Student Blog: Six Weeks in a Commedia Mask

I lept onstage in a leather Arlecchino Commedia mask and a guitar hanging onto my shoulder for dear life with a haphazardly-tied strap made out of yarn. I was wearing neon plaid joggers, an orange vest, and a bright yellow beret that hid the separation between the mask and my hairline. Through Arlecchino’s slitted eye-holes, I squinted at exposed audience members who'd forgotten they’re just as vulnerable as the actors onstage. Some were grinning, some confused, some disturbed… maybe even angry? I strummed the first chord on the guitar I could barely see, let alone hold, and began to sing “What Was I Made for?” by Billie Eilish. As an admittedly surprising uproar of laughter surfaced, I couldn’t help but wonder how I got there.

Six weeks ago, when I arrived in Florence, Italy for a Commedia dell’Arte intensive led by NYU Grad Acting faculty, I never would have imagined this to be our final show. A commedia-infused and improvised version of Molière’s The School for Husbands (& Wives), the hour-long theatrical concoction featured songs by Billie Eilish, Fleetwood Mac, Joe Walsh, Sara Bareilles (Waitress), and Lin-Manuel Miranda (Hamilton). Needless to say, you should’ve been there.

The program was led by our fearless leaders Jacob Olesen and Jim Calder, two graduates from the L’École Internationale de Théâtre Jacques Lecoq in Paris. Throughout the program, we also studied verbatim theater with Scott Illingworth, Shakespeare with Mark Wing-Davey, and Mask-Making with Joan Harmon. At the end of the six weeks, we would perform in a devised show, co-directed by Devin Shacket with costumes by Maggie Raywood.

But I’m jumping ahead of myself.

During our first few days on campus, all eighteen of us students tried our best to acclimate to our new home at Villa La Pietra. When I was done playing catch-up with jetlag, you could find me getting lost in the gardens with a cappuccino and the required reading The Actor and the Target. I was there for school, after all. At night, my classmates and I would explore downtown and get accustomed to the rolling hill landscapes, the gorgeous new language, unprocessed food, wine served with every meal, and the best tiramisu I’ve ever eaten… as you can see, it was torture and we were having no fun whatsoever.

Before we could digest all of the new stimuli, we started training.

By day two of Jacob’s class, we were taking on animal physicalities, miming, and going through Lecoq’s Seven Levels of Tension. By the end of the week, we wore neutral masks to discover the world through a newborn’s perspective, learning how to curiously observe without forcing discovery. We eventually got promoted to character masks and finally reached enough XP to unlock the ultimate level in our evolution: the Commedia masks.

Jacob Olesen describes the mask as a pedagogical tool for the actor. “When you play with masks, you have to amplify everything - feelings, movement,” he continues, “It’s important for the actor because it's easier to make something smaller but it's more difficult to make it bigger.” Commedia is also very useful for studying archetypes of certain stock characters in different theatre mediums and society. “It’s a way of playing, it’s a way of thinking, it’s a way of clowning… it’s comedy.”

In Scott’s class, we brought in audio recordings of pre-conducted interviews and analyzed natural speech patterns (rhythm, breath, pitch, volume, diction, and other dynamic markings). As we experimented replicating our recordings, Scott explained this new approach as an opportunity to dissect a finished product (the character), rather than building the character up from scratch.

It was week two when we finally met the man, the myth, the legend: Jim Calder.

It was our second class and Jim had split us into small groups. Immediately, everyone began talking, the noise overpowering his instructions for the exercise. This resulted in only one group (the closest group to him) hearing him and beginning to work outside. Jim then approached my group (the next closest) with his theory.

Jim speculated that since our generation has grown up on social media, he’s noticed an emphasis (and overcompensation) on socializing rather than learning. These superficial conversations while awaiting instructions are based on agreement and validation - they’re low stakes and conflict-averse. Real relationships, however, are made by working together artistically and being challenged. Jim’s last point? In the time that he was talking to our group, not one student came up to ask him for the instructions, even though the group outside was, at this point, finishing the assignment.

Sure enough, I looked down at my watch. It had been twenty minutes.

The next few weeks were like that. Jim was teaching us about acting, sure, but he was really training us how to notice and think better. As students would participate in class exercises, he would bring his observations to the class, usually along the lines of the student “solving an easier problem” instead of confronting the harder emotional challenge staring them in the face. 

Around the fifth week, we started to create our own paper-mache Commedia mask to take home as a souvenir. As Arlecchino was the first Commedia character I experimented with, it felt right to craft his mask. When I found out I’d be playing Arlecchino for a scene in the final performance, it made my mask even more special. 

The show was devised within a week, and everyone played at least five characters. For continuity, we wore a set mask and costume for each character… Still have no idea why an audience member would ever be confused - it was so simple! The fast nature of the rehearsal process forced us to trust in our instincts and stay reactive. Days leading up to the performance, we were still rewriting scenes, cutting bits, and changing songs. It wasn’t until our one-night-only performance was over that we fully realized we had created and performed in a show.

This Commedia program, literally designed to make you feel unstable for six weeks, ended up being the most transformative and challenging experience of my life. I’m still not sure how to make sense of it all, but I think that’s exactly the point. I traveled back home with a new perspective on life and humanity that I can’t wait to implement into my future endeavors.