Portuguese families are loud, obnoxious, and hardheaded. Italian families are worse. I grew up in Montreal, Quebec, Canada where my Italian and Portuguese families migrated from their respective countries. Imagine a dinner where twenty of your relatives are supposed to eat and converse. Now, imagine your scenario with everyone speaking four different languages and not listening to each other. The joining of the two sides of my family is that scenario. People are talking loudly because for some reason they don't think that the person beside them can hear their voice. My uncle Tony yells, “Pourquoi devons-nous toujours venir ici? Pourquoi ne pouvons-nous pas l'avoir à ma maison la fois prochaine?” My mother responds, “Because you don't have enough space to hold everyone. At least here we have a basement.” “Quando você compra uma casa mais grande, nós iremos lá,” my grandma shouts. “Hey, hey! We have everything we need. We don't need a fancy house with a basement. We can fit everyone fine,” my uncle Tony retorts. My uncle Lidio joins in the argument, “Che cosa è il suo problema? Possiamo averli alla nostra casa.”
People are trying to convince each other whose side of the family has it worse, whose family is doing better, or anything that has to do with their part of the family. My uncle Tony tries to convince us that his daughter is doing better than the rest of the family, “Christina is competing in the figure skating championships. Her coach says she is the best skater he has ever seen.” My aunt whom we call Ta-ta-lu interjects, “Well, Vanessa [her daughter] is doing gymnastics with Mark [her son], and their trainer says they could make the Olympics.” My mother chimes in, “David is doing well in boy scouts. He almost has all of his badges. Sandy is doing ballet and swimming. She just won fourth place in a swim meet in Montreal.”
As all of the arguments are going on, four different languages are thrown all over the place to further complicate things. “Voulez-vous aller avec nous la semaine prochaine au Lac St-Jacques?” “No, Marina ha scuola italiana sabato.” “We can go on Saturday. Vanessa has gymnastics on Sunday.” “Podemos nós trazer nossas cadeiras de praia? Nós temos guarda-chuvas.” French, English, Italian, and Portuguese are being spoken even though the person they are speaking to may not even understand that particular language. Somehow everyone seems to assume that everyone knows the language they are speaking even though they are on different sides of the family. As the languages are flying across the room, the arguments over families are escalating because everyone gets frustrated that no one is understanding their thoughts. I sit quietly, smile, and nod my head and pretend to know exactly what they are saying.
After the dinner everyone would migrate to another room of the house that we invaded for some dessert, talking, and after-dinner entertainment. In the case that we had the invasion at our house, we migrated to our basement. After sitting down for about a minute, the chaos from dinner would trickle in once again in our basement. The basement had horrible acoustics because any and all sounds would reverberate off the walls to make anything seem more obnoxious than it really was. In order to counter-balance the noise erupting from our parents, my two girl cousins and I, who are a couple months apart in age, would meet together and plan to put on shows. Christina, Vanessa, and I did improv shows, lipsyncs to popular songs, dances we created to songs, or made up our own songs. I attribute my diva-ness to those dinners and parties.
On this particular evening, the mob migrated to our basement and continued to use their outdoor voices to talk indoors. My cousins and I met in a huddle to talk about our options. We had been practicing singing songs throughout the years and we decided to do a rendition of our favorite songs. I went first, of course. I began singing the Canadian National Anthem because I had just learned it in my Brownies Troop. My cousins were behind me and danced their interpretation of the song. My family started chuckling and laughing because apparently the girls behind me were trying to upstage me. I started to sing louder and tap my feet. Apparently the two behind me had the crowd eating out of their hands. I got so mad that I turned around, in the middle of the anthem, and told them to just stand there. They got mad and sat down. I continued singing until the end of the song. I could feel everyone's eyes watching me.
As soon as I had finished, applause erupted as well as an “ALESSANDRA” coming from my parents. I knew if they called me by my real name that I was in trouble. It turns out my parents did not like my diva attitude and I was forbidden to perform for the next couple of get-togethers. I was furious. How could they do that to me when everyone else loved me? My diva attitude was launched into motion at a very young age. I knew then that I had to be a performer although I was unsure of what kind of performer; I knew I belonged on stage.
I dabbled with the different types of entertainment. I went through ballet, choir, and finally theatre. I could never be “the star” in ballet and choir because I simply did not have the talent. I won most improved in choir in eighth grade (was I that horrible to begin with)? Finally, when I realized that anyone could be the star in middle school theatre, I latched on to acting like a leech to blood. I didn't really appreciate the art of theatre as much as how it made me feel. People would come to our cafetorium to see me on stage as different characters. My first role in middle school was an owner of a laundromat who has three heart attacks and dies a humorous death. It was my challenge to decide what that humorous death should look like. I clutch at my chest and make raspy noises. I try to speak but nothing will come up. I drop slowly to the floor. It was my first heart attack. I spring up and come back to life. All of a sudden I clutch my arm and breath heavily. I drop down to the floor with a thud. It was my second heart attack. My leg raises up and shakes. My arms lift up and shake. I am alive again. I reach up with one hand, try to say something to the villain, and die from my third heart attack. I should mention that the play was a melodrama. The next role was a nun in a play that my teacher wrote that went on to be published. It was the biblical story of Adam and Eve told in commedia dell'arte. My friends called me the “naughty nun” for many years after the play because I said “he should be naked” to Adam. I was recognized and praised for being on stage as a “character” actress.
It was not until high school that I really fell in love with the art of theatre. During my first day of acting class my freshman year we played a game of truth or lie. Our teacher placed various objects on the table such as kleenex boxes, candles, pens, and figurines. We were supposed to pick one object and tell a story about the object or the significance of that object. It was up to the students whether or not it was a true story or one that was completely fabricated. The other students were supposed to guess whether that story was true or a lie. I was so nervous that I felt my heart pounding in my throat. I had an idea of what I wanted to do when I saw a candle. I was so nervous that I did not volunteer to go first. I didn't want to look like a doofus in front of the new people at my high school. Luck was with me that day because we ran out of time and had to continue over to our next day of class.
I went home and practiced in front of the mirror. I could do it. I grabbed a candle that was in my room. I was so excited and proud of myself, but something was still missing. I could not get where I wanted to emotionally because there was no audience. No matter how many times I tried it in the mirror I could not make myself emotionally in the moment. Finally, it was our next class and we all had to go. I didn't go first because I wanted to see what other people would do. I went third because I thought it was the right time. I stood up, walked to the table, and picked up the candle.
My cousin Vanessa and I grew up like sisters. We shared secrets and stories and were always there for each other. Neither of us had sisters but we felt a strong connection to each other and acted as if we were sisters. We used to sit by candlelight in my room and talk almost every night. One night as I was waiting for her to come over, I got a phone call from my aunt. Her voice seemed hollow, and I knew immediately as I picked up the phone that something was wrong. My aunt told me that Vanessa had gotten in a car wreck and died. I was silent and I had to let it register in my mind. After I got off the phone, I went into my room and sat by candlelight sobbing uncontrollably. As I told this story to my class tears were streaming down my cheeks and my voice started quivering. I have never told anyone that story before.
As I finished my story, everyone in the room had a somber mood strewn across their faces. My teacher even apologized for how horrible that tragedy was. It was time for them to guess if it was true or a lie. Of course everyone guessed it was true. I smiled and said it was all made up. The look on everyone's face was astounding. Everyone was surprised and could not believe that I had just lied to them. One student applauded, stood up, and grabbed a figurine. He handed it to me and said I deserved an Oscar. It was then that I realized that acting is not about being the star but about impacting the audience. It was about communicating my story to the best of my ability that it touched their hearts. Even though this particular incidence was fabricated, I was telling a story from a character's point of view that translated and evoked emotions from the audience.
My senior year we had the wonderful opportunity to work on a play for a whole year. It started as a play at our school in our season for the year. It erupted into us submitting the play at the Texas State Thespian Festival and having it judged to hopefully go on to the International Thespian Festival. Fortunately, we had the privilege of performing mainstage at the Festival at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln at the International Thespian Festival 2006 in a theatre that had 2,200 seats.
The play, Never the Sinner, started with two other reporters and myself shouting out newspaper headlines of the era; it was the beginning of sensationalizing the news. Immediately, we are thrown into the year 1924. Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold are two teenaged boys who studied the philosopher Nietzche and took his theory of “Supermen” a little too seriously. Loeb and Leopold murder a fourteen year old boy because they thought they were superior and could get away with it; the murder is an actual event in history. Loeb and Leopold's relationship was questionable because Leopold has strong homosexual feelings toward Loeb. Their murder became the first “thrill” killing in the US and prompted a media frenzy. I was a news-hungry reporter who was catching all the information so I could feed it to the Americans. I was the only female in the play and played two other characters, Loeb's girlfriend and a psychiatrist.
As I was about to walk out on stage in front of 2,200 people, I felt the adrenaline rush in every inch of my body. The lights went black and I took my place on stage with the other reporters. I am nervous to perform and nervous what people would think of our show. I am not in Denton anymore. I am performing for 2,200 people that are from around the globe. I had the only female part in the play, but I did not feel as if I was the star. It didn't matter anymore. I wasn't trying to be the star. I wasn't trying to reach the audience like I was when we performed in Denton. It was different.
Right before the lights came up, I realized why I want to be an actress. It is not because I want to be the star or because the audience should connect with the actors, it is because the story needs to be told for a reason and the audience can make up their minds as to those reasons. The audience should be an active member of the play in which they watch, engage, form opinions, and leave the theatre with a new outlook or want to change society. In that moment, the story needed to be told to make the boys human; they are not monsters, they are scared little boys. The story of Loeb and Leopold will be told to 2,200 people and it is up to them what they think of the story or what they will do with what we present to them. All I can do is present my character and tell my part of the story in hopes that the audience will understand the playwright's message.
As I left the stage after the show
, I felt proud that we told the story of Loeb and Leopold that audience did not know. I didn't talk to anyone until our director came backstage and congratulated us on a great performance. As we took our set apart and packed up, I looked out in the now empty theatre. I saw 2,200 empty seats and it was eerie because they were all full less than an hour ago. If we performed it right now, what would happen to the play? I knew it would not be the same. The art of theatre is the effect it has on the audience; the people can be transformed by the story, ideas or thoughts of the play. If there are no people, there is no meaning to theatre.
It took me a long time to realize that I am not doing theatre because I want to be the star. It is not about being the diva anymore even though my roots in theatre started in my basement shouting at my cousins. It is about inspiring the audience to think about the story and relate it in their own ways by observation or by causing change. I want to communicate my language to the audience more effectively than my family's communication skills at parties. The audience should follow and understand my language and respond to it emotionally and spiritually. Even though I find the meaning of theatre through the audience, there will always be a little spark of diva in me.
People are trying to convince each other whose side of the family has it worse, whose family is doing better, or anything that has to do with their part of the family. My uncle Tony tries to convince us that his daughter is doing better than the rest of the family, “Christina is competing in the figure skating championships. Her coach says she is the best skater he has ever seen.” My aunt whom we call Ta-ta-lu interjects, “Well, Vanessa [her daughter] is doing gymnastics with Mark [her son], and their trainer says they could make the Olympics.” My mother chimes in, “David is doing well in boy scouts. He almost has all of his badges. Sandy is doing ballet and swimming. She just won fourth place in a swim meet in Montreal.”
As all of the arguments are going on, four different languages are thrown all over the place to further complicate things. “Voulez-vous aller avec nous la semaine prochaine au Lac St-Jacques?” “No, Marina ha scuola italiana sabato.” “We can go on Saturday. Vanessa has gymnastics on Sunday.” “Podemos nós trazer nossas cadeiras de praia? Nós temos guarda-chuvas.” French, English, Italian, and Portuguese are being spoken even though the person they are speaking to may not even understand that particular language. Somehow everyone seems to assume that everyone knows the language they are speaking even though they are on different sides of the family. As the languages are flying across the room, the arguments over families are escalating because everyone gets frustrated that no one is understanding their thoughts. I sit quietly, smile, and nod my head and pretend to know exactly what they are saying.
After the dinner everyone would migrate to another room of the house that we invaded for some dessert, talking, and after-dinner entertainment. In the case that we had the invasion at our house, we migrated to our basement. After sitting down for about a minute, the chaos from dinner would trickle in once again in our basement. The basement had horrible acoustics because any and all sounds would reverberate off the walls to make anything seem more obnoxious than it really was. In order to counter-balance the noise erupting from our parents, my two girl cousins and I, who are a couple months apart in age, would meet together and plan to put on shows. Christina, Vanessa, and I did improv shows, lipsyncs to popular songs, dances we created to songs, or made up our own songs. I attribute my diva-ness to those dinners and parties.
On this particular evening, the mob migrated to our basement and continued to use their outdoor voices to talk indoors. My cousins and I met in a huddle to talk about our options. We had been practicing singing songs throughout the years and we decided to do a rendition of our favorite songs. I went first, of course. I began singing the Canadian National Anthem because I had just learned it in my Brownies Troop. My cousins were behind me and danced their interpretation of the song. My family started chuckling and laughing because apparently the girls behind me were trying to upstage me. I started to sing louder and tap my feet. Apparently the two behind me had the crowd eating out of their hands. I got so mad that I turned around, in the middle of the anthem, and told them to just stand there. They got mad and sat down. I continued singing until the end of the song. I could feel everyone's eyes watching me.
As soon as I had finished, applause erupted as well as an “ALESSANDRA” coming from my parents. I knew if they called me by my real name that I was in trouble. It turns out my parents did not like my diva attitude and I was forbidden to perform for the next couple of get-togethers. I was furious. How could they do that to me when everyone else loved me? My diva attitude was launched into motion at a very young age. I knew then that I had to be a performer although I was unsure of what kind of performer; I knew I belonged on stage.
I dabbled with the different types of entertainment. I went through ballet, choir, and finally theatre. I could never be “the star” in ballet and choir because I simply did not have the talent. I won most improved in choir in eighth grade (was I that horrible to begin with)? Finally, when I realized that anyone could be the star in middle school theatre, I latched on to acting like a leech to blood. I didn't really appreciate the art of theatre as much as how it made me feel. People would come to our cafetorium to see me on stage as different characters. My first role in middle school was an owner of a laundromat who has three heart attacks and dies a humorous death. It was my challenge to decide what that humorous death should look like. I clutch at my chest and make raspy noises. I try to speak but nothing will come up. I drop slowly to the floor. It was my first heart attack. I spring up and come back to life. All of a sudden I clutch my arm and breath heavily. I drop down to the floor with a thud. It was my second heart attack. My leg raises up and shakes. My arms lift up and shake. I am alive again. I reach up with one hand, try to say something to the villain, and die from my third heart attack. I should mention that the play was a melodrama. The next role was a nun in a play that my teacher wrote that went on to be published. It was the biblical story of Adam and Eve told in commedia dell'arte. My friends called me the “naughty nun” for many years after the play because I said “he should be naked” to Adam. I was recognized and praised for being on stage as a “character” actress.
It was not until high school that I really fell in love with the art of theatre. During my first day of acting class my freshman year we played a game of truth or lie. Our teacher placed various objects on the table such as kleenex boxes, candles, pens, and figurines. We were supposed to pick one object and tell a story about the object or the significance of that object. It was up to the students whether or not it was a true story or one that was completely fabricated. The other students were supposed to guess whether that story was true or a lie. I was so nervous that I felt my heart pounding in my throat. I had an idea of what I wanted to do when I saw a candle. I was so nervous that I did not volunteer to go first. I didn't want to look like a doofus in front of the new people at my high school. Luck was with me that day because we ran out of time and had to continue over to our next day of class.
I went home and practiced in front of the mirror. I could do it. I grabbed a candle that was in my room. I was so excited and proud of myself, but something was still missing. I could not get where I wanted to emotionally because there was no audience. No matter how many times I tried it in the mirror I could not make myself emotionally in the moment. Finally, it was our next class and we all had to go. I didn't go first because I wanted to see what other people would do. I went third because I thought it was the right time. I stood up, walked to the table, and picked up the candle.
My cousin Vanessa and I grew up like sisters. We shared secrets and stories and were always there for each other. Neither of us had sisters but we felt a strong connection to each other and acted as if we were sisters. We used to sit by candlelight in my room and talk almost every night. One night as I was waiting for her to come over, I got a phone call from my aunt. Her voice seemed hollow, and I knew immediately as I picked up the phone that something was wrong. My aunt told me that Vanessa had gotten in a car wreck and died. I was silent and I had to let it register in my mind. After I got off the phone, I went into my room and sat by candlelight sobbing uncontrollably. As I told this story to my class tears were streaming down my cheeks and my voice started quivering. I have never told anyone that story before.
As I finished my story, everyone in the room had a somber mood strewn across their faces. My teacher even apologized for how horrible that tragedy was. It was time for them to guess if it was true or a lie. Of course everyone guessed it was true. I smiled and said it was all made up. The look on everyone's face was astounding. Everyone was surprised and could not believe that I had just lied to them. One student applauded, stood up, and grabbed a figurine. He handed it to me and said I deserved an Oscar. It was then that I realized that acting is not about being the star but about impacting the audience. It was about communicating my story to the best of my ability that it touched their hearts. Even though this particular incidence was fabricated, I was telling a story from a character's point of view that translated and evoked emotions from the audience.
My senior year we had the wonderful opportunity to work on a play for a whole year. It started as a play at our school in our season for the year. It erupted into us submitting the play at the Texas State Thespian Festival and having it judged to hopefully go on to the International Thespian Festival. Fortunately, we had the privilege of performing mainstage at the Festival at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln at the International Thespian Festival 2006 in a theatre that had 2,200 seats.
The play, Never the Sinner, started with two other reporters and myself shouting out newspaper headlines of the era; it was the beginning of sensationalizing the news. Immediately, we are thrown into the year 1924. Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold are two teenaged boys who studied the philosopher Nietzche and took his theory of “Supermen” a little too seriously. Loeb and Leopold murder a fourteen year old boy because they thought they were superior and could get away with it; the murder is an actual event in history. Loeb and Leopold's relationship was questionable because Leopold has strong homosexual feelings toward Loeb. Their murder became the first “thrill” killing in the US and prompted a media frenzy. I was a news-hungry reporter who was catching all the information so I could feed it to the Americans. I was the only female in the play and played two other characters, Loeb's girlfriend and a psychiatrist.
As I was about to walk out on stage in front of 2,200 people, I felt the adrenaline rush in every inch of my body. The lights went black and I took my place on stage with the other reporters. I am nervous to perform and nervous what people would think of our show. I am not in Denton anymore. I am performing for 2,200 people that are from around the globe. I had the only female part in the play, but I did not feel as if I was the star. It didn't matter anymore. I wasn't trying to be the star. I wasn't trying to reach the audience like I was when we performed in Denton. It was different.
Right before the lights came up, I realized why I want to be an actress. It is not because I want to be the star or because the audience should connect with the actors, it is because the story needs to be told for a reason and the audience can make up their minds as to those reasons. The audience should be an active member of the play in which they watch, engage, form opinions, and leave the theatre with a new outlook or want to change society. In that moment, the story needed to be told to make the boys human; they are not monsters, they are scared little boys. The story of Loeb and Leopold will be told to 2,200 people and it is up to them what they think of the story or what they will do with what we present to them. All I can do is present my character and tell my part of the story in hopes that the audience will understand the playwright's message.
As I left the stage after the show
, I felt proud that we told the story of Loeb and Leopold that audience did not know. I didn't talk to anyone until our director came backstage and congratulated us on a great performance. As we took our set apart and packed up, I looked out in the now empty theatre. I saw 2,200 empty seats and it was eerie because they were all full less than an hour ago. If we performed it right now, what would happen to the play? I knew it would not be the same. The art of theatre is the effect it has on the audience; the people can be transformed by the story, ideas or thoughts of the play. If there are no people, there is no meaning to theatre.It took me a long time to realize that I am not doing theatre because I want to be the star. It is not about being the diva anymore even though my roots in theatre started in my basement shouting at my cousins. It is about inspiring the audience to think about the story and relate it in their own ways by observation or by causing change. I want to communicate my language to the audience more effectively than my family's communication skills at parties. The audience should follow and understand my language and respond to it emotionally and spiritually. Even though I find the meaning of theatre through the audience, there will always be a little spark of diva in me.
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