This past week I did a favor for an old friend and in return was gifted a lovely memory. More than twenty years ago (1997 to be exact) during my last year of grad school, I had the great fortune to work with Christopher Bayes on a devised commedia dell'arte piece called Il Zibaldone Morte (or The Dead Gag book). It was a second year acting project, for NYU's physical comedy "slot." Chris is a master teacher of clown and mask work and he cultivated this amazing show, finding everyone's strengths, and providing the space for exploration.
Various cast members played the different masks (Pantelone, Tartaglia, Harlequino, etc...), but one, one in particular was tricky. Chris handed this large beaked ancient Zanni mask to the performer with the directive that she was the "idiot cousin from the basement broiler room" and she had permission to disrupt and interrupt any scene she wanted. This clown became the glue for the whole show- she raised the show from a magical trunk and then tossed it into the stars at the end.
The following year, the core group of the actors and Chris tightened up the show, and left this second run with an actual script. Though I'd graduated, I came back and pulled the show together. I simply loved being in the room. We were bottling lightning. It was magical, rude, and funny as hell. Every night was different.
Once everyone graduated, we found a backer and moved the show to HERE for a showcase run downtown. Every night was packed. I don't think anyone made a dime, but we were that close to having a hit. There was one more run somewhere on the lower east side, but the cast was changing due to their other commitments, and the rumor of off-Broadway commercial interest fizzled when it was understood such a move could only happen by reducing the number of performers by two.
C'est la Vie.
So last week, I was wasting time on Facebook and noticed a familiar image. Chris is tuning his teaching and projects, creating one website, and he'd uncovered an old draft of some Zibaldone artwork I'd created for the show poster. He asked if I had a hi-res file of the final version. Hi-res! Ha! Then he sent me a snapshot that was clearly his framed version from 20+ years ago that was collaged with show dates. I offered to polish it up. So I got to work recreating it digitally, and in doing so, that whole time came crashing back in a flood of memories reminding me why we tell these stories as we do. Redrawing the Zanni was like seeing an old friend. Or, rereading a favorite book- you can never recapture the mystery of reading something the first time, not knowing what happens next, but you do have the compound pleasure of visiting with the characters and recalling the earlier times and places of reading the book, and maybe finding a detail you missed the first or second time.
I was reminded of my actual design process: researching the "rules" of commedia- certain colors are only used for certain characters, thrift shopping all the bits and adapting them, building the Pantelone robe (I think? Or maybe I just added a collar?), making the truly remarkable "shit hat" (stuffed pantyhose, glue, saw dust & spray paint for those of you at home who need to make a coiling turd crown, always a portfolio crowd pleaser), and eventually the Tiepolo inspired Zanni Chorus with white jumpsuits and tall paper hats for the opening scene once we got to HERE.
I was reminded of the Zanni herself. This was one of those shows where the ideas just flowed around and around and is a reminder that the best collaborations are when the designers are in the room. I have no idea who thought she needed a clear plastic rain coat, but I found one at the drug store. Disposable, which got tricky, because you really can only tape them back together so many times. She loaded all kinds of crap into the pockets- fruit loops and oranges as I recall, but you never could tell what she might bestow on an audience member on any given night. The rain coat was amazing. When the Zanni played the Fool to Pantelone's Lear, she popped the hood up for the storm scene.
I was reminded of helping the set and lighting designers gaff tape Christmas lights onto the back curtain. In fact, this is the first show where I used a light up costume. This is all on Chris- he had this old overcoat with lights rigged to it, trailing an extension cord to power it on. I also remember having the time and energy to hand color a handful of the Zanni drawings as opening night gifts.
I remember riding the subway home really late and laughing and laughing so many times.
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