Playing the Ingenue

The ingénue is a stock character in literature, film, and a role type in the theatre; generally a girl or a young woman who is endearingly innocent and wholesome. Ingénue may also refer to a new young actress or one typecast in such roles. 

A year and a half into my theatre career I had the opportunity to be part of a play called The Imaginary Invalid, written by French Renaissance comic genius and playwright Moliere. I was made to read two parts: Angelique, the ingenue romantic lead, and Beline, her scheming stepmother. At the end of the audition, the director asked which role I preferred. I tossed my head and impulsively replied, "Not Angelique." At the age of 22, I felt that I was tired of being the sweet, naive, seemingly perfect love interest to the play's hero, a role that I had constantly filled in my short time as a stage actress. I wanted a change of pace, and the opportunity to sink my teeth into a "meatier" role, one with seemingly more spice, more zest, more life.

The director was surprised. "I had you pegged as Angelique," he told me, "But let me take that into consideration." 

He ended up casting me as Beline, as I had hoped, and I had the time of my life playing her. Still, during the course of the production, I felt twinges of envy as I watched a dear friend and immensely talented actress take on the role of Angelique, and emerge onstage glowing and radiant in a beautiful dress, her eyes sparkling and her voice soft, while the audience sighed collectively in admiration.  I derided the ingenue, did what I could to avoid playing her, and yet, I missed her.

As Beline in The Imaginary Invalid

I was to be in a love-hate relationship with the ingenue in the ensuing years. I played her again in subsequent productions, then would become angry when I was labeled as such. I remember when I was cast as Lady Macbeth and met my alternate for the first time. She was a compellingly beautiful woman with a rich, smoky voice and hooded, alluring eyes. The perfect Lady Macbeth. "I asked people about you because we had never met,” she said, "And they said that you were the ingénue." I laughed and said nothing. It was true. But at the same time, I didn’t want it to be.

Some ten years later, with a child, a marriage, a three-year corporate job, and a business under my belt, I find myself back where I began. I play Bianca Minola in Ephesus Teatron’s production of The Taming of the Shrew, the younger sister adored by many, who cannot give her hand unless her fiery older sister marries first. I treat this as a homecoming, as a coming in full circle of sorts. And I approach my sojourn as Bianca not with the rebelliousness of my youth, but with joy, with gratitude, and a little bit more wisdom.

I know I am growing older. I see the fine lines growing around my eyes and know that I am biding my time. As of late, I have been hearing that sweet, sweet call to be a mother to a second. I do not know what the effects a second will have on my body. But I gladly, and with a full heart, welcome this. It is part of life. But if I must forever say goodbye to the ingénue someday soon, for this sweet wrinkle in time that I get to play her, I choose to cherish her.

Also, with the wisdom of a more experienced actress, I now know that I need not play the ingenue as a cookie cutter, doe-eyed, boring little innocent as I had foolishly believed when I was younger, but play her as a fully formed, interesting, compelling, and believable human being with her own quirks, failings, dreams, desires: all her good - and her bad as well. And as the curtain rises on my Bianca Minola, I hope and pray that I rise to the challenge and am able to make her alluringly, captivatingly imperfect; a little bit naughty, a little bit flirtatious, and sometimes a little bit mean - definitely flawed, but still fully capable of inspiring the most passionate of adoration and love.

Bianca in Taming of the Shrew

Catch Ephesus Teatron's Taming of the Shrew at the Emilio Aguinaldo College Theater, UN Avenue Manila, on August 22, 23, and 29, 2014 at 2:30 p.m.

Sixth Grade Stories: Remembering Sab

Sab during Intrams season :-)

In the sixth grade, I was assigned to section 6-D.  I was shy - and very, very awkward. I was reconciling myself with the onset of puberty from the year before - too early, in my opinion. (Our helper singing Pagkat dalaga ka na to me every time my time of the month came didn’t help either. It was painful. Just painful.) I was coming to terms with my monstrous height and the fact that I would never, ever be as inconspicuous as I'd wanted. I was also smarting from the bipolar relationship I had had with my fifth grade barkada, where we’d be the best of friends one minute, then I’d be persona non grata the next. They were not assigned to 6-D, much to my relief - and my utter dismay. I had been left virtually barkada-less. My verdict to self: sixth grade was the grade that I was destined to be alone.

The ensuing events reversed that verdict slowly but surely – like when, during one art class, I was seated next to a girl named Lisette. We had an awesome discussion about whether or not Santa Claus existed, thus paving the way for more interesting conversations and debates. I formed a lunch group with two funny, hilarious girls named Myra and Cecilia, who shared the same last name and sunny disposition but were not related in any way. It was also the year where I met my first ever best friend, Annie (who will serve as the subject for another blog entry), and the year that I was assigned to sit at the second to the last row, right next to a girl named Sabrina Roxas.

A Lesson on Love: Meeting Fr. McCarthy

Lovely photo from http://designyoutrust.com

Every Friday afternoon, the Catholic students of Daniel Thompkin’s Elementary School (P.S. 69), would hop onto a bus to a nearby Catholic school to receive their weekly catechism lessons.  While these students were learning about Jesus, the Bible, and the Sacraments, those remaining would be left with a free period where they could play with puzzles or other materials, interact with classmates and the teacher, read books, or catch up with work.

I was in the third grade and I was not enrolled in this program. I do not remember the reason why. But I do remember waving goodbye to my friend Debra as she went off towards the bus, then proceeding to settle down with some book or word puzzle, all the while feeling an odd sense of loss and displacement.

I should be on that bus, I thought to myself. I was Catholic and I should be learning what that was all about.

Then came the day when my mom said that she would be enrolling me and my brother in these classes. I was so happy and excited. I couldn’t wait to ride the bus with my friends and be headed somewhere other than home, to see what a Catholic school looked like, and most of all, to learn about my faith. I recall waiting in anticipation as my mom contacted the people in charge, waiting for her to tell me, “Okay, you can go on Friday.” 

How I Learned to Speak: Meeting Mrs. Deluccio

I had the recent opportunity to attend Speak Your Truth: The Improv Way co-conducted by visiting applied improvisation expert and lovely human being Belina Raffy  and Creative Director of Silly People’s Improv Theater (SPIT) and equally lovely human being Gabe Mercado. It was a wonderful, nerve-wracking, ultimately empowering experience where it was affirmed that the very best of stories come from our own truths, and we are able to reach others in a deep and powerful way when we share these.

This entry is my attempt to recreate, through writing, the story I told during our culminating activity of the day, about how my life was touched by an amazing teacher named Mrs. Deluccio. And although this cannot convey the raw emotion I experienced during the live and unscripted telling of it (I think I was on the verge of tears at the time!) nor the magical moment when you struggle for, then find the words to describe what is in your heart, I hope that the message comes across all the same:

Back in kindergarten, I was known as the girl without a voice. I was shy, so painfully shy, that it was so difficult to participate in class, talk to my classmates, or even raise my hand to ask permission to use the restroom. The latter led to a few embarrassing disasters in the classroom and my mother, who had to frequently pick me up with a fresh change of clothes, would oftentimes ask in exasperation, “Why didn’t you just tell your teacher that you needed to use the bathroom?” Time and again, this question would be answered by silence.

My teacher at the time even called my parents in for a conference to discuss my situation. She asked them what language I was comfortable with, and if I knew enough English to understand what was going on in class, to which my father answered, “Mrs. Lauterstein, English is the only language she knows.”

My silence in school continued, much to the frustration of my parents and teacher, and the wonderment of my classmates who called me “The girl whose tongue was stolen by the cat.” 

Then one day, I was a preschooler no more, but a worldly, grown-up first grader. I walked slowly into my new classroom and saw a petite woman with curly blond hair, sparkling eyes, and a warm and open smile. Mrs. Deluccio, she had written on the board in big swirly letters.

“Hello there,” she said to me, “Come and sit here in front.” I walked forward with shaking knees and sank into a seat right in front of her on the first row.

“You look like a princess,” she told me. I smiled back tremulously, feeling that all-too familiar lump in my throat. I couldn’t say anything. I just couldn’t.

“Petunia. Can I call you Princess Petunia?” She asked. I stared back at her. She smiled back widely, not noticing my silence. Or not seeming to mind, at least. I nodded.

And so I sat on the first row for the rest of the semester. For the first month or so, I still didn’t talk. This didn’t faze my teacher. She still referred to me as her Princess Petunia, oftentimes meeting my eye during class discussion to give me an encouraging nod or a playful little wink. I’m your ally, was what she seemed to say.  During seatwork, she would pass by and take a look at my work, never lingering too long, but always saying, “Good job, Princess Petunia,” or “You’re on the right track, Princess Petunia.” For the first time in my life, I felt like there was someone else outside of my family who truly knew me and understood what I was going through. Someone who didn’t judge me for my silence but accepted it, and cared for me all the same.

My silence eventually evolved to giggles over her jokes or little whispered side comments to a seatmate during class (Princess Stephanie, if I remember correctly). Then finally, on one fateful day, I raised my hand. And I spoke. And it felt good. As I looked breathlessly at Mrs. Deluccio, she smiled a smile with the warmth of a thousand rays of sunshine. And she said, “Princess Petunia. I’ve been waiting for that.”

Since then, I grew up and eventually dedicated my life to speaking up and sharing stories through my work with Make Believe, through theater, film, teaching, and writing. And although it will always and forever be a nerve wracking experience for this shy little girl at heart, whenever I am afraid or hesistant or unsure, I remember Mrs. Deluccio - and I, Princess Petunia, speak up J

 

She also came to my birthday party that year.
From left: me, Mrs. Deluccio, and my good friend Jackie

Thank you, Belina and Gabe, for helping me remember and speak this truth J

The Storyteller's Wardrobe

One of the things that we do during storytelling sessions at Make Believe is transform to different characters, oftentimes at the snap of the finger, and much to the delight and amusement of the children -- and adults - that get to watch us. During Peter Pan, for example, I switch from Wendy to John to Michael to Indian Chieftain and lastly, to Captain Hook. We incorporate these quick transformations into our "scripts," and I have oftentimes seen children and yayas and parents giggle in anticipation as they see me discard an accessory to put a new one on and emerge as a different character during the story.

Going Matryoshka!

Distinction between characters is key and this has caused me to amass a wardrobe of costume pieces and accessories that I can use for different storytelling sessions.While we do have our own set of costumes at Make Believe, I oftentimes find that my choices for myself are also influenced by the question, "Can I use this for a Make Believe storytelling session?" Shopping then becomes a hunt not only for things I can wear for the day to day but also for pieces I can use for storytelling.  Buying headbands, hats, and accessories for my daughter Sophie becomes a breeze because I know that I can use her large flower headbands for Alice in Wonderland or Angelina Ballerina, her tiaras for our princess stories, and her cowboy hats for The Legend of Sea Biscuit. (She constantly reminds me, "Ask my permission first! And give them back after Mom!" Fair enough, Sophie.)

Clockwise from left: a furry vest for winter themed parties, princess headbands,
fancy feather boas and lace gloves, a ruby red peacock shawl,
hats, and scarves, scarves, scarves!

I hope to one day have an expansive storytelling wardrobe collection deserving of it's own special closet (or walk-in closet?) in my home. I know that every piece is worth the scavenger hunt in the thrift stores, the purchase in the department stores, and the occasional unique and delightful find in outdoor markets, as each one I put on makes a story become even more vivid and real for the children who watch us. I live for the glints of understanding and glee in their eyes as I change from Elsa to Olaf to Prince Hans, or from Sister to White Rabbit to Caterpillar to Mad Hatter to Red Queen (Alice in Wonderland is always a workout of a storytelling session). And just as I have fallen in love and made best friends with various heroes and heroines in literature such as Anne in Anne of Green Gables, Mary in The Secret Garden, Max in Where the Wild Things Are, and Stargirl in Stargirl, so do I, through the costumes I wear and the stories I tell, wish to introduce children to friends that will serve to entertain, inspire, amuse, and comfort them for the rest of their lives :-)

Interested in our interactive storytelling sessions? Contact Oasis at oasis.jalandoni@makebelieve.com.ph :-)