I'm also working on the Messenger's long monologue near the end of Oedipus at Colonus, which is due for Jack's class, on Tuesday. The assignment is to prepare it thoroughly as a "realism and naturalism" piece--scratch and sniff acting--carefully choreographed, but 'real.' The assignment daunted me at first, but I'm getting into it. Again, my recent health scare is 'dropping me in.' Personalizing Oedipus' process of disentangling himself from ego and life is coming fairly naturally. I've seen a lot of that of late, in the men I know who have died, who are dying, and in me.
And this is why I act, goddamn it: to live more honestly. Those who believe that "acting is lying" simply do not know what they are talking about or are lying to themselves. Non-actors are more prone to this delusion than actors, but I know a few of the later who don't get it, either. The honesty of acting is why it is difficult: you show a part of yourself: you ain't pretending: you actualize that bit of villainy for two hours. That's why actors are so often reviled, honored, and mystified by others all at once. We're fucking priests.