Surprising oneself is an incredible & unexpected experience, except when the reality which is reveled makes one want to stab oneself in the left thigh with a rusty pair of gasoline-dipped scissors. Likewise, re-learning history...self-history, actually...has sure led to a spiral of self-doubt & un-moral-ated storytelling.
Case in point: no one, short of wayward nuns wandering an Austrian mountainside, should spin around in circles in a bout of joyous rapture. It never happens. Not in real life. Not in lucid dreams. Not in the deepest of nightmares. This being said, the act of spinning around in circles in a bout of joyous rapture should never, I repeat never, be presented as part of a theatrical performance, whether it be for a paid audience or otherwise.
My time at Loyola Academy was monopolized by our thespian troupe's quarterly endeavors of Durang, Rogers and Hammerstein, & Durang. While rehearsing the role of Javert in the gorgeously written Les Miserables, I knew I had a large hurdle to pass: avoiding my director's choice to have me spin around on stage in a bout of suicidal anguish whilst plummeting into the Seine.
Four years have past since that production & I proudly proclaim how I defied her poor staging decision & omitted the on-stage spin.
Well, I did until last night.
Last night, while rekindling high school memories with the assistance of an appropriately attic-ridden VHS, our recording of Les Miserables clearly exhibited my long-forgotten on-stage spin of suicidal anguish, thrusting me in the Seine's populous of high school performers who claim to know it all.
I did not.
I still don't.
What I do know is Maria's joyous bout of rapturous spinning is all the spinning, whether on-stage or off, I can handle on this mountainside, thank you.