Wedding Ring

Last night Amelia (Mai) asked me whether I was going to be wearing a wedding ring. At first I thought she was asking me something else. I felt a dropping feeling in my chest.

"Uh, I don't have mine. My wife kept it."

Long story, but that's what happened to my wedding and betrothal rings – I stopped wearing them, and my wife took them. That was before I moved out, about a year and a half ago.

Of course Amelia was just asking me because she thought Robert should be wearing one.

So I'm going through a divorce right now. That's what they call it – even though I moved out of the house in the end of December 2008, even though I started trying to leave and planning to leave in May 2008, I'm still "separated," still "going through a divorce." I had to file my 2009 taxes "Married Filing Separately" rather than single because I'm not divorced yet. Have you ever considered how much harder it is to get divorced than married? Marriage is a certificate at a local courthouse, divorce is a year-long or longer process that tears you up financially and emotionally.

At first I didn't want to like Robert. I despised him for cheating on his wife. But eventually I realized my dislike of Robert was tied up with my continued sense of shame and guilt for leaving. I don't want to talk about my reasons for leaving my wife on a public forum. But there are some similarities between Robert and me. Working with Robert meant working with my feelings about leaving my wife.

Rehearsals for this part were very difficult. I've been acting for a while. I don't break character unless I mean to. But the fights between Robert and the Mai –and in particular, confronting her grandmother – I found it hard to stay in the scene.

This is one of the most challenging roles I've ever attempted. I really hope this means something to somebody.

The Strength of a Mother

My mom is an aggressive career woman who flaunts her independence and eccentricity. She restored a fixer-upper on her own, which she bought while working as one of the only female engineers (and labor union officials) at NBC in L.A. during the 70s and 80s. Mom never wore makeup, and often sported a t-shirt reading “A Woman needs a Man like a Fish needs a Bicycle”. Goats and peacocks wandered about the backyard, till the neighbors couldn’t stand the noise anymore; a Gila monster lurked around after that. This was all before I was born. This world-traveling, hell-raising activist reared us forcefully.

When I started working on “The Mai”, it was tough to avoid comparing my character to my mother. That quickly fell away as we got the play onto its feet and started doing character work. The improvisations we did, especially between the sisters, helped me see how Mai equates validation with love, and strives for perfection.

While improvising with Robert (Jon) about why he left in the first place, he asked me straight out, “Why do you need to be so perfect? Why can’t you leave it alone?” I tried to explain how much I wanted things to be perfect for him, but he wasn’t convinced. Things got heated, and the tension between us was palpable - it was a breakthrough.

I’ve been exploring those questions he asked me. When I was reading an article about anorexia a while back, I found an equation echoing Mai’s view. This is a breakdown of an anorexic’s illusion of control:

“Control equals strength, strength equals denial, denial equals simplicity, simplicity equals purity, purity equals perfection, perfection equals perfect control.” Mai’s not an anorexic, but she demands control in her relationships. She starts to lose control when Robert comes back. The dream of love is a dangerous seduction, which cannot gild her grapple for power with her loved ones.

The stage has to be a dangerous place. Endangering myself as the Mai does not mean I’m throwing knives up there, but allowing myself to be vulnerable. This work has been deliciously challenging; the greatest challenge has been allowing things to happen, and restraining myself from forcing anything. Because, like Mai, I crave control, and like my mom, I push myself hard. I want to give this everything I’ve got, and hope that I can keep opening myself up.

Spread Pain Like Butter

For the most part I don’t like to publicly air my personal pain. Sure, I can be dark and love to bitch, but I am talking about the deep sadness. The deep deep sadness that you carry around – the shameful secret that you are not right inside.

After one especially vigorous rehearsal for The Mai I told an actor that I wanted to split him open and smear his pain all over the stage. I mean really drench the stage in blood and tears. That is what people want to watch after all. Theater is about inciting emotion, getting to the guts of it. We aren’t here to glide around the stage and talk about something mildly upsetting. I’m kinda mad, or kinda in pain, or I might kill myself. Nope, I am going to slit my wrist and sit on top of your face and stare into your eyes as I bleed to death. Now watch.

Two nights ago I dreamt that I was in a big house that wasn’t mine. It was all white. Someone kept ringing the doorbell but when I went to answer it no one was there. Then I heard a loud knocking on the back door. I opened it and there stood my mom. We talked. I don’t remember everything we said but I do remember she told me it wasn’t my fault. Then I woke up, feeling not right inside.

At the end of The Mai a similar conversation occurs. It transcends time and allows a grown up daughter to talk to her mother as a woman. A woman whose life has been completely altered by her tormented mother. It touches me; it hurts where I am most embarrassed to show. I get teary eyed in rehearsal; I have to lock it down. I can’t go around showing my under belly to everyone. Then I give notes, and tell the actors it wasn’t painful enough.