Cassandra sat in the alley and cried. Her costume floated atop a puddle of motor oil. The motor oil floated atop a puddle of water. Her hands rubbed the dampness into her face, smearing a mixture of makeup and tears and sweat that beaded up and ran down her neck as though her flesh was melting.
Oliver watched from a window above. His feelings we're not clear. He had warned her against the evil of affective memory. He had banned the practice from his theatre and he had believed that Cassandra, more than anyone, would be able to resist the temptation.
"I didn't mean to do it. It just happened to
Finally he walked away himself, out of the doors at the back of the theatre, and up to his office to watch her from above.
"You should go talk to her," said Sally who had been sitting unacknowledged at her desk. "You push her too hard."
"I never push," said Oliver. "That would be unnatural."
3 comments:
i had a teacher that made us all use that... we had to tell stories about our pasts and cry together. i still remember most of the stories people told. it helped my acting a lot.
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we called it sense-memory though. I guess that's what happened to its name after it got through stasberg? hellifiknow.
i mean strasberg
If I remember right, Stanislavsky thought affective memory was a good idea for a brief period of time and then decided it was for the most part too unpredictable and dangerous. Strasberg really thought it was awesome and what's her name, his protege spoke out against it later.
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