The crown is made of cardboard. It is more and more difficult as I age to ignore the absurdity of playing a role on the stage. It hasn't made me rich or famous. Most of the actors I rehearsed with in my youth now have responsible careers and respectable hobbies. Actors with much more ability have simply walked away from the stage--seemingly with no regrets. Yet, here I am, at my age, donning the silly clothes again and pretending to be able to fight with a sword.
I've loved T. S. Eliot's Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock since I was in college. Now I'm living it.
"No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool."
I've had the great privilege in my career of playing Prince Hamlet and Feste--the Fool. But now empathize much more with Prufrock, the deferential tool "descend[ing] the stair with a bald spot in the middle of my hair--"
Will I continue to play? Yes. Not for the applause or the camaraderie of the greenroom. I don't ever expect to earn a living on the stage. The crown is made of cardboard. I've come to accept that. But the stage is a siren--Prufock's mermaid--calling across the waves. The Role cannot be resisted, for she drags you to the chambers of the deep where she wraps you in wreathes of seaweed, "Till human voices wake us, and we drown."
I've loved T. S. Eliot's Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock since I was in college. Now I'm living it.
"No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool."
I've had the great privilege in my career of playing Prince Hamlet and Feste--the Fool. But now empathize much more with Prufrock, the deferential tool "descend[ing] the stair with a bald spot in the middle of my hair--"
Will I continue to play? Yes. Not for the applause or the camaraderie of the greenroom. I don't ever expect to earn a living on the stage. The crown is made of cardboard. I've come to accept that. But the stage is a siren--Prufock's mermaid--calling across the waves. The Role cannot be resisted, for she drags you to the chambers of the deep where she wraps you in wreathes of seaweed, "Till human voices wake us, and we drown."
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