When I was 11, I spent three weeks in bed suffering from walking pneumonia – I watched every single episode of “Full House” and it made me both dread illness and feel grateful to my parents and adult figures in my life for not being anything like Danny Tanner, Uncle Jesse, and Uncle Joey. In seventh grade my parents divorced and I didn’t talk about it until after three years of hiding it, when I realized it didn’t matter nearly as much as I thought, that a change to familiarity usually works out. Three times I moved to new states up the east coast, and had to relearn systems, geography, and local culture (they use “wicked” in Western Massachusetts. I unfortunately picked it up for two years); but the moves gifted me with healthy coping mechanisms as alternatives to my role as a lingering creature standing around with a plastered half-smile in uncomfortable, new situations.
But that’s just me, and there are thousands of moments like these that have subtly shaped me. Since the first read through of Mammoth, the cast members have unpacked their characters’ history and respective thousand moments. While the script, as is, suffices for the audience, the actors must dig a little deeper and ask themselves the more philosophical questions relating to their characters. They portray each role keeping the answers in mind.
And I’m not talking about written history: We know, as audience members and actors, certain events that each character went through in Mammoth, just like we know that Harry Potter’s parents died a tragic death when Potter was a baby. Rowling told us that much. What’s unwritten are the questions the actors must further explore to embody each role thoroughly: What happened when each character was 10? 16? 20? Why is he so blasé? Do her ephemeral milestones reflect a collection of events that she went through as the oldest child?
An example: Luke Martin wants to know just how much his character Drew cares about seeing his sister Maggie. It’s significant not only for the sake of character development, but because there’s a line where Drew asks about Maggie's personal life.
The tone Martin chooses could indicate anything from crude dismissiveness to sheer longing, wanting to know more about her life. To decide how Drew is going to say this line, we need to unpack a little bit of unwritten history: Has Drew seen Maggie and her family recently, whether in person or on social media? Will Drew say the line with a tone of bitterness given that he hasn't seen her in five years, or is he genuinely interested in hearing about her life? Furthermore, how much do Drew and his brother Jeffrey speak about their sister and her family? Often? Never? In passing? Facetiously or seriously? Do they get Christmas cards from Maggie with their nephew laughing in a snow bank?
The same goes for Marc Cataldi’s character Jeffrey. Cataldi has been attempting to figure out Jeffrey’s chronological history relating to family death and departure. Was Jeffrey old enough to remember these events like Maggie and Drew do? How exactly does he remember things happening? Why is Jeffrey the one with his shit put together?
What Cataldi, Emily Putnam and Martin will figure out is what thousand moments shaped Jeffrey, Maggie and Drew into the characters Kate Royal has been envisioning. It’s not a bad idea to keep Royal’s thoughts in mind when doing so, like this one on Cataldi’s character: “Jeffrey is kind of this oracle. In the second act he is the bringer of truth. He is Tiresias bringing the fucking truth to Oedipus in the end. He’s as much engaging with them as observing them and watching them just slowly tear each other open.”
But that’s just me, and there are thousands of moments like these that have subtly shaped me. Since the first read through of Mammoth, the cast members have unpacked their characters’ history and respective thousand moments. While the script, as is, suffices for the audience, the actors must dig a little deeper and ask themselves the more philosophical questions relating to their characters. They portray each role keeping the answers in mind.
And I’m not talking about written history: We know, as audience members and actors, certain events that each character went through in Mammoth, just like we know that Harry Potter’s parents died a tragic death when Potter was a baby. Rowling told us that much. What’s unwritten are the questions the actors must further explore to embody each role thoroughly: What happened when each character was 10? 16? 20? Why is he so blasé? Do her ephemeral milestones reflect a collection of events that she went through as the oldest child?
An example: Luke Martin wants to know just how much his character Drew cares about seeing his sister Maggie. It’s significant not only for the sake of character development, but because there’s a line where Drew asks about Maggie's personal life.
The tone Martin chooses could indicate anything from crude dismissiveness to sheer longing, wanting to know more about her life. To decide how Drew is going to say this line, we need to unpack a little bit of unwritten history: Has Drew seen Maggie and her family recently, whether in person or on social media? Will Drew say the line with a tone of bitterness given that he hasn't seen her in five years, or is he genuinely interested in hearing about her life? Furthermore, how much do Drew and his brother Jeffrey speak about their sister and her family? Often? Never? In passing? Facetiously or seriously? Do they get Christmas cards from Maggie with their nephew laughing in a snow bank?
The same goes for Marc Cataldi’s character Jeffrey. Cataldi has been attempting to figure out Jeffrey’s chronological history relating to family death and departure. Was Jeffrey old enough to remember these events like Maggie and Drew do? How exactly does he remember things happening? Why is Jeffrey the one with his shit put together?
What Cataldi, Emily Putnam and Martin will figure out is what thousand moments shaped Jeffrey, Maggie and Drew into the characters Kate Royal has been envisioning. It’s not a bad idea to keep Royal’s thoughts in mind when doing so, like this one on Cataldi’s character: “Jeffrey is kind of this oracle. In the second act he is the bringer of truth. He is Tiresias bringing the fucking truth to Oedipus in the end. He’s as much engaging with them as observing them and watching them just slowly tear each other open.”