show for nearly a year and a half now, so, as Jake pointed out to me a few days ago “You know, we really haven’t been rehearsing THAT LONG”. It feels like forever, in the best way possible.

Last night we worked out the rape scene, and it was…something. Our absolutely brililant fight master, Denise, was really great and really made sure that everyone understood what was going on and was the most awesome about answering questions and hearing ideas.

It is very interesting being “victimized” by good friends. While in my head, I know that it’s all prentend and at the end of the night I’m going to go have a drink with my “rapists”, there is still something deeply unsettling about being thrown and grabbed and made powerless, especially because there are moments where I really CAN’T fight back, even if I wanted to, and that is such a powerful experience to have happen during this moment of absolute frustration for my character. I’m a strong person– and so much of the fight is being choreographed to make me seem as weak as possible, because having the audience thinking “wow, Lavinia could kick thier asses” isn’t condusive to the scene much, so it’s been awesome having people I can trust being the ones tossing me about.

We also worked “Titus feeding Lavinia” last night, and that was…awful. We’re using oatmeal (because it’s delicious and I don’t understand anyone who say it isn’t), and holy gods did it make a huge mess. I’m a very persnickity eater, and having Aaron physically hold me down and spoon food into my mouth was so humiliating and demoralizing, in a weird way, it was really wonderful to get to experience that, especially because we are using that scene as the basis for how Lavinia survives for so long, and the truth is horrible to witness. Aaron, across the board, has been absolutely incredible to work with. I don’t know many other actors who would think to text me after rehearsal to make sure I was okay, especially, because really, last night I wasn’t.

This show is a weird beast. On one hand, it’s this absolutely fabulous role with all sort of dramatic interest and human emotion, but it’s also so dark and painful and just agonizing– once I’m in a show, I have a hard time separating my character and my personal life, and I think this is a role I need to be able to leave at the door and walk away from, just for the purposes of my own sanity. I’m always a bit shaken up after rehearsal, especially on the “rape scene” nights, because there is just so much to handle, the level of loss and pain and sorrow, but I also don’t want to be the bitchy actress complaining about it the whole time.

We’ve been working blocking for the most part and haven’t really delved too deeply (at least on my stuff) on acting, which I think is okay. It’s much more difficult to act when you’re worried about remembering where to stand, but I think my biggest concern is for the rape scene and the scenes immediately following.

The show is set up terribly– well, at least for poor Titus. My character gets raped, comes back mutilated beyond recognition, is found by her uncle (aunt in our production) and taken to her father. MEANWHILE, while all of this awful stuff is happening to me, Titus witnesses his two sons being accused of murder, his eldest son is banished from Rome and then I show up, so he has to deal with me, and then wait, there’s more! I can’t imagine the acting challenge that Aaron has to deal with.

We’re working that scene on Thursday, so my personal goal is to try and really access the emotion inherent in the scene. We’re re-blocking it (self-admittedly, I have become distracting in my hand-less gorey glory), so more of the focus can be on the action in the scene. However, I begged Jake to keep the part where Titus comes and comforts me– that is such a powerful, special moment. It is not often that anyone treats me like a child, and Aaron, just as a person, is so big and powerful and mighty, but in that moment, he’s so gentle and just so broken at the sight of his daughter, it’s really moving.

I’m also, god damn it, going to fucking cry. I don’t know what it is about crying on stage. I can weep and weep and weep at home on my own, but the minute I step into the space, it’s like my tear ducts shrivel up and die. I’ve been doing some work on how to approach it, and I think, basically, I am just going to sit there until I cry. I don’t know how long it’s going to take, but I think it’s more mental than physical at this point. I’m an ugly crier, too, so poor, poor Lavinia just won’t have anything going for her.

I am already projecting major post-show depression. This is one character that I care so much and so deeply about, I think it’s going to be really strange walking away from Lavinia and living my normal everyday life (without having to search for horrible, awful things on the internet nightly), but I kind of think it’s cathartic to be able to just hit those absolute low points and be there for awhile, and then shake it off and have friends give you hugs and go for french fries.

Because you can’t eat french fries with bloody stumps.

 

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Unnecessarily Epic (Epically Terrible) Poem dedicated to Andy

So, tonight, my friend and upstairs neighbor Andy came down and we got to talking about stuff. Now, the important thing to note about Andy is that he has an astute and practical nature about him that I often enjoy, if only for the sake of having a built-in devil’s advocate. A Chaotic Good to my Lawful Evil, if you will. Anyway, so I was bitching about some stupid thing and Andy pointed out (in his infuriatingly  practical way) that most of the time, whatever thing I’m bitching about could have easily been avoided if I’d simply said “no”.

It’s the same damn conversation every time, too. It goes like this.
Friend: Well, why don’t you say no?
Catie: Because I feel bad!
Friend: Why do you feel bad?
Catie: Because I don’t want to say no.
Friend: But why don’t you want to say no?
Catie: Because I feel bad!
Friend: Why don’t you just tell them that you can’t do it?
Catie: Because I don’t want to say no!

(repeat infinitum).

Now, I am not good at saying “no”. I’m terrible at it, actually. I ascribe all sorts of meaning and context to every request made to me, and I have a horrible guilt complex about telling people that I just simply can’t do something. So, my solution is to attempt to do it all, fail miserably, get really stressed and repeat the cycle until I just want to go to bed until everyone goes away.

I realize this is not necessarily the best way of dealing with things, but I’ve just gotten used to being the go-to person. It’s a compliment (to me, at least) in a way, that people assume that I’m down for whatever and capable of handling whatever task they are asking me to complete.

There comes a point where you just have to say no, I think, and realize that you can’t please everyone. I AM SO VERY WISE.

Anyway, the punchline is that after also having the same exact conversation with Jake about my difficulty in saying “no” 10 minutes after Andy left, I sat down and wrote this incredibly shitty and terrible poem as both a joke and some sort of odd prayer to the gods.

(It’s also important to note here that Jake got a 7-foot broadsword as a gift, so this poem isn’t really effective unless you’ve got a broadsword in one hand and a short sword in the other and maybe you got bored and drew Braveheart makeup on with eyeliner. Just saying).

Enjoy.
This so just…so bad. I’m sorry.

Behold the mountains come before me
and bow low
for I am the bringer of storms,
the commander of thunder.

Behold, here lays before me the chaos I have wrought
and the hearts that I have broken
for I am dread silence,
the comfort of the damned.

Cometh I, sovereign of fire and of earth,
my sword is drawn and bare
save for the blood of my enemies.

I am unshaken.

Attend me, wind and air,
I am the guardian of water,
the wisdom of the ages is my lullaby
behind my eyes lies lightning.

I am unconquerable.

I have borne the weight of worlds and never stumbled.

My roots have grown so deep
I can feel the morning’s warmth
as I command the stars to shine more brightly.

I am unweakened.

My thirst is unquenchable
and I have drunk oceans
my hunger insatiable
I have devoured continents.

My very being is possibility.

I have kept echoes as friends
and cosmos as bedfellows.
I bring men and nations to their knees
swearing oaths to my name
so that they might gain favor.

I have the secrets of the universe written on the backs of my hands
and disperse hurricanes and earthquakes with a dismissive wave
and call them back like pets to tremble at my feet.

I have woven space
and chronicled time
to suit myself.

I am forged from hope and alchemied from light
to what here stands before you.

I am terror.
I am peace.
I am mighty.

And fucking NO, I won’t help you move.

I’m going to go play some Dungeons and Dragons or something.

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A new poem!

I keep watching poems
written by poets better than me
poets better than I’ll ever be
and wanting to write you one giant poem made from every great line and even the shitty ones
and then being too embarrassed to ever show you
or mention casually in passing that I wrote a poem that covered half the kitchen before I painted it the color of your voice
because if you knew how hard I feel
how much I feel
how every moment of every day is a blur of color and of sound
that I swim to get through just to get to you
how I navigate channels of blues and greens and tread through browns and golds and grays like last night’s sudden snowstorm weather
weathering the radios and billboards and wondering if I know my lines
just to get home to hear the sound of your keys falling on the table
in a firework of orange and lime from the misaligned signals in my mind
and knowing that as they fall, you’re home and I’ve got another day to be
so completely in love with you
I think it might weird you out a little.

Sidewalk Inspiration

I am in love

with the shadow

the back of your head makes

when it meets the yellow light from the overhead light

on the too-small blinds

of the side window

that only I know to look for

as I walk home

bent against the dark

(and all the monsters behind me

that I just know are there so I won’t turn around).

 

FINE! I liked it. The Human Centipede 2 (A Review)

Last year, (somehow), we decided that it would be an interesting social experiment to watch The Human Centipede after the Super Bowl.

Obviously, we had to watch the second one this year.

I am a person who likes to be prepared before I get metaphorically punched in the face with bad art house torture porn, so I came to the party prepared with the knowledge that the HC2 was not only more violent and even more graphic, it was also basically made as a big “fuck you” to the critics of the first film.

I really enjoy that mentality. “You criticize my film? Here’s the SAME MOVIE BUT 1000 TIMES WORSE.”. I respect that. It’s ballsy, hilarious, and completely explains most of what happens.

So. It was awful to sit through. I actually discovered something about myself– I can’t sit when watching graphic violence. I have to stand. I think it’s something with my fight-or-flight reaction. I’m mentally preparing to get the fuck out of there in case some shit goes down.

We sat through the entire movie (I stood) and when it ended, there was a tangible combination of guilt, disgust and absolute triumph and not having thrown up. I think we all needed a shower as well.

I came home and thought about what I’d just seen (repeatedly, because SOME THINGS YOU CAN’T UNSEE) and I realized– for all of its faults, failings,and OH FUCK moments, on some level, this movie is absolutely genius.

Yes, the plot is ridiculous: Super-Creepy Creepmaster McCreepypants is obsessed with The Human Centipede and decides to try and create the original doctor’s “master plan” of connecting 12 individuals into one ass-to-mouth masterpiece. Spoiler: he does.

The tongue-in-cheek (or is it butt-to-cheek SEE WHAT I DID THERE) plot is so self-referential and masturbatory that I accepted it, without question, because why the hell would anyone NOT become completely obsessed with the Human Centipede and decide to make his own using kitchen tools and a staple gun?

That’s it. That’s the whole plot. There’s not really any sort of b-story where Chandler can’t get to the drycleaners on time and so Joey and Rachel are going to be late to dinner or anything, it’s just….some pasty fat guy doing terrible, terrible things to much more attractive people.

But let’s start there. First off, the movie’s protagonist(?), Martin, is a psychotic, anti-social, maybe retarded, pasty, sweaty, beady-eyed, balding creep-o with weird creepy fingers. Literally everything about him is unsettling and slightly off (including his underwear– BA BOW!), but there is still (and I still haven’t figured out if this is just fucking brilliant acting or me making this movie way deeper than it needs to be), something about his portrayal of the character that makes you feel bad for the guy. He’s cutting apart buttholes and part of you still wants him to succeed because you’re given just enough of his backstory to want to give him a hug (and some serious fucking therapy). And then you start wondering when it was, exactly, that he snapped and start wondering about the guy who works at the gas station across the street.

That’s the brilliance of it. The natural pity we feel gets thrown the fuck back in our face less than 20 seconds into the film,but you spend the entire movie thinking “is he actually going to do it/get away with it/make it out?”

It’s the Hannibal Lector Technique: The less you know, the more you want to understand.

Another particularly brilliant choice was the complete lack of dialog from Martin. Sure, he cries, laughs, screams in frustration, does a couple of awkward dance moves and kills the fuck out of like 15 people, but he NEVER SAYS A GODDAMN WORD. He. Just. Stares.

Creepysauce.

So Martin decides to make a human centipede and does it. That’s basically the rest of the film.

Many critics were aghast at the level of extreme, graphic violence depicted in the film. I’m not going to lie, it is absolutely awful to sit through. Just about every awful thing that you could imagine happens in this film and sometimes twice because FUCK YOU is why.

Jake, who can sit through the most violent of horror films without batting an eye and is directing goddamn Titus Andronicus, nearly puked on the sofa a couple of times, and I spent many moments buried in his sweatshirt so I didn’t have to watch.

I’m not going to turn this into a soapbox debate of what connotates a good or a bad movie, but I will say this.

How many movies have you seen where you watch it, figure out the plot 20 minutes in, wait for the inevitable romantic ending/robot fight ending, shrug, and forget that you saw it three days later? I’ve seen tons of movies with Jake, and we still occasionally have that moment of “Did we see that in the theater? I think we did. I can’t remember”.

I’m not saying that The Human Centipede 2 is going to share a box set with Citizen Cane and Gone With the Wind any time soon, that would be too awesome  to ever actually happen.

What I will argue is that where the Human Centipede 2 comes through is that it drags the audience kicking and screaming in to a realm of absolute, undeniable visceral response.Yes, the movie is disgusting. Yes, it’s spectacularly violent, bloody, rapey and questionable for small children and born-again Christians to watch, but I’ve never sat through a movie that made me actually sweat before.

I am notorious for my “this is just a stupid movie” response. I was forced to watch Passion of the Christ in high school because “to understand the power of Easter, we have to understand what Our Savior truly went through”, and I sat there the entire time going, “Oh, hey, that’s the hot guy from The Count Of Monte Cristo”. It is difficult, if not impossible, for me to suspend my disbelief long enough to enjoy a film, and the thought of “there’s obviously a blood pack up his sleeve” occurred to me during this film exactly 0 times.

Yes, there were times when the “LET’S SEE HOW RIDICULOUSLY VIOLENT WE CAN BE BECAUSE FUCK YOU, AUDIENCE” got a little extreme. [Put your own poop joke here], and yes, I am still looking into ways of bleaching my corneas,

But I liked it.
Mom will be so proud.

Now, I will say the ending (which I looked up on Wikipedia afterwards and they said the same thing so I know I’m right), is purposefully ambiguous. There is nothing more infuriating than an ambiguous ending. I won’t spoil it in case any of you sick fucks reading want to see it, but there are two options on how to interpret the ending.

Wait, I’m going to, right now. Here I go.
Don’t read this part if you want to be suprized.
Darth Vader is Luke’s father.
Why are you still reading, I thought you wanted to be suprized.
Fine.

The movie ends with Martin cleaned up in his work uniform and sitting back at his computer, watching the end credits of The Human Centipede. This implies ones of two options: Option A: Since before the whole “make a centipede” goes down, we see him sitting in his work uniform starting the film, it can be interpreted as “He just imagined the whole thing”. Option B: He got away, cleaned himself up and is back to the drawing board on how to make it possible.

I’m going to rant here and say that I fucking HATE “It was all a dream” endings. They are the worst cop-out cheap-o bad-writing stupid endings ever and completely invalidate everything you just say through.

Earlier today, I had the realization that in the end, in this rare case, it doesn’t matter. Why?

If the movie ends with Option A, then holy shit, this guy is seriously, seriously fucked up and he is ON THE STREETS and WANTS TO ATTACH YOUR MOUTH TO A BUTT. Also, I JUST WATCHED THIS WHOLE @%”*($&#%* MOVIE FOR NOTHING AND I WANT TO THROW UP.

If the movie ends with option B, the see above.

Well played, Human Centipede.

Well played.

 

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