Becoming A Superhero: The Minefield

Originally begun 3/31/08 -- now, more relevant than it was then:

It's notoriously difficult to talk about the creative process, especially when you're in the middle of it, and only slightly easier to illuminate after-the-fact. (Unfortunately, that kind of post-mortem can also be revisionist due to the inadequacy of memory.)

First, there's the fear that putting the process into words will somehow drain the necessary tension from the initial creative impulse. At the beginning of the process, all you've got is that impulse to pull you forward, until enough momentum has been built up to carry you through to completion.

This has certainly been the case for me when I write. There seems to be a period of time during which talking too much (or even at all) to others about an idea will kill any excitement or clarity of vision I might have initially had, rendering the impulse to tell that particular story moot. After all, if you can sum up a story that quickly, it isn't always worth fleshing out.

I understand this isn't the case for some writers who are actually able to bounce ideas off of other people as they write, creating a chain reaction that actually strengthens the final draft.

I envy that. For me, it's unfortunately the opposite.

Still, that doesn't seem to be the case when Pete and I start working on The Blood Brothers Present... series. With that, we throw as many ideas at each other as possible, good and bad, and before we know it the show has simply taken shape around us. Which leads to:

The second reason why it's tough to talk about the creative process, (theatrical edition): theatre is such a collaborative effort, and being honest in the moment is fine in the rehearsal room, having built up the trust and honesty between collaborators. But in the case of blogging about a show you're rehearsing, a lot of times you don't want that stuff going out on the airwaves half-baked. So much changes during rehearsal, and good ideas from the previous rehearsal may actually be a load of crap in the light of another day.

All of this is preface to the fact that I'm going to try to take down some thoughts about the process of playing this character in Nosedive's (now-open) production of "Colorful World". I figure since I've already gone down Narcissism Lane with my series of "Becoming a Superhero" posts about diet, exercise and weight loss, the next logical step is to deal with my acting process in inhabiting this character. Though I suspect talking about "my process" is about as appealing as talking about "my prostate".

I don't know why I feel that way. I'm fascinated when other people blog about their process. I have no problem trying to put my directing work into words as it's happening. But I think there's just something about being an actor -- the intense self-involvement that's an absolutely necessary part of the process -- that's always made me uncomfortable.

Since this is a character unlike any I've ever been asked to play, it might be interesting for others to see the challenges of bringing this guy into 4-dimensions. For those planning on coming to see the show, you should probably be warned: there be spoilers ahead.



Let's start at the beginning. We meet the character of Tom Shanley at the tip-top of the show. This is how he's immediately described in James's script upon his entrance:

TOM SHANLEY, a.k.a. “Overman,” enters. He is completely bald and has blank white eyes. Note: Tom is what you’d call a…let’s be kind…“cold fish,” for reasons we’ll find out later. He’s not the warmest — or relaxed — person you’ve met, offers almost no facial expression and seems to have no sense of humor. Despite his heroic status, he almost always manages to creep out whomever he’s with.

So that's the immediate impression I have to go on, as an actor -- that's what I have to nail within the first 30 seconds of my entrance. All of this is reinforced during the show itself (after an incredibly awkward moment, Tigress calls him "intense"; Mick Catton, a.k.a. The Peacekeeper calls him "stiff" and "a damned robot". You can see where this is going,) but the audience should understand it immediately.

The other, most important thing, to keep in mind is that Tom Shanley ends the first act of the show with a 12 minute monologue, having essentially gone AWOL from the U.S. government and is now awaiting their retribution camped out in a remote part of Central Africa. 12 minutes of straight talk from a cold fish alone on-stage while still making sure that the audience is going to want to come back after the intermission. No pressure, though. (I love Jimmy's challenges.) Suffice it to say it was the most problematic thing about the script for me, partly because I was the one who was going to have to make it work every night. That's not to say I didn't think it could be done, simply that I didn't know how I was going to do it.

Tom is the only actual superhero in this world, and it's his presence that inspires others to dress up in capes and beat up criminals in back-alleys. He can crush a humvee with his mind. In fact, here's a list of what he can do:

Can't fly, but:
Is impervious to pain.
Skin can deflect bullets.
Can withstand extreme temperatures.
Doesn't need to breathe.
Can manipulate solid objects with his mind.

WHO WANTS "COLD FISH"?
When James and I discussed it during rehearsals, his reasoning was in part due to the intense disillusionment over the years -- both with humanity, and in particular the government -- in tandem with simply being removed from the human spectrum of experience and feeling. When you feel no physical pain, you're most likely unable to feel physical pleasure, either. (Tom even says at one point that the Pentagon has reason to believe his sperm could be toxic. Whether that's true or not -- does the Pentagon just want an Overman without any romantic attachments? -- it's still a helluva downer, ain't it?)

While I agree with James on all of that, I felt there was more to it (at least there needed to be in order for me to play this guy with any consistency whatsoever.)

That "more" has to do with Tom's psionic abilities. In the monster-logue (as I lovingly refer to it) Tom details the first experience he has in discovering his powers. He stumbles upon an arguing couple in Times Square, and tries to intervene before it turns deadly. He describes it this way:

TOM: I was so enraged that I was trembling and my hands were clenching. That's when I realized he had let go of the woman and started clutching at his chest and throat, as if being choked and having a heart-attack at the same time. I didn't know what was happening. Relieved to see that the woman had broken free and was edging away, I relaxed my muscles and unclenched my fists, and the man snapped out of his mini-seizure and caught his breath."

A fairly typical comic book style power-discovery, right?

But it opens the door to the fact that Tom's emotional temperature is inextricably linked to his psionic abilities. It's only a short step, then, between the need to control his abilities, and the need to control his emotions in order to control his abilities. And once you start down that road, it becomes fairly simple to justify his complete lack of emotion, facial expression, extraneous movement, etc. Then on top of that, you pile on the fact that he's unstoppable so he has no need for tact, for softening his remarks, or for deception of any kind, and you start understanding where I'm building from.

WHERE IS OVERMAN?
If you've come to see the show already, or if you're planning on seeing it, you're probably going to recognize at least a couple of antecedents of my performance. The main one being HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey. It made sense to me, as a stylistic choice and as a ground-plan for Tom's personality (plus it's a shorthand to the audience, whether they realize it or not.) If anything, I think I even play it a little cooler than HAL. After all, HAL was built to interact with humans; Tom? Not so much.

But part of what I wanted to convey with my HAL impression was a certain deliberate gentility to Tom. In the same way that someone playing Superman, The Hulk, or any other incredibly strong superhero would need to learn to be very deliberate and careful not to accidentally destroy things while interacting with them, I felt I needed to have the same light touch -- but mentally and emotionally -- with Tom. If he feels too hard, he might accidentally cause the world to implode.

This actually leads through the larger arc of the character from "cold fish" in the beginning, to what he becomes by the end of the show (that I won't spoil, here.) Because when you tightly reign-in emotion like Tom does, it creates a terrible pressure inside that eventually has to be released.

Part of that release the audience isn't privy to; it happens between the time-line of the first and second acts. The main portion of it we see in the penultimate scene of the play, and it's not an easy transition for me, emotionally. I'm still trying to nail it, and at least I feel like I'm getting closer all the time.

Additionally (and this one's for my friend Brian Silliman) I also pulled aspects of this portrayal from a character in a novel -- a dragon named Temeraire from the books by Naomi Novik. Temeraire is an enormous, incredibly powerful and intelligent creature who has a lot of difficulty understanding the complexities of human politics and social mores. It makes him endearing, but also sets up that he's gonna have some problems dealing with the world in which he finds himself. He's on a collision course with society, and it's inevitable that he's going to find himself opposed at some point. At the same time, if he wanted to, he could probably just wipe out any opposition to his own whims. It's that tension that I'm trying to ride as Overman.

In the end, Tom is a fairly tragic figure who is lucky enough to be able to side-step his hamartia (does everybody remember their Poetics?) Which is kinda fun, considering this is "just" a superhero play.

Having said all of this, I have no idea how successfully I'm pulling this off. Our most recent review says I'm "... flawlessly spooky as the stoic Overman himself."

If Tom's ability to creep out whomever he's with extends to the audience, then we're doing something right.

More on the Monster-logue later.