Carl's Flingo on actors
In the summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I went to the International Thespian Festival. I think that's what it was called. I may be paraphrasing the name but it was definitely a festival, definitely purported to involve mulitple countries (though I think they may have been counting states as countries), and definitely used a synonym for "actor" that sent everyone below a certain IQ scrambling for jokes about lesbians.
Anyway, I didn't just head on over to this festival for the lesbian jokes. I was an actor in high school and our school was in the custom of sending one of our shows every other year to this festival. Our show was a Restoration comedy, The Rivals, in which I played the mischievous, arrogant, but but basically-good-at-heart protagonist Sir Jack Absolute. And where were we to put on this comedy of manners and esoteric wordplay? Where was this convocation of lesbiansimeanthespians? In Lincoln, Nebraska. Clearly. And while this fact initially flabbergasted me as much as I imagine it is gasting many of your flabbers right now, it turn out that the University of Nebraska at Lincoln actually has a beautiful 5000-seat facility with all the bells and whistles one would expect of a top-notch stage.
But enough of this jibber jabber gasting your flabber. The point of this entry is that actors are a bizarre breed. They (we?) can accept the silliest, most absurd ideas and events as a matter of course. And my favorite story illustrating and exploiting this fact happened at the International Thespian Festival in Lincoln, Nebraska.
Night had fallen. I was with my fellow actors from my school and, having just gotten out of that evenings mainstage show, we were roaming the Cornhusker campus looking for something to do. There were no interesting activities scheduled. There was no clear plan. All there was but lots and lots of animated actors everywhere we looked. Wild gestures and weird voices in every direction. And, slowly but inevitably, patterns starting forming in the chaos. Pairs and small groups of actors absorbed into larger groups and began one of the most distinctive thespianic behaviors there is: the theatre game.
Circles formed. Rules were established. Chanting and clapping began. The largest of these circles was directly adjacent to us, a group playing a game called My Pony. I don't remember much about the rules of the game--it had something to do with galloping around the circle. All I clearly remember was that this game was really, really dumb. If you're reading this and I've just insulted your favorite game, I'm deeply sorry. I hope one day you develop better taste.
Anyway, my compatriots and I decided if My Pony could find success in this crowd, we could easily make up one just as ridiculous and make it the new hit of the festival. We decided to do it. The first thing we needed was a name. Someone suggested "Fruitbasket." And a legend was born.
How do you play Fruitbasket? We were asking ourselves that very same question as we began playing. You definitely played it in a circle. I mean, come on, it's a theatre game. We got into a circle. I can't be 100% certain but I think I can claim credit for starting the chant. We started chanting: "Fruit! Baskeeeeeet, yeah Fruit! Baskeeeeeeeeet..."
And someone got in the middle and chanted a rhyming couplet about fruit. Example:
"I think bananas have a really great taste! To miss a chance to eat one is a terrible waste!
Smiles and laughs of appreciation while repeating the refrain:
"Fruit! Baskeeeeeet, yeah Fruit! Baskeeeeeeeeet..."
And then someone else went in and rhymed. And then someone else. And wouldn't you know it, before long people we didn't know came over and wanted to play this ridiculous game we had concocted. The rhymes these people came up with (or sometimes failed to come up with) were absolutely priceless. I'm pretty sure there was a rhyme about cumquats at one point. I wish I could remember the rhymes more clearly.
This game was so, so stupid. And people took it seriously. Total strangers put forth immense thought and effort to be the best Fruitbasketeers they could be. But I do have to confess, the whole thing was really fun. It was fun to try to come up with the most terrible, kitschy rhymes about fruit conceivable. So, as much as I'm tempted to ridicule stupid actor games, I have to concede that there is something to be said for letting that side out every once in a while. Things in the theatre still get a little too actor-y every once in a while but I try to engage with that world as much as I can. Because it's liberating to let go of all value judgments, not to worry about keeping distance, keeping perspective. It's liberating and it's the only way to really access your creativity.
Actors are weird.
Anybody want to play Fruitbasket?
In the summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I went to the International Thespian Festival. I think that's what it was called. I may be paraphrasing the name but it was definitely a festival, definitely purported to involve mulitple countries (though I think they may have been counting states as countries), and definitely used a synonym for "actor" that sent everyone below a certain IQ scrambling for jokes about lesbians.
Anyway, I didn't just head on over to this festival for the lesbian jokes. I was an actor in high school and our school was in the custom of sending one of our shows every other year to this festival. Our show was a Restoration comedy, The Rivals, in which I played the mischievous, arrogant, but but basically-good-at-heart protagonist Sir Jack Absolute. And where were we to put on this comedy of manners and esoteric wordplay? Where was this convocation of lesbiansimeanthespians? In Lincoln, Nebraska. Clearly. And while this fact initially flabbergasted me as much as I imagine it is gasting many of your flabbers right now, it turn out that the University of Nebraska at Lincoln actually has a beautiful 5000-seat facility with all the bells and whistles one would expect of a top-notch stage.
But enough of this jibber jabber gasting your flabber. The point of this entry is that actors are a bizarre breed. They (we?) can accept the silliest, most absurd ideas and events as a matter of course. And my favorite story illustrating and exploiting this fact happened at the International Thespian Festival in Lincoln, Nebraska.
Night had fallen. I was with my fellow actors from my school and, having just gotten out of that evenings mainstage show, we were roaming the Cornhusker campus looking for something to do. There were no interesting activities scheduled. There was no clear plan. All there was but lots and lots of animated actors everywhere we looked. Wild gestures and weird voices in every direction. And, slowly but inevitably, patterns starting forming in the chaos. Pairs and small groups of actors absorbed into larger groups and began one of the most distinctive thespianic behaviors there is: the theatre game.
Circles formed. Rules were established. Chanting and clapping began. The largest of these circles was directly adjacent to us, a group playing a game called My Pony. I don't remember much about the rules of the game--it had something to do with galloping around the circle. All I clearly remember was that this game was really, really dumb. If you're reading this and I've just insulted your favorite game, I'm deeply sorry. I hope one day you develop better taste.
Anyway, my compatriots and I decided if My Pony could find success in this crowd, we could easily make up one just as ridiculous and make it the new hit of the festival. We decided to do it. The first thing we needed was a name. Someone suggested "Fruitbasket." And a legend was born.
How do you play Fruitbasket? We were asking ourselves that very same question as we began playing. You definitely played it in a circle. I mean, come on, it's a theatre game. We got into a circle. I can't be 100% certain but I think I can claim credit for starting the chant. We started chanting: "Fruit! Baskeeeeeet, yeah Fruit! Baskeeeeeeeeet..."
And someone got in the middle and chanted a rhyming couplet about fruit. Example:
"I think bananas have a really great taste! To miss a chance to eat one is a terrible waste!
Smiles and laughs of appreciation while repeating the refrain:
"Fruit! Baskeeeeeet, yeah Fruit! Baskeeeeeeeeet..."
And then someone else went in and rhymed. And then someone else. And wouldn't you know it, before long people we didn't know came over and wanted to play this ridiculous game we had concocted. The rhymes these people came up with (or sometimes failed to come up with) were absolutely priceless. I'm pretty sure there was a rhyme about cumquats at one point. I wish I could remember the rhymes more clearly.
This game was so, so stupid. And people took it seriously. Total strangers put forth immense thought and effort to be the best Fruitbasketeers they could be. But I do have to confess, the whole thing was really fun. It was fun to try to come up with the most terrible, kitschy rhymes about fruit conceivable. So, as much as I'm tempted to ridicule stupid actor games, I have to concede that there is something to be said for letting that side out every once in a while. Things in the theatre still get a little too actor-y every once in a while but I try to engage with that world as much as I can. Because it's liberating to let go of all value judgments, not to worry about keeping distance, keeping perspective. It's liberating and it's the only way to really access your creativity.
Actors are weird.
Anybody want to play Fruitbasket?
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