Closer

I promised a blog entry devoted to my experience acting in the play “Closer.” And I like to alternate things between personal stories and cultural commentary. I’m actually just starting rehearsals for another play, so I thought I better tell this story before I get all confused.
I guess you could say I’ve always had an interest in acting. I remember I took an acting summer school class at around age 10-11. My first drama class came in 8th grade, and I continued in drama classes freshman and sophomore year in high school. But time constraints got to me and I didn’t do much for a few years. I did a few plays in college, including one here in Albuquerque over summer break. And then during college a lovely drama professor who just happened to be English started a Friday afternoon tradition of play reading—just sitting round a table with bad pizza reading plays aloud. Last May I went to London and saw a play every night for a month. It didn’t immediately put the spark back in me, but I came back thinking that I should really revisit the whole theater thing.
In late August I auditioned at a local community theater for a play called “Closer,” by Patrick Marber. I didn’t get it, but the stage manager who gave me the message said that everyone had liked my work and they all felt bad that they couldn’t cast me. I decided that the theater thing just wouldn’t happen that semester and went back to cello.
One week into law school, I was sitting at Garduno’s happy hour when the stage manager from “Closer” called and said the original cast member had dropped out. Would I do it? Well of course! A great role in a great play at a conveniently located theater? I couldn’t resist.
For the next four weeks (exactly four weeks from the call to opening night) I worked my ass off, or rather, my ass out. Because I played a stripper. Yes, sweet little modest, goody-two-shoes good girl Kristina played a stripper. And did I mention the smoking, drinking, swearing, and physical violence? But I thought, if Natalie Portman could play this role in the movie, then why couldn’t I? The play has four characters, two men and two women, who jump from bed to bed and then yell at each other about it. If I was to effectively portray the essence of Alice Ayers, I would have to completely change myself and take myself where I had never gone before.
But somehow, I did. And I found playing such an open, bold character as Alice extremely liberating. Somehow I found within myself the material for a character completely unlike myself—someone who always says exactly what she means. And I can’t really explain my “technique.” I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I soon found myself walking with a little bit more swing in my hips on the way to school, or mouthing off to my parents. I think I had always wanted to be like Alice—I especially had always wanted to have her sexual openness and aggression. For whatever reason, I had never become such a sexually confident woman myself, but once I had permission and encouragement to do that, somehow I found that raw energy within me. And although it sounds horribly politically incorrect, the fake cigarette in my hand made me feel incredibly sexy.
As the rehearsals went on, I discovered that Alice and I were really not so different. Like her, I want to be loved. I get jealous. I’ve wanted to say the words, “I love you. Why won’t you let me?” I lie. I have scars. And I’ve been in love. It sounds corny, but once you find those essential bits of humanity in common, the differences don’t seem so insurmountable. I easily found Alice’s innocence, love, and emotional core, and even her anger. I admit that I often get angry, but I don’t really know how to express that anger. With a script in hand, I finally found a way to verbally express all those angry feelings.
But unlike Alice, I still didn’t know what men want, or how to be sexy. I couldn’t seem to find her “edge.” So one evening I wore my Who jacket to rehearsal. My Who jacket is my most prized article of clothing—a distressed, studded, zippered leather jacket emblazoned with the Who’s name and logo. In that jacket, I feel like an absolute badass. It gives me confidence and attitude. I kid you not—in that jacket I finally found Alice’s edge. I ended up wearing it in two scenes
Finding the sexiness was the hardest part, but also the part that has made the biggest impact on my own life. I spent by far the most amount of time on the “strip scene.” This scene takes place in a private room of a strip club. I just could not think of myself as sexy. I could not loosen my body enough. I stood there awkwardly, muscles tense. I didn’t have a problem with the lack of clothing. I mean, compared with what I wear to the swimming pool, I actually had on quite a lot for that scene. I actually had enough confidence in how my body looked, but I didn’t have the confidence in my mind to allow me to think of myself as desirable or attractive or sexy.
I practiced walking a lot. I felt like America’s Next Top Model, walking back and forth across the stage, trying to get just the right kind of swivel in my very narrow hips. And of course all the walking happened on five-inch platform heels. Finally after one hard Saturday afternoon walking and going through the scene over and over and over, something clicked. I’ve always believed in the value of practice, and I guess practice at being sexy can make you sexy.
(I didn’t actually end up “stripping.” I writhed around and walked and crouched and flipped my hair and crossed/uncrossed my legs provocatively. At the end of the scene, the lights went down just as one of the straps came down off my shoulder.)
Performances gave me an absolute thrill—once I get under those stage lights, I just get a rush of adrenaline and forget everything in my life and enter an alternate universe. I yelled, I laughed, I kissed, and I even cried. And the best part was that during performances, including in the strip scene, I often went almost entire scenes without having a “meta” moment—without suddenly realizing, “Oh my god I’m writhing around on this cushion and I have nothing on and I’m saying really inappropriate things.” I didn’t have many of those moments, but instead gave myself completely to the character and the situations. I think in these moments acting became almost like hypnosis or meditation, because I completely lost myself and stopped thinking about all the things I usually think about. Only occasionally would I suddenly remember, “Hey! This is a play and I’m acting. I wonder what those people think of me?”
I think I definitely absorbed some of Alice’s confidence. During the show’s run, I gave my number out to guys and made some interesting phone calls. I walked around backstage wearing almost nothing with no embarrassment. I used to stand at the edge during the free dance part of Nia aerobics class, but now I free dance with no inhibitions. Doing the play made me lose just a little bit of focus from school, which I look at as positive. And playing Alice made me realize some things about myself, which I won’t go into here. Going through the rehearsal process and performances felt like almost like therapy and allowed to me to look at myself from a different perspective. You know how learning another language teaches you a lot about your first language? Well, learning and discovering another person teaches you a lot about yourself.
“Closer” also made me feel like a real actress in a real professional production. I did the kind of work you hear about on “Inside the Actor’s Studio.” I felt like I had made a significant artistic achievement. I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to play another such meaty, juicy, satisfying role.
I had always been skeptical about the influence of confidence over beauty. But “Closer” converted me. During rehearsals, someone (I think my mother) said how pretty I looked and that I even “glowed.” It must be Alice, I said. I finally saw that having confidence on the inside really can make a difference on the outside.
As for stripping, sadly I don’t think I could make a career out of it. I really do not have the figure for stripping. I lack two things that strippers usually find indispensable.