It’s quite surreal; a project that has taken a year and a half to create will take the stage for the first time next Friday 28 September 2012 at Melbourne Fringe’s hub. It has been a little difficult to keep the flow of the blog simmering along while the rehearsal takes place. When you are constantly connecting with words, rewriting words and sharing intimate stories, exposing what is left on a public domain is suicide. I’ve already pulled myself apart in rehearsal, what more do you want? There is nothing else to give.
“It bruises the skin, breaks the veins, bites at your life, burns the insides, and blows the mind. It twists your head, peels back the skin of the temple and unscrews the anxieties from inside, just like plucking teeth from the gum or tapping out the seeds from your morning pomegranate.” Danielle Asciak: Dance Me to the End (c) 2012
Unfortunately, the two characters that take flight in the show’s existance do not extend to the real life – She is the woman in rehearsal and story telling, while Danielle is actively supporting She in her doing. Looking at it like that, it sounds like I may have caught an acute schizophrenic disorder.
When I first approached the nature of DMTTE (shorthand for Dance Me to the End), I intended to follow on from my previous performance in Everyone Wants a Piece of Malta! where I was playing Me and sharing My stories to those that wanted to hear it. However it seems with DMTTE I have found She, who I never want to be. She’s not my alter ego but she may possibly be a heightened character of the real self. Which is really fun, but not always loveable and damn exhuasting. She is the many lovers that Serge Gainsbourg devours in his lyrics. She’s the woman that Barbara idolises in her fantasies. She’s the siren Jacques Brel is constantly running away from but is endlessly addicted to; and She in return is MAD for the eroticism and endless suffering brought upon her – all her own doing of course!
It seems then, after all this that I should have included Charles Aznavour’s famous song SHE.
May be the face I can’t forget
A trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred tearful things
Within the measure of the day.
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside a shell
She who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one’s allowed to see them when they cry
She may be the love that can and hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I remember till the day I die
May be the reason I survive
The why and where for I’m alive
The one I’ll care for through the rough and rainy years
Me I’ll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I got to be
The meaning of my life is
She, She, She
But it’s cabaret. And it’s Fringe. I don’t need to say a damn thing more about She.
7 days to go!