Self-Doubt
Aug. 13th, 2012 10:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yearnsforfeathersRehearsal today is filled with tension. Everyone has put on their most professional masks, and is giving two hundred percent. Everyone smiles politely or tries to look cool and unconcerned. But it's more of a performance than the show itself. Today, the cameras have come. Anything we do, or fail to do - any stray glance or yawn or giggle - could end up immortalized on DVD if it happens during a part of the show chosen to highlight the principals.
Miki-chan and Bakkun and I sit together as always. Instead of chatting or running lines or writing each other notes in the margins of our scripts, we fix our eyes on our top star and her nibante, pretending that we are studying their performance. The little red light across the rehearsal hall stares at us, and we don't want to be caught looking less than dedicated.
Miki-chan is so wrapped up in this act that she nearly misses the cue to get into position for our scene. Bakkun and I have to nudge her twice to make her move. Not an easy task when you don't want the camera to see your friend's folly. We are three in a group of twelve underclassmen who must dance around our top star - expressing in movement the emotion she expresses in her voice. The sorrow of a supposed betrayal which will, in a few scenes, be revealed as a trick to lure out the villain - a guest from Senka.
As the music changes and we hurry into position, I feel the nerves tighten in my stomach. Of all the dancers in this piece, I am the weakest. Half a beat too slow, back not arched as much as it should be, fingers not as gracefully posed. Bakkun says it's all in my head. But with the camera positioned downstage left, closest to my starting mark, I cannot help but worry. My first movements are stiff, stilted, because of this. I can feel it. I can see the choreographer at the long table not three feet away tighten his jaw slightly. He doesn't look directly at me, but he can see it all the same. And the camera will catch the difference between my stilted movement and the fluidity of the eleven other dancers.
Fortunately, we must vocalize in this scene as well as dance. No words, just notes to accent and echo our top star. To highlight her voice in contrast to ours. Once I can open my mouth, I feel a little better. Not relaxed. I am never relaxed while performing. But more at ease. My movement reflects this. I feel more graceful when I can sing.
And then the scene is done and we scatter as our top star strides off stage. Miki-chan and I move to the back of the rehearsal hall to help shift a piece of set. She smiles at me as we lift it. "You did fine," she mouths to me. Our backs are to the camera, so I can give her a quick smile. I don't necessarily believe her, but I am glad of her faith in me.
Miki-chan and Bakkun and I sit together as always. Instead of chatting or running lines or writing each other notes in the margins of our scripts, we fix our eyes on our top star and her nibante, pretending that we are studying their performance. The little red light across the rehearsal hall stares at us, and we don't want to be caught looking less than dedicated.
Miki-chan is so wrapped up in this act that she nearly misses the cue to get into position for our scene. Bakkun and I have to nudge her twice to make her move. Not an easy task when you don't want the camera to see your friend's folly. We are three in a group of twelve underclassmen who must dance around our top star - expressing in movement the emotion she expresses in her voice. The sorrow of a supposed betrayal which will, in a few scenes, be revealed as a trick to lure out the villain - a guest from Senka.
As the music changes and we hurry into position, I feel the nerves tighten in my stomach. Of all the dancers in this piece, I am the weakest. Half a beat too slow, back not arched as much as it should be, fingers not as gracefully posed. Bakkun says it's all in my head. But with the camera positioned downstage left, closest to my starting mark, I cannot help but worry. My first movements are stiff, stilted, because of this. I can feel it. I can see the choreographer at the long table not three feet away tighten his jaw slightly. He doesn't look directly at me, but he can see it all the same. And the camera will catch the difference between my stilted movement and the fluidity of the eleven other dancers.
Fortunately, we must vocalize in this scene as well as dance. No words, just notes to accent and echo our top star. To highlight her voice in contrast to ours. Once I can open my mouth, I feel a little better. Not relaxed. I am never relaxed while performing. But more at ease. My movement reflects this. I feel more graceful when I can sing.
And then the scene is done and we scatter as our top star strides off stage. Miki-chan and I move to the back of the rehearsal hall to help shift a piece of set. She smiles at me as we lift it. "You did fine," she mouths to me. Our backs are to the camera, so I can give her a quick smile. I don't necessarily believe her, but I am glad of her faith in me.
