ITALIA: June 22, 2007

Here’s where we went wrong, yesterday: When in Italy, you need to have desires, or goals. It is a land of great passion, desire and appetite. HOWEVER, no desire should ever, EVER take greater priority over your next cup of coffee.

Which is to say, listen to yourself and go with it. Don’t make yourself dopey by foregoing a good meal in order to get in the car to Florence quicker. You’ll only end up settling for roadside food and a caffeine insufficiency too late to really turn things around for you. Today we took this lesson to heart. First of all, our adventures of the previous day and the lateness of the hour of our return permitted us to sleep in quite a bit. I myself slept until 12:30, a normally unheard-of feat. When we were all up, the priority was a good meal. We knew we had the show in Pitigliano to attend later this night, so felt justified in moving at a simple pace and structuring things around when we accomplished them. This is why Italians are always late, and rarely frustrated.

So we had a nice lunch, and planned to visit our favorite little store in Orvieto for groceries and a visit with its proprietor, Vera. Doing this with no particular rush, we found we had plenty of time to eat, David swam and I exercised and acro’d on the lawn a bit (at one point looking up to find one of our neighbors on her porch watching with an expression that suggested a combination of fear and confusion), and we drove off to Orvieto feeling pretty fine. Once within its walls, Dvaid did some errands whilst Heather and I had cappuncini, used up our internet café cards and bought a plant for Vera. (The woman continually, unrelentingly takes lots of time to happily speak with us, not to mention gives us free bottles of wine and soda, when we visit her; we’ll never catch up on the gift front; she’s too good.) After a while we wound our way to Vera’s and had a lovely visit, incapable of escaping without having the wine we were trying to BUY from her hoisted upon us for no charge.

This entry—most of these later ones—grow more and more about a vacation than acting, theatre or The Third Life™. That’s one of the reasons we came here, I admit. As artists, we really don’t get “vacation time.” As Todd noted while he was here, so long as we get to do our work we generally don’t feel a need for vacation. What a lot of people outside of the effort of a Third Life® have trouble understanding is that we do work when we go out of town for a show, or take time for a tech week. The fact that we’re generally happier and better adjusted when we return just makes some people assume it was more like what sets them right, namely a couple of weeks out of the year to lie on a beach and sip margaritas, or some similar activity. As actors (and a director) our “vacations” coincide with our work, in part because that work is of necessity a third thing in our lives. It thrives most in these times we aren’t working to support our livelihood or focusing on a personal life. In other words, when we make time for it.

Not that I’m not grateful to be typing this on a sunny, vine-laced terrace in Europe, and not that it’s not luxurious and relaxing. I just wanted to express that observation to clear a little air.

So after dinner we headed to Pitigliano to see their production of Othello, or (as we shall henceforth refer to it):

La Strage del Teatro.

We had our warnings. Looking back, we had numerous cautions. And, I suppose, the worst of all possible outcomes would have been a show that sort of awkwardly straddled the fence between decent and sucky. Finally, to paraphrase Bernard in Black Books: “Enjoy. It’s dreadful, but it’s quite short.”

First of all, stupido Americani that we are, we arrived a half an hour before the time listed on the poster to have a gelato and take in that glorious Pitigliano sunset again. In so doing we witnessed the lead actor arrive, and one of the other, more punctual actors greet him at the door already in costume, said costume comprised of a lot of black gauze and satin. The doors didn’t open until the hour posted on the poster, and the show (if such a thing it may be called) didn’t begin until 10:00. Ah, we thought, let us remember this timing for when we plan a performance in Italy.

Imagine every parody, every farce, every pretentious off-off Broadway show, movie or skit you’ve seen, the subject of which is theatre or theatre life, roll them into one and make everyone speak Italian. You’ll approach what we witnessed. I have often thought it interesting, though etymologically difficult, how similar the words “tragedy” and “travesty” are. The idea has been made flesh. And black satin.

I’ve just conferred with my comrades, and there’s just no way to encapsulate all that was wrong with this show. Think of an aspect of theatre, and make it horribly, horribly wrong. David seemed to think that the director was someone who had seen a style of theatre in Rome or elsewhere Italian and decided that’s what he wanted to do, regardless of the show involved. I credit the director with less direction and more pretense and personal indulgence. Every character was dressed in black, gauze and satin, against a black backdrop. There was music during every interlude, of which there were dozens, and there was interpretive dance by non-dancers. Plus the acting was bad to the point of a approximating a slide show on what not to do on stage.

Redeeming qualities? Well, it was interesting to note—by way of this production and conversations with Andrea—that apparently not much Shakespeare is done in Italy. The language doesn’t translate well, and given the physical background of Italy’s theatre tradition, a language- or poetry-based theatre must seem fairly inaccessible to the general public. So what’s popular where Shakespeare is concerned (and he must be very concerned indeed), and was what we saw yester night, is to take the story and not the text itself. This is very interesting to me for two reasons. The first is that we would pretty much never think of doing this in the English-speaking countries unless the play was mere inspiration for an entirely different setting or conflict (West Side Story, for instance). The language is a major purpose of the plays for us, in other words. Secondly, transliterating Shakespeare strikes me as very similar—or perhaps a reverse-engineering—of what Shakespeare did to the commedia dell’arte plays he may have witnessed as a youth; plays such as may influenced A Comedy of Errors or All’s Well That Ends Well. Finally, for all the pretension of the director, the actors themselves were very earnest and modest in their efforts. This reminded us of Michael Green’s Coarse Acting plays, but it also reinforced for us that what we experienced was overall a positive experience, more full of good intention than an actual; disregard of or disrespect of us as an audience.

We drove home happily counting the Shakespearean clichés and regaling one another with our reinterpretations of favorite foibles. If the mark of a successful play is the continued effect it has on its audience, then this production of Othello was indeed successful.

Too successful, in its way.

ITALIA: June 18, 2007

This morning we awoke early to take Todd to the train into Rome, where he would catch the subway to the airport, where he would fly to Perugia, where he would then fly on to America. He had about three hours of sleep the night before, so hopefully he is able to sleep on the longer leg of his flight. We have a similar timing for our flight out next week, and I’m not looking forward to it. To depart at 2:00 in the afternoon, spend eight hours in the air and arrive at 5:00 in the afternoon is not only weird, it’s exhausting. They’d best not expect much from Todd at work tomorrow, or me next week.

It’s sad to have him go. Everything is a lot quieter, and we’re all adjusting gradually to the energy shift. We truly do adjust in his absence. Heather and I become more outspoken, and David takes more (albeit calmer) prerogative, but it’s never as adventurous or—frankly speaking—dangerous when Todd is absent, and as students of theatre we miss that when it’s gone. We’ll try to promise him not to have too much fun without him, but it will be a challenge. We are in Italy.

The rest of the morning was spent in Orvieto, dropping off laundry (YAY!) and visiting the farmacia and an internet café. I was supposed to have posted last week’s entries today, in fact, but changed bags and neglected to bring my wireless card. Hence the entry bearing this same date, yet containing nothing but an apology. When I finally do post these entries (under one entry, methinks) I’ll have to attach pretty much all of the existing labels, and maybe a few more.

Lunch was at our old favorite for it last year (mainly “favorite” because they made a deal with the language school that included free wine), Antica Cantina. The owner didn’t seem to recognize us, but he’s something of a craggy sort and may have just been under-whelmed to see us again. Afterward we picked up our laundry and arrived at Piazza Cahen to meet Andrea somewhat early, so we had a walk around a park attached to the piazza that overlooks what I believe is the south end of Orvieto. It was gorgeous. I’ve never seen it before. We quickly found Andrea and headed back to Teatro Boni to try on his props-acting workshop for size.

So much happened, it’s hard to encapsulate it all. (Sorry Todd—we really tried not to have anything worth noting happen after you had to leave.) We took our time warming up, which Andrea left to us, wanting to experience our style again, and we moved into partner stretching with him. This may have been pushing it a bit. The last, wherein you lift you partner, back-to-back, proved to be a bit much for him as a base. He didn’t seem seriously hurt, fortunately. We rapidly moved on to his workshop. He laid out a variety of props, both mundane and somewhat constructed to his purposes, and instructed us to take our time choosing one, then exploring it in our own isolation. He had several helpful (not to mention original) suggestions on how to approach this discovery, including to find all the sounds it can make and to consider the materials it is constructed of and where they come from. He went off to do some business for the theatre, which ended up taking longer than expected. That was fine with us. The music he put on ran out while we never did find an end to the exploration of our respective objects. It was the kind of work you never really find time for in a rehearsal process…but probably should.

When Andrea did return to break us from our trance, we discovered we were joined in the audience by the director of their current show (a Plautus play), Cesare, and a secretary of the theatre, Hanna. I swear, none of we three had any idea they had come in. I still wonder how long they watched us “exploring.” Andrea’s next assignment was to demonstrate three alternative uses for the objects we had chosen. David’s whisk and pot top became a wine bottle and tray, a mirror and comb, and a paintbrush and palette. Heather’s thermal blanket became a superhero cape, a cobra, jiffy pop and a balloon. My round wicker basket became (I couldn’t resist over committing) a helmet, ear horn, parachute, canoe and combination back hump and/or knap sack. Then Andrea, in what seems to be his inimitable style, requested we improvise a monologue incorporating our respective prop(s). I lucked out and got to go last on this, giving me the most time to think, and constructed a story (of a football player surviving a plane crash in the Himalayas) that I ended up actually feeling fairly satisfied with. It was a good day; good to see we could keep moving forward with Andrea in spite of losing our Alpha Communicator, and the workshop ended happily on all sides.

Actually, we had another surprise, as Andrea requested we present something of our work for Cesare and Hanna at the end of the workshop. Heather and I were quite taken aback. We couldn’t see doing the Valentino excerpt without Todd, and our other piece, the one that only involves we two (Death + a Maiden) is prop heavy, and timed in large part by a soundtrack. In the spirit of the workshop (and, I suppose, Italy) however, we attempted it. Heather used a milk crate for a chair, a sort of slender boa for a hair bow and a toilet scrubber for a mirror. I used the thermal blanket for a cloak, a collapsible Chinese long sword for a scythe and a spaghetti spatula for flowers. Sans music, which was a first for us, and sans rehearsal (read: fight call) of the acrobalance and momentum moves involved. It went great, all things considered, was well-received and full of discovery for us both. Plus we got another piece of "Zuppa in Italia" ("Italia della Zuppa"?) on film, impromptu though it may have been.

The adventure did not end with our day’s “rehearsal.” Afterward we five, plus another friend of the theatre, joined up for drinks at a local bar (“bar” in Italy is what we’d think of in America as a café) and getting-to-know-you. Then the subject of an amphitheater in town came up. It was being restored, and they hoped we could see it, though they joked it might mean “breaking in.” Well, we drove across town, and the place was indeed locked up. To my surprise, we actually did break in. At the encouragement of the others, Andrea, Heather, David and I climbed over an eight-foot wall and walked about the amphitheatre. It was heavily under (re)construction, with a giant, net-covered scaffolding in front of the yawning proscenium arch, but you could see how wonderful it would be. On the way back to Orvieto, after goodbyes to our new friends, we fantasized about Aquapendente’s first annual Shakespeare festival opening with our clown production of Romeo & Juliet, or Measure for Measure.

The day ended quietly, with we three opting to make a dinner of leftovers back at home base after dropping Andrea off. Night settles on slowly now, for a change, and with utterly allergic sinuses but completely fulfilled heart and stomach, I’m off to read Coarse Acting until I fall into increasingly vivid dreams.

ITALIA: June 13, 2007

If ever I worried about how we were going to spend our time in Italy this time around (and, I did) it was a waste of time. Fortunately I’ll be gaining back six hours on the return trip. (Which will of course go directly into the jetlag 401(k) that I am gradually adding hours to.) When we weren’t preparing food, eating it or working today, we were planning more meals and times to work in the coming days. There is a temptation to make this entire Italy section of the log about the meals we ate while here, but that would be fairly out of keeping with the purpose of my ‘blog.

Breakfast was a nice meal of fried polenta con spinichi e carne, after which much of our time was spent shopping and preparing for the lunch we had planned to host for Andrea, his wife, and our friend, Lucianna. Actually, David and Todd went off to buy groceries, and after Heather and I had finished the breakfast dishes we worked on our handstands in the sunny yard overlooking a lush valley and a castle in the distance. What can I say? It’s a harsh, unforgiving environment out here.

Lunch was wonderful, but way too involved. It may be difficult for you to imagine why a meal begun at 1:00 wouldn’t resolve itself until 4:00, but only if you’ve never been here before. Nevertheless, afterward we ventured off to Acquapendente and the Teatro Boni to introduce our style of theatre to Andrea, and vice versa.

We were nervous to begin. Sometimes the basic building blocks of what we do seem so basic it’s difficult to conceive of a fellow professional actor appreciating them. We were all probably distracted from this nervousness, however, upon entrance into the theatre. It is small, but not remotely modest, a classical theatre with gilded balconies and a chandelier, and a beautifully maintained, hardwood raked stage that we didn’t think twice about working barefoot on. Once we had ooed and ahed enough over the space, we started with a warm-up. I suggested we collaborate around a circle, each contributing a warm-up activity, and we were off.

The warm-up evolved quite naturally into exercises in characterization and comic timing (tempo comico). Before long, there was very little of us demonstrating our training techniques (which is how Andrea preferred we begin together) and quite a lot of back-and-forth of sharing ideas. We capped off the encounter with a showing of photographs from our previous shows and a promise to demonstrate finished works live tomorrow, the idea seeming to be that unless we are intimidated by the prospect of what we’re doing the next day, we’re not doing enough. We’ll present our excerpt from Silent Lives that we used to fulfill our performance obligations last year, but not before running through it once or twice in the morning.

Thereafter, it was off to Lingua Si, the language school we were affiliated with last trip, to finally (I know we’ve only been here two-and-half-days, but it seems amazing we only did this by now) meet up with our friend, Piero. Once we had gathered him and some of his current studenti up, it was off to our friend Lorella’s agriturismo for dinner. I was very excited when I discovered this was the plan, not having understood this was in fact the plan. I chalked this up to my complete and utter failure to comprehend the Italian language, and just savored the memories of that beautiful place (and the anticipation of their unbelievable vino rosso). The evening progressed, and after we sat down to begin another extensive meal, our favorite Italian teacher from last year, Antonella, and her husband Toni arrived. It seemed so fortuitous. I am a moron.

At the dessert course, out went the lights, and out came a little chocolate and pistachio ice cream cake with a candle affixed to a plastic “30”. Ah, thought I. I hope they don’t expect me to make a speech.

They both expected and demanded.

“Grazie tanti, grazie mille. Mi piace Italia, si, ma mi amore tutti.”

Not even remotely correct. But hopefully I got my point across.

Read Me?

Before you ask: My butt feels okay today, inasmuch as a butt can that is apparently seriously damaged.

Some have expressed confusion at my schedule, of late and upcoming. I can't begin to imagine why. I suppose it could have something to do with the way in which I myself never actually know what I'll be doing much in advance of a week beforehand. Such is the life of the unrepresented, slightly-whorish-about-work actor. (Come on. Everyone's a little whorish about the stuff they love.) So I thought I would give an update on what I think is happening for me this summer. What I

think

is happening, mind you. You don't get to hold me to this, because I don't get to hold anybody to anything they promise me regarding work and travel. Them's the breaks.

Some of the more niggling questions of late:

By-Stander of Innocence:

Hey Jeff, how come you aren't in Italy right now?

VERY good question, helpful By-Stander. I myself am often amazed by life's little surprises. It turned out that we did not achieve our enrollment quota for

In Bocca al Lupo

, and thus it seemed we weren't able to go. Then David Zarko, artistic director of

The Northeast Theatre

, asked us if we could apply for grants and pay part of our airfare as actors. To the first we said yes, the second, no. We did not get the grants, and most of we lot are pretty shallow-of-pocket. Suddenly David pipes in again, saying, "Well, what the hell! I want to go with youse guys, and--being that I am gradually becoming the real estate baron of Upper Left-Hand Scranton--if we make it a two-week trip I can afford to take you." So we were on again, for the last two weeks in May. But then one of us had show conflicts with that time, and David thought we could get better prices later, so now we are positively, definitively going to be there the last two weeks of June. Maybe.

B-SoI:

Soooooo . . . how comes you hain't been writing about teaching with Wingspan Arts all month, then?

Well, when I left off teaching with

Wingspan

at the start of May, it was with the idea that I had two weeks to find a new apartment before going to Italy, and very little money to accomplish this. Now I have a little more money and Italy is put off, but I am still, technically, apartmentless. So it's best for both me and the youth of America that I NOT be compelled to invoke any disciplinary action upon them.

BSoI:

Enough said. Do you miss it?

Badly. I miss the kids, and Alex. Hopefully the timing will work out that I can see their final presentation before really, truly (maybe) leaving for Italy.

BSI:

And what of

The Torture Project

and

Joint Stock Theatre Alliance

? Are they still going strong? Are you still strongly going along with them, or have you been left at the side of Collaboration Road with nothing but a few creative notions wrapped in a handkerchief tied to the end of a stick?

Er . . . . That's very poetic, By-Stander. Are YOU by any chance involved with a collaborative theatre project?

BSI:

Who isn't?

Indeed. Well, refer to a previous entry of mine (

5/3/07

) and you will see that the above project has miraculously transformed itself unto a show entitled

As Far As We Know

, created by a theatre company now monikered as

UnCommon Cause

. Same bat-people, same bat-project, different bat-names. And yes, as far as I know, I'll still appear on stage. (Speaking of which: Todd. I need those work-out tips NOW.) In fact,

As Far As We Know

shall grace one of the stages of the

NYC Fringe

in August. So we're gearing up to hustle and bustle to create the most fully realized version of the show to date. With a script, and everything. Hopefully we'll maintain some of the homey effects, like string lights. String lights make everything pretty. Currently, along with several writer meetings prior, we're planning to escape to

New Hampshire

once again at the end of July to get some focused development done.

BI:

Wait, wait. At the end of July? Won't that conflict with projects you've mentioned previously?

The Exiled

, and something with Friend Melissa's company,

Kinesis Project Dance Theatre

?

Yes and no, happily and sadly.

The Exiled

(which I keep thinking of as

Teh Exiled

; consider it, Nat...?) was not accepted into the Fringe, obviously because the Fringe only accepts fluffy, unresearched and underdeveloped material. Wait. No. Um . . . I guess . . . LOOK! A SEAGULL! {sound of hurried footsteps, fading into the distance} But never fear: Friend Nat fully intends to mount the show all the same (fan as he is of mounting things), possibly at the end of August, when all of this Fringe-related madness has blown over.

Kinesis

, however, I had to bow out of, owing to conflicts at both ends of the project's development. This makes me very sad, as it is hardly the first time I've had to abandon both Friends

Melissa

and

Patrick

--creatively speaking--and their faith in me probably can't take much more. That's not to their discredit AT ALL. Quite the contrary. I just basically owe them a percentage of all the cash I make from other shows I end up doing during the time we had planned to work together. Guys, your checks for 72 cents are in the mail.

B:

Okay. I'm starting to get the picture here. So you'll be around more than usual this summer?

Yes (if by "more than usual" you mean, "at all"), and I have aspirations of many open acrobalance sessions in Central Park as a result. I will, of course, keep my hungry public updated on the progress of that as it develops.

B:

Great! So the rest of the summer, you'll be busy, but around--

Ah, not quite. There is also a week at the start of July--from the 2nd to the 6th, to be precise--when I will be in Pennsylvania teaching children ages six to sixteen about the glories of physical theatre and acrobalance.

b:

I see. BUT, apart from that, your summer will be spent in and around the Big Apple, and of course in the fall there's so much going on here you'll need to stay local--

Er. Um.

b:

. . . What?

I, uh. Starting August 27th I'll be out of town for over two months collaborating on the newest

Zuppa del Giorno

show,

Prohibitive Standards

.

: . . .

Sorry. Sorry. It's like this: See, I work really hard at my craft. The only thing that limits me in this is the opportunity to do so in any context that supports the rest of my life, which opportunity is unpredictable in occasion and duration. So when I get to do it,

and

in a context in which I really, personally care about the work itself . . . well, it's not to be missed, no matter how much it may rattle the equilibrium of my life at large. Hence the mad schedule, and feeling all warm and fuzzy inside the more theatrical obligations I have to run around to. It doesn't make sense. It does, however, make me happy.

By-Stander of Now Somewhat Less Innocence:

But how's your butt feeling?

Quiet, you.

Holler if you Hear Me

I just want to give a shout-out to my peeps.

Actually, I hate

Peeps

(TM). They're just glorified puffed sugar, like diabetes-inducing rice cakes. But I know some people who love the Peeps(r), and I love the people who love the Peeps(patent pending) so, ergo, ipso facto, I love the Peeps(k) too, and must shout it out unto them. This entry, thus, is for ma'

Peeps

.

Some of y'all (most of my peeps hail from Virginia [though Northern {which was going to secede just like West, until they realized they had no natural resources}]) may have wondered where the Aviary went for the past three days. Some, in fact, may have panicked, and I offer my most profound apologies to just those panicky some. It's all right. It's okay. You can cry without shame, and I will hold you just as long as you need to be held. Maybe a little longer. Why not? No one's looking. And maybe, if that's too warm for you, you can just go ahead and take your shirt off. That's cool. We're just friends hugging here. And if that hug gets a little rubby, you know, if the, fingers get curious and the breathing gets throaty, hey--

Whoa. Where was I going with that? Oh right: Jail. For lewd 'blogostomy.

Where have I been? Well, I was ill. Again. Yeah. Thas' right. Because I rule so bad. There are aspects of my reputation as a performer that I quite enjoy, such as being unerringly punctual (unless I miss rehearsal altogether, eh,

TP

ers?) and always having some outlandishly overwrought physical choice to contribute. The one I'd just as soon not have continue, however, is my proclivity for infection during the course of a show. I was wicked good at that in college (starring in

The Three Musketeers

with a swollen throat and fever of 102) and thought I had whipped it (whipped it good) in the early years of my adulthood, but the past year+ now has brought the return of the leprous liturgist. This time it was a head cold that fell into my throat, which created the intriguing aspect of never knowing if my voice would go out in the middle of

A Lie of the Mind

last weekend.

Owing to how we've staged the show, with cross-fades in lieu of blackouts, after the act break I end up lying mostly motionless on my side on a box for about twenty minutes at the top of our Act II (Shepard's Act III) before being suddenly woken to proclaim a somewhat lengthy monologue. Well, last weekend it was always a crap-shoot whether or not I'd have any voice whatsoever after my little silent nap. The worst was Friday night. I sat up and started talking, and it was like trying to rattle a piece of papyrus, my larynx had gone so brittle. I made it, thankfully. In fact, I got some compliments on how effectively I played the character's fever. Which I took. What? That's valid.

The other thing is, I plowed through my congestion to take yet another trip out to the sticks. Or, as it is more commonly known to those what live there, Scranton, Pennsylvania--home to all things

Northeast-Theatre

-like. I was there to go on a sort of first date.

Zuppa del Giorno

is beginning to collaborate with a few community groups for our upcoming projects, among them

Marywood University

and the

Scranton State School for the Deaf

. We were to attend a rehearsal for the latter's production of

Grease

, and while there show them a little something of what we do, too.

Yes:

Grease

. Yes: School for the deaf. I recognize that this smacks of a really poor set-up for some even worse punchlines. Such is not my intention, however, as the high schoolers we met that day probably have gone right out and found every single website associated with us they could. Gang, if you're reading, I can only hope I half rocked your world like you rocked mine.

As it was going to be just

Heather Stuart

and I to perform our half of the bargain, we planned to do our clown piece, "

Death + a Maiden

," and had to allot time to refresh it before unveiling its silly splendor for what we imagined to be culturally jaded teenagers. We had the theatre to ourselves, and that is a fairly big space. Well, huge from a struggling New York actor standpoint. I was reminded, between gasping for air without the use of my nose and chugging Alka-Seltzer Cold concoctions, of the sacredness of space for a performer. As Heather and I struggled to feel our roles again, to polish our beats 'til they shined like the top of the Chrysler Building, I thought of how it would be yet four more months until Zuppa rode out

our new debut

, and wondered what work lay before us.

Heather, as I have mentioned previously, has moved out to Scranton, and before we took to the stage of the deaf I got my first look at her new place. It's really nice; idyllic, in a

Benny and Joon

kind of way. The entire time I was there, she and David Zarko cracked jokes about how long I was going to wait before caving and moving out there myself. It's hard to say if they had any idea how much I'd thought about it in recent months. Still, their jokes peppered my appetite for New York adventures in a very appetizing way. Just tonight I was out past my bedtime, catching a mixed bag of short plays. How I would miss that sort of thing.

Before we even met the students at the Scranton School I felt simultaneously like I was dreaming and like I had returned to Italy. Obviously, all the faculty there use sign language. Not so obvious is who amongst them can speak as well. As in Italy, I found myself having to remind myself to look to the person being translated, rather than the translator, and as in a dream I began to sense the sense of a language and culture I had virtually no exposure to prior to the moment. It was a matter of only seconds before my mind began making connections and understanding the tone of some of what was being "said," if none of the words or symbols used. That would have been fascinating enough, but we were there to the meet actors who were native to that country.

In a gymnasium with a stage built into one end we met about twenty young actors and technicians who couldn't hear a word we said. Our introductions and conversation all flowed through the hands and lips of a translator or, often, several, as others "mirrored" what was being said in order for everyone to get what was being said. There were still kids more interested in what they had to say at the moment than what the class was discussing (one I think I even caught making something of a dirty joke with his pals) but in this context such side conversations were easy to let be . . . one just kept his eyes on the ball. Like all first dates, it was awkward at first. It was funny, actually. No one was quite sure what he or she was doing there, or what the other wanted from them. Eventually we determined that the home team would show their stuff first, so they brought us chairs as we sat back to see a scene from

Grease

.

Five girls played the sleepover scene, and broke into gesticulated song with "Frankie my Darling." ("Frankie my Love"? I don't know. I don't know

Grease

. Or sign language, for that matter.) There was no music--they were still working on getting their speakers rigged to vibrate the stage so the actors could feel the beat--but somehow the actors kept in perfect sync with one another. As they signed, a translator spoke, always about a beat or two behind their delivery. By the end of the scene, we weren't laughing at the translated lines, but at the delivery, silent and as literally inexplicable as could be, simply because we understood the characters and their feelings based on the acting and, somehow, the tone of the signing. Actually, it was some of the most naturalistic acting I have seen from high schoolers, and I wonder how much of that has to do with their living first and foremost in a physical language.

When they finished the scene, we applauded. There was an awkward silence. I mean, even hands were silent. We didn't know what was to come next; but I asked a question. Did they begin with a table reading, as we usually do? From this the actress playing Sandy launched into an explanation about how English is a kind of second language to them, signing being the first, and that there's no direct translation between the two. After all, it isn't like sign language evolved from a romantic or Latin-based language. It is its own entity, and so any time a script is performed in it, the whole thing doesn't just have to be translated, but transliterated. The interpretation an actor must perform begins at the level of the very language they choose, and thus there's an added dimension of reaching agreement between everyone in their understanding of the script. We asked them if they ever improvised, and had to spend some time explaining the very concept to them, so Zuppa may end up really giving them something different.

Finally, we took the stage with our little clown piece, and I was nervous as can be. Would they get it? Would they be insulted by the noses, or the style? Would the piece hang together without their hearing the music, getting the auditory jokes? At first it was silent. My entrance as a red-nosed Death usually elicits a healthy chuckle, but not this time, and I suddenly wondered how laughter came out of people unaccustomed to using sounds to communicate. Would I recognize it?

I did. Shortly after my entrance, I took an illustrative swing with my plastic scythe and the handle bent, hinging the blade back on itself cartoonishly for an instant before straightening out again. The laughter was some of the sweetest I've ever heard. From there in we were all set. They laughed at our courtship--an interesting parallel, the first-date scenario realized within a first date--and oo-ed at the acrobalance. When we finished, they clapped and we took our bows. There was a very brief question-and-answer session, akin to those following matinée performances at the theatre, in which one gets the impression everyone there is much more interested in lunch than information. But then class was dismissed, and every student came forward to shake our hands. When they saw we were not in a rush to go, they flooded us (in a necessarily one-at-a-time fashion) with questions. One boy said he loved "this clown stuff" and wanted to know if we'd teach him. One wanted to know if we'd be back the next day. One wanted to know if my character knew his kiss would kill the girl before he did it.

I can't wait to work with these kids again. Zuppa's becoming a sort of incorporation of different communities, and it's an exciting prospect. We speak of commedia dell'arte being a living tradition in our shows and workshops, and now it seems we're paying the tradition back a little for all the life it's given us. So let this entry be a shout-out to all the people who've supported Zuppa del Giorno along the way. And to our new friends at the Scranton State School, I raise the roof. You guys can teach me a cooler gesture when we work together in the fall.