First laugh
I remember clearly the first laugh I ever received on stage. I was six years old, performing in my very first play. Katy-No-Pocket was a tragic story of a kangaroo who had no pocket for her baby. Being one of the smallest students in the class, I was typecast as the Baby Kangaroo.
I alternated in repertory with the role of Lady On The Street Pushing a Baby Carriage. In my very first appearance on stage, I made an entrance pushing the baby carriage. It was nothing more than a walk-on role, a passer-by on the street to create atmosphere. It involved a single cross and exit on the opposite side of the stage. My only intention was to go out there and fulfill my simple, little role. I came out smiling. I was enjoying myself. Suddenly, a single, loud chortle rang out from the audience. A thrill ran through me. I felt silly in a good way. I wasn't really sure why I got a laugh since I wasn't trying to be funny. No matter. The whole production was an eye-opening experience. With help from the teacher and parents, us kids built all the sets and costumes (my mom did a great job on my two outfits). The artistic collaboration that took place thrilled little me. From that moment on, I was hooked. To be an actor in the theatre was all I ever wanted to do.
Serious study of acting began with classes at age 12 and by 16; I was enrolled at the Herbert Berghof Studio in NYC. From there, I went on to New York University, earning an undergraduate degree in Drama. Whether at Circle in the Square or the Lee Strasberg Studio, a persistent response to my dramatic acting was laughter. The only problem was that I wasn’t trying to be funny. In fact, I was being completely serious. From Shakespeare to Tennessee Williams, the result was always the same: laughs in the wrong places. I began to realize that I had a flair for comedy when I performed in Leonard Melfi’s Birdbath for my final college production, and my classmates voted me “best actress” for my comic turn as Velma Sparrow.
Some years later, while living and performing in Lenox, Massachusetts, I took a class in “clowning” at Shakespeare & Company. The first time I put on a red nose (the smallest mask), I knew a transformation had taken place. The laughter coming at me was no longer unsolicited. I was totally free to embrace my silliness, mistakes, and failures. From that point on there was no turning back. I was undeniably a clown.
I alternated in repertory with the role of Lady On The Street Pushing a Baby Carriage. In my very first appearance on stage, I made an entrance pushing the baby carriage. It was nothing more than a walk-on role, a passer-by on the street to create atmosphere. It involved a single cross and exit on the opposite side of the stage. My only intention was to go out there and fulfill my simple, little role. I came out smiling. I was enjoying myself. Suddenly, a single, loud chortle rang out from the audience. A thrill ran through me. I felt silly in a good way. I wasn't really sure why I got a laugh since I wasn't trying to be funny. No matter. The whole production was an eye-opening experience. With help from the teacher and parents, us kids built all the sets and costumes (my mom did a great job on my two outfits). The artistic collaboration that took place thrilled little me. From that moment on, I was hooked. To be an actor in the theatre was all I ever wanted to do.
Serious study of acting began with classes at age 12 and by 16; I was enrolled at the Herbert Berghof Studio in NYC. From there, I went on to New York University, earning an undergraduate degree in Drama. Whether at Circle in the Square or the Lee Strasberg Studio, a persistent response to my dramatic acting was laughter. The only problem was that I wasn’t trying to be funny. In fact, I was being completely serious. From Shakespeare to Tennessee Williams, the result was always the same: laughs in the wrong places. I began to realize that I had a flair for comedy when I performed in Leonard Melfi’s Birdbath for my final college production, and my classmates voted me “best actress” for my comic turn as Velma Sparrow.
Some years later, while living and performing in Lenox, Massachusetts, I took a class in “clowning” at Shakespeare & Company. The first time I put on a red nose (the smallest mask), I knew a transformation had taken place. The laughter coming at me was no longer unsolicited. I was totally free to embrace my silliness, mistakes, and failures. From that point on there was no turning back. I was undeniably a clown.
Instead of working for the survival of the fittest, we should be working for the survival of the wittiest,
then we can all die laughing. ~Lily Tomlin
You have to go on and be crazy. Craziness is like heaven. ~Jimi Hendrix
then we can all die laughing. ~Lily Tomlin
You have to go on and be crazy. Craziness is like heaven. ~Jimi Hendrix