Tag Archives: Paris

Surprising Thoughts In the Summer

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Funny thing.  I recently saw a play where nothing ever changes.  The name of the play?  “Waiting For Godot.”  I actually not so much as saw it, as read it in book form from cover to cover.  The exciting thing is the one skeleton tree on the stage.  It is there when the stage lights come on and still there at the end when the lights go off.  It is the one very strong metaphor, outside of the life we live with the two clowns.

The play is only two acts long and the same  thing happens in both acts–nothing.  The clowns clown around, spending the night together by the tree, and eventually, the clowns leave, singly–effectively separating themselves.

The play is by Samuel Beckett, an ex-patriot Englishman living in Paris, France.  He originally wrote “Waiting for Godot” in French and then re-wrote it in English after receiving the reviews.  He is still a very famous playwright, now that he is dead.  He is in good company with other playwrights like Eugene Ionesco, all of them referred to as the Absurdists.

It was by accident that I came across the play, and even got to reading it.  I think I was attracted by the black and white 1929 or 1930 feel, of dust-bowl America where nothing exists, and everything is cheap.  The clowns are in bowler hats, overalls with suspenders, and checked, button-down shirts.  They have stubble and rough work boots on.  They also often speak non-sensically, in gibberish, and they will mix their languages, with one sentence carrying up to three or four different languages.  “Waiting for Godot” relies heavily on our imaginations to fill in the parts that the clowns do not speak.  They in fact do not debate very much or very long on their existence, which we can only say is a mystery.

They make fun of almost everything, which leads to some surprising conclusions, whether the answers have to do with reality or with just imagined places and things.  It takes an educated actor to be able to take on one of the roles, including a travelling hobo who sells things from his cart.

The three characters are equals.  There is no “ruler,” “police officer,” “rich person,” “poor person,” “parent,” or “child.”  They all meet as strangers, and even though they become acquainted, they leave each other’s  company separated.  It is a stark play of a tough reality.  They become closely acquainted in their struggle to find meaning in existence, even going to the point of questioning whether they actually are existing?  But, as reality is, the play comes to an end, the stage is cleared, and the skeletal tree is left standing on the stage.

So, have I heard the clowns?  Am I enlightened, according to that great European Revolution, which demanded its intelligentsia debate reality and come up with better solutions to life?  Beckett probably can be considered one of the elite during the tail en do the Enlightenment.  He challenged common thought that there must be a God, that life as it is, is not “good enough,” as, any person who imagines himself with the power of God, would definitely do a better job.

It has now become moot in my eyes.  The debate is an exercise.  Something to meditate on. I heard that things change as we grow old.  That my reading of “Waiting for Godot” now, will have a completely different understanding ten years from now… or, even twenty to thirty years from now.  The English language, according to the Oxford dictionary of Common English is always changing, and it always changes faster and more accurately the more people read–the dictionary included.

I consider this the one big project of the year, that I have promised myself to complete, annually.  It is a habit I picked up from school.  My private school teachers insisted that even though school is out for the summer, we must find a project to do and finish.  Now, that I am older and no longer living my life from school term to school term, I can usually satisfy myself by completing one big project a year.  It does not have to be reading some elitist book, but it does have to make me fee like I like myself.

So, now that “Waiting for Godot” is over, for another twenty or thirty years, I find myself thinking of making a beer cocktail, making sure it is sparkly, sugary, and bitter.  I see myself at our cottage, by the dock, and feeling the breeze that builds in late summer off the shore.

Acting Agency Opportunity

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I am staring at a coaster right now.  This living room is in a house which serves as the head office of an agency that represents actors and actresses.  The painted picture on the coaster is a scene in Paris where the bridge crosses the Seine.  Everything is stone and lights, and the people are crowded amongst the buildings and the art that artists have put up for sale.  It is evening and dusk, a pinkish rouge color is in the sky, and only a few leaves straggle on the tall trees, thin and yet like a Japanese Jade tree.  I, of course, do not have a drink, and am waiting in this room in this house, because a friend of a friend of a friend was asked if she knew anyone who wanted a chance to act.  And, so, through the grape vine, this search for acting stars has got to me.

I was told by this friend of a friend, of a friend, that I needed to have professional headshots done–but I also had the choice to just provide all the photos in a contact sheet.  Agents and agencies are familiar with these methods.  So, I am in this room.

The house is quiet, and there is a portress who answers the door when the doorbell rings.  She shows us to this living room, just off the hall foyer to the left.  So, within minutes of my arrival, an older man is also shown in.  He is large, and quite muscular.  When he sits, he hunches, massively, on the couch, his legs and knees up, easily supporting his elbows and shoulders.

We greet each other quietly, and smile in a pleasant manner.  Then, we continue to sit in silence, waiting in the silence of the house.

After about five minutes, a middle-aged woman, thin and somewhat of a dried-out-hair blonde comes into the room.  She introduces herself, shaking hands with each of us.  Then she starts to interview us.  It is not like other job interviews, the questions are sometimes surprising.  I answer as best as I can.  And even though the interview is a dual interview, involving both me and the man, soon, the focus is only on me, and I produce the contact sheet.  The woman takes out an eye-viewer, so, looking through it, the miniaturized contact sheet pictures look larger and the details can be seen.  The funny thing is that, after she looks at the pictures, she asks me to choose the one I like best.  Unfortunately, because I did not look in detail at the pictures beforehand, I look through the eye-viewer for the first time and am overwhelmed by all the choices.  They all look similar to me, and I think, that is why she asks me to choose.

At this point, it is obvious, I am not presenting myself in a very acceptable way.  I don’t think I’ve  proven myself to be an actress.  I am more nervous than anything else, and would not know how to show someone I know how to act, let alone, have a discussion on the merits of acting.  As it dawns on me that nothing much will come from this interview, the result begins to make me slow down and be more calm.  I am already beginning to feel let down, and sad, and like I don’t have any talent.  I end up leaving the house without nervousness, but also, without hope and feeling like the world has rejected me.

By the time I am able to get back on to transit, and find my way home, I have vowed never to listen to the rumors and the too-good-to-be-true opportunities that apparently lurk everywhere, and that sometimes come right at you and seem to be tailored for you, in a specific manner of asking you directly.

I have learned, that opportunities are everywhere, but you have to be prepared to accept them in order to have them become the opportunity of a lifetime, that will change your life for having been prepared to go and take it.

So, now, the most valuable item that I have from that encounter, is a very clear memory of the painting on the coaster.  Paris is very clear to me, and the colors of evening and dusk make the memory beautiful, and I often strive, to recreate the feeling on that coaster.  I am forever in this space, of anticipation, and desire, and preparedness.  That moment of suspension, while waiting, for a big moment.