Page 82 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“True, but perhaps not in the same way.”
My eyes dart to the top drawer of my nightstand. “What’s romantic?”
He looks puzzled.
“I mean, what translates to romance onstage?”
He looks thoughtful. It’s kind of startling. He’s usually so quick to toss out answers.
I turn the volume down onStarship Cruiser.
“Words,” he finally says. “Words are a foundation. I can’t save a bad script.”
“Please. I was at Warwick’s with you. You can read an HVAC manual and make a woman swoon.”
“Because that’s the purpose of an HVAC manual. Heaven forbid you want to use it for something practical like troubleshooting a system.”
I playfully throw a pillow at him. “You know what I mean.”
“Manuals are actually a pretty decent script…”
I eye-roll.
“I’m serious, Bea. They’re honest, not overly cluttered with sentiment or burdened with affectation. A good actor can bring some of themselves to it. At the very least, he can make some choices about it.”
I must look skeptical, because he goes on, “Shakespeare might have me saying, ‘I swear I love no one in the world so much as you. Is not that strange?’ While your space operas could have me spouting convoluted, melodramatic declarations that probably include descriptions of alien hearts and other organs. A good script, like Shakespeare’s, gives me space to act the emotion and make choices about what my character feels and thinks. Am I bewildered by love? Blindsided by it? Is it funny? Is it bittersweet? Will trusted me enough to give me a choice. A bad script forces emotion onto me, chains me to words that often have nothing to do with character and everything to do with plot. There’s no stopping to explore any nuance. I’m force-fed every feeling and have to regurgitate it for the audience.”
“Space to act is better?”
“So much,” he says softly.
“Did you just compare the Bard to an HVAC manual?”
Now it’s Mike who is throwing pillows my way.
“It’s theBattlestarCruiserfranchise you have to watch out for.Starship Cruiseris okay. Most of the captains on the show were Shakespearean actors.” I get up and head to my kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”
“What are you having?”
“Iced peppermint tea.”
“I’d kill for one. Thank you.”
I fill my electric kettle and turn it on. “So words are a foundation. But obviously not the end of the story. You do more than just talk onstage.”
“I’m glad you noticed.” Mike considers. “The physicality is different for everyone.”
“But for you? Playing a romantic leading man for the first time in your career?” I grab one of my favorite teapots. It’s a thrifted find covered in painted pink roses and gold flourishes. I toss a couple of tea bags into it.
“Imbalance—evidence of it is what I believe most audiences respond well to. What is romance if not the idea that another can bewitch us? Command us? Addle our minds with want?”
The kettle kicks off, and I pour the steaming water into my teapot. “Imbalance…”
“Too much of their mind, their body, their hopes and dreams are tilted toward this person. There is imbalance. How it is conveyed depends on the genre and, of course, the direction.” He rises. “Is the imbalance sweet and charming? Wistful and comical?” He joins me at the kitchen counter. “Or is the imbalance all-consuming, passionate, and dangerous?”
“Dangerous?”
“Abrupt. Uncontrolled. Determined. Rash.”
