BURNING BRANCHES (MY PLAY, 2002)

Re-entering 'My Maze World'
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 Some years ago, I wrote a performance piece. I endeavoured to express, my inner life (a life of emotional trauma, carried from babyhood into adulthood; trauma hand -balled down the line, by generations of poor parenting, often extending  to abusive parenting. )

 To write within the center of that dark place, was not easy. And how I felt, while writing the piece, as I fell, from wall to wall, as if  emotionally drunk, in the privacy of my small writing space, was horrible; how I felt as I sniffled and snuffled, like a heart broken, snotty nosed little child, and felt and refelt, the gut wrenching misery of so many years, did not stop the urgent flow of my words

 How I felt, as tears seemed to make a watery, wavy mix with the invisible ink of the text, and then, spread out on the blank A4 page on my computer screen, creating a watery color picture, into which the wounded inner one, could enter and find a place to belong and become, is another story in itself.

 However, the end result of my efforts was a massive inner shift, brought about by seeing my images, in a concrete form. The inner imagery was made to live, by the incredible enthusiasm, generosity, and willingness of the actors, who breathed life into what had moved on from the performance piece, to what had became my play, called 'Burning Branches.'

 I'd like to take some time, to reflect on the  'long ago' experience, of my amature theatre production of 'Burning Branches' as  up until now, I've found no way to sift and sort my way through it. It  will  probably be a little (probably a lot) confusing, and I may need to retrace my steps now and then. However, it feels important for me to begin now, and I'll do the best I can.

THE ACTORS
The actors learned long pages of script, attended hours of rehearsals, and presented 12  sincere- creative performances. I've not seen any one of those folk since that last show, in 2002, but, in my mind's eye, I still see every face. The Italian waiter, who managed to change all his shifts to fit in with the rehearsals, and performances. The petite gorgeous girl who wore the long skin tight red evening dress, and  played the fem fa tale, She pulled it all off beautifully, without a hitch! (or requiring even one new stitch!)

For me, the couple who played out the emotion of  'DESIRE', looked like the living word in motion when
they mouthed and pouted it to each other, 'deee- zyyy - aaah'. Thinking along the lines of skin tight, reminds me of the costume the actress wore for her part as the portrayal of  'DESIRE'. She looked like a greenish, bluish, shimmering  strange, exotic fruit. The male part of desire was a tall slim fellow, with flashing green eyes  a full mouth, and a very pink tongue. He seemed able to move all at the one time, which was most effective.

As for the actress who played the 'bitch of a witch (it was pretty hard on her, she was a dark character all through) Boy she was mean and boy she was great in her meaness!!) The three 'Child Tesses' were just perfect, in costume, looks and in character. Although three young women played the part of Child-Tess, in theory, they were, in essence' meant to be seen as the emotional portrayal of one character.

Then there was Philip, with his grand and articulate presentation of his part in things, and along side of him, his shrewish wife, who pushed him faithfully throughout the play in a wheelchair, unearthed  from the prop room, while disguising her pretty face with a perpetual grimace, her figure with a granny dress and covering her lovely black hair with a granny shawl. She was the real old crone, down to the last detail.

 I could never  forget the fleeting and sweet touch of the girl on holidays from England. She played the role, of Beatrice the theatre cat. The  wandering soul, ever hopeful, of finding a home, and  whose constant plaintive cry was, said in many ways but amounted to the same thing,

'It's only me, a harmless little thing,
won't you open your door and let me come in?'

There were also the two narrators of the work, who pushed and shoved each other psychologically as they tried to assert themselves over each other, leading on to near fisticuffs. I believe, every one of those performers was working towards their dreams, I pray they discovered them, or one day very soon will.
I can only say, they helped me towards mine. Thank you. Thank you.

LOOSE PAGES FROM MY PLAY
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My idea is to re-explore my feelings on what I wrote all that time ago, and see where I stand now, in relation to it. I'll start by explaining a bit about the play its characters, and the actors.

CAST CHANTERS  (Ten, men and women, repeat the following, in a (directed, like a choir singing) 'chant-rosary'  form in the back ground, while on stage.

MEN
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I cursed the church
I cursed the church. (repeated over and over)


(Men use a low voice and say it like a rosary)



WOMEN
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I ranted and raved
I ranted and raved  (repeated over and over)

(Women use high voice, same chant-rosary style, as the men are using)

MEN AND WOMEN
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At a designated point, the men and women join together to chant their lines.

MORE  CAST CHANTER PIECES
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Becomenumb, becomenumb
Becomenumb, becomenumb
Becombnumb becomenumb
Becomenumb becomenumb

There's a ghost in the blood red fire,
a turn in its left eye, a turn in the,
turned left eye, a turn in the turned left eye.

(Note to actors. Instead of tapping fingers, maybe we'll clap hands. We'll talk it over at next rehearsal.)

(More to come)   Tushie