Skip to main content

An Endless Cycle of Discouragement

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the forces of Fate are combined for one ultimate purpose: to defeat and destroy me. That may be dramatic and illogical, but it does give me a sense of importance I would otherwise lack; and, as I've said before, it is easier to accept cosmic enmity than cosmic apathy.

Not too long ago I was riding on a new surge of confidence after a highly successful audition for summer work. That confidence has been challenged by a grueling weekend of auditions for our upcoming mainstage shows. First off, let me say that I was screwed in the beginning, before the auditions even happened, because of the selection of the plays. They are great plays stuffed with great parts that I cannot play, for one reason or another. Most call for an age or a look or quality that I do not possess, or, even more likely, am not perceived by the powers that be to possess. A good chunk are beyond my admittedly raw and yet untrained acting capacitiy. So I went in to the process with modest expectations, not expecting a lead or anything of the sort. But I had in mind the kind of roles that I would probably be considered for. This was based upon years of being in shows in Utah, where I developed a sense of what people would cast me as. That sense, it turns out, is completely wrong in this new location.

In Utah, I was typecast as the young male lover: Romeo, Lysander, Claudio, Orlando, Sebastian - that sort of thing. Here, they have apparently decided I am a character actor. I will be playing Sir Andrew in an MFA directing student's production of Twelfth Night, which will be fun as it will be a lot of me prancing about the stage acting silly, trying to be manly, and crying a lot, but will hardly be demanding (I mean, it won't really require any acting, will it?). I will finish off the glorious semester in the mainstage production of "As You Like It" (which is nearly indistinguishable from Twelfth Night really... doing them back to back seems absurd) where I will be playing Amiens. If you don't remember the character, thats OK, I didn't either. Basically, I'll come on in two scenes and sing a song. I do like to sing, so this may not sound like a problem, but you should see the parts my fellow MFAs will be doing. My roommate, for instance, really has a chance to work and grow this semester as he plays Orsino in Twelfth Night and Orlando in As You Like It (albeit the two roles, like the two shows, are nearly indistinguishable). This isn't about ego or beng jealous of those in the limelight (well, its not completely about that). This about feeling like I'm not part of the team, not pulling my weight. Its a baseless insecurity. Its simply about the fact that I have less experience and polished technique and there were no roles that, in the opinion of my instructors, really suited me - things I don't really have control over at this point. So why should I freak out about it?

My old roommate Nick always tells me I need to develop a "screw you" attitude (thats the toned down version), so here's my shot. Screw you, bad situation! Screw you, fates! I must remember my commitment to idealism in despite of the harsh realities of life.If I don't feel like I'm really getting a shot to have good practical experience at becoming a stronger artist this semester, then I'll make my own experiences. I'll work extra hard outside of the official curriculum and take advantage of other opportunities to really stretch myself. There is such an opportunity coming up, and you better believe I'm going to take as much advantage of it as I can. I don't want to make it sound like a sure thing, because its not. And I don't want to say TOO much about it, because even if I get it I'm not at all sure how my friends and family will feel about it. But for a certain select few of you who are in the know, here's a little clue:

You think I'd look good in a wig? I have one in a box.

Comments

Anonymous said…
I think you'll do great. Actually, I know you will be great.

Life may be difficult from time to time, but it has a way of working out.

You will be ok. No, you'll be great.
Anonymous said…
"harsh realities of life"? Dude.. you got cast in a smaller role...

Endless cycle of discouragement? what about the folks that don't get cast at all? What about the fact that you don't have cancer and what about the fact that you don't live in the middle east?

You are a smart, charming, and talented individual...and above this whine fest... I know you ARE better than that!!!

You rule Matt! Just remember that. You ARE talented...just remember that. You are a great person... just remember that!!!
I know how you feel. I think I've been the outsider no matter where I go or what I do. And, I've found while traveling about that the proverbial "ballgame" changes from place to place. People expect different things.

But like others have said, you've got skills. I've seen it myself. You'll adapt. You'll rise above the discouragement. And you'll be a much better man for it.

Break a leg, good Bard! Tu ne cede malis sed contra audentior ito!
Matt Haws said…
Anonymous,

You shame me! You speak the truth, I have no place to complain when I have been blessed with so much. I guess the real underlying problem feeding my discouragement (and so many other problems) is childish selfishness. It's time to grow up now.

I promise I'm over it now, everybody! Onward and upward.

Popular posts from this blog

The Only Thing We Have to Fear...

It's October, which means not only do I get to start dipping into my nifty fall wardrobe but also that Halloween is upon us. I think its great that we devote specific holidays to various basic emotions of the human psyche. Halloween = fear, Valentine's day = love, Thanksgiving = gratitude, St. Patrick's Day = envy, and Christmas = greed. We're just missing wrath, lust, pride, sloth, gluttony, and inadequecy. Clearly, more holidays are necessary. But that's a subject for another day. We don't want to give Halloween less than its due. Because seriously, how cool is Halloween? Its way off the scale on the cool-o-meter. When else can you see even the most pious and sensible people indulging in a little of the supernatural and occult by dressing up their children as vampires, witches, or ghosts? Well, that's how it was back in my day anyway (which was soooooo long ago), but today kids dress up as Jedi, princesses, Harry Potter, or Spiderman. They are totally miss

I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent...

I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent. Though, despite the elaborate disguise Consisting of a single pair of bent, Simple specs, they're not two different guys But only one, still I said what I meant: I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent. I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent I guess because one of them's more like me And does not always get what he wants And struggles with our vulnerability. And does not by his perfection command The adoration of every woman and man But sits in the back, with nothing to say Just hoping that Lois Lane looks his way. She doesn't - her eyes are glued to the sky. Wake up, Lois! Can't you see the guy Waiting to love you with all of his might? He may not leap buildings, he may not fly, He may not see through you with x-ray eyes, He might need YOUR help, if that's alright, From time to time, when his mortal heart cries. He combs his hair neatly and fights through the crowd, Decides what to say, and rehearses out loud, He summons his

God Bless Us, Every One

Call me a Scrooge, but I've found that the last couple of years Christmas just hasn't carried the same sense of wonder and excitement it once did. When I was a kid, I was ready to pee my pants every day in December just thinking about the twenty-fifth, which crept closer so slowly that the month was always filled with blissfully tortuous anticipation. The sense of suspense, the agony of not knowing what the fantastically wrapped boxes contained, was only heightened by the lights, the music, the snow, and everything you knew meant it was Christmas time. Back then, my heart's desires cost about twenty bucks and, tragically, seemed both completely unobtainable and the key to my whole life's happiness. This was the season, then, when miracles of a very practical kind could happen; objects only admired on the shelf, or at a friend's, or in some abstract sense of obsession could literally become my own and wind up, eventually, in pieces somewhere in my closet. I like to c