Becoming Charlotte by Michael Kearns
September 2013 - Accent-u-ate The Positive
Starbucks—where else?— is where I connect with Thomas O’Leary, the man who Gene Franklin Smith and I have agreed is the ideal choice to direct me in my quest to become Charlotte.
As we sip whatever, Thomas listens while I blather. I’m also devouring something sugary while histrionically referring to the monumental task ahead with Doug Wright’s I Am My Own Wife. “I just don’t know if I can pull it off,” I say, “I worry about my brain and all those lines. I mean, it’s huge. I’m not sure that the HIV meds haven’t played some havoc with my mental acuity. I sometimes feel diminished.”
Thomas directed me in a reading last year and he did not fawn or indulge me as some directors feel compelled to do, simply because of my track record. In fact, he nailed my bad habits almost instantly and was able to communicate to me in a sensitive but tough manner. I want someone to zero in on my shopworn tendencies and force me into fresh terrain. Thomas was the man and the adjustments he gave me were on-target.
Back at Bux, I continue moaning about the relentless pain of the neuropathy, my issues with balance, on and on and on. He listens.
But Thomas cleverly begins talking the practical aspects of preparation, especially considering the luxurious time frame we are embracing.
The German accent, especially, must be learned before I begin tackling Charlotte’s words; we both agree that if I get the accent in my body, the lines won’t be as intimidating.
“You are Doug,” Thomas points out. “Just be yourself.” Doug, the playwright, is a gay American — I can do that.
“And John, the garrulous Southern straight guy, is easy for me,” I acknowledge.
Well, that’s three of the main characters, Thomas points out. Ingesting the German accents precedes visiting all the voices of British soldiers and other “members of the cast.”
We needn’t yet approach the variations of the other characters with German accents—how they are influenced by gender, social status, place of birth, educational background, physicality and emotionality. Charlotte comes first.
Thomas had previously worked with dialect coach Tuffet Schmelzle (pronounce that in any dialect, I dare you) and thought highly of her. I could see we were beginning to assemble Team Charlotte.
After our initial class, a strict rule is enforced at Tuffet’s workspace: Once I walk through her doorway, I speak with a German accent—even if I sound a bit like Madeline Kahn in Blazing Saddles.
“I am Charlotte,” Tuffet intones.
I repeat: “I am Charlotte.”
“Your voice has to find her register,” Tuffet says, “since you’ll be in her body for most of the show.”
She repeats, extending to the full name: “I am Charlotte von Mahlsdorf.” Then, she adds — replacing the initial “G” sound with a distinctive “J” — “I am Jerman.”
“I am Charlotte von Mahlsdorf,” I repeat but am not quite there. “I am Cherman.” (I sound like one of those fake euro television chefs.)
I adjust my posture. I concentrate on feeling the vibration in my mouth; my tongue is touching the back of my teeth. I try, just for a moment—sitting directly opposite Tuffet—to find Charlotte’s hard won identity as I repeat the four words.
“Hold your head up,” Tuffet instructs, retrieving a small book from a nearby table. (I’m pretty sure it is not Mein Kampf.) “Put this on your head.” Suddenly, I’m Eliza Doolittle.
Yet I feel Charlotte’s chest expand, capturing a sense of her identity and dignity. She is an ordinary well spoken woman, no get-you-girlfriend vocal histrionics. Her androgyny is not put on; it emanates from within. Feminine, yes, but not the Kardashian drag show version of being womanly.
“I am Charlotte von Mahlsdorf.”
“Ya!” Tuffet says. It helps that the committed coach also knows the mechanics of creating a character. She’s teaching me a dialect with acting in mind—the only way I can really learn it. It has to be organic to becoming Charlotte.
In the midst of these nascent steps, I have had the privilege of seeing my friend and colleague Tony Abatemarco play the tortured painter Mark Rothko in Red. The two plays invite comparisons—the notion of playing a real person heading the list. And while Abatemarco plays only Rothko (and is partnered onstage), it’s a massive undertaking in which the actor (decidedly in his prime) transforms himself with vocal, physical, and vocal virtuosity. What an inspiration Abatemarco is. Inspiration, however, doesn’t automatically quell the demons that are determined to intrude on my process.
“One more thing,” Thomas says, after we’ve discussed a possible booking of work sessions far in advance of the formal rehearsal schedule, “and I mean this lovingly. You know that. You’ve got to let go of the narrative that questions yourself; stop putting it out there. Don’t blow up thoughts that are perfectly natural.”
Ouch. I knew exactly what he was saying—even though I’d rather be talking about the choice of simple black shoes. The “I-will-never-be-able-to-pull-this-off” rap is not benefiting the process of my work. It’s diminishing me, emotionally and artistically. I knew Thomas was the right choice to be my guide.
I will become Charlotte von Mahlsdorf.
I am becoming Charlotte.
Becoming Charlotte is a monthly blog that Michael Kearns will be writing in preparation to star in I Am My Own Wife at the Malibu Playhouse in June of 2014.