
[Dear Reader: This is the second of four installments of a blog post on how this 33-year clown veteran got schooled this past summer. Today, I’ll take an in-depth at the first three of nine lessons I learned this summer, my first full-time immersion into clowning. Part one, posted 2013-09-24, gives some background on the 17 summer reading program library shows I performed during the Summer of 2013, as well as what I did to prepare for the shows. A big red nose thanks in advance for your time here on my blog! As always, I appreciate your comments and reactions. Buster]
After performing 17 summer reading program library shows for a wide variety audiences in just as varied settings, I’ve learned a lot, grown as a clown performing artist, and shrunk my waistline. If you are a more seasoned veteran of clowning, you’ll probably be thinking, “Ha! You rookie!! Welcome to Big Boy Clowning!!!” as you read through this post. That’s fair; I made quite a few rookie mistakes at times this summer.
I may have known many of these things before. But I hadn’t really 'learned' them to the point that I actually DID them until now. Here are the nine lessons I learned this summer:
1. There’s routine and rigor and play to good rehearsal.
2. A show is a guided journey.
3. Know the show.
4. Listen to the audience.
5. Know the venue.
6. Don’t assume anything.
7. Learn from every performance.
8. Have a support system.
9. There is no ‘off-season,’ just different seasons.
Here’s a little ‘splaining on the first three:
1. There’s routine and rigor and play to good rehearsal.
I do physical comedy. I work hard while performing and demand a lot of myself physically. At 58, the body doesn’t stretch as well, flex as much, or heal as quickly as it did 30, 20, or even 10 years ago. In preparing to perform a busy slate of shows this summer – many two a days, sometimes as many as five in three days – I had to get in shape to meet not just the physical demands, but also the performance demands.
Up to this year, I’d been a part-time clown, pulling shows and performances together in fits and bursts as needed. With expectations, stakes, and demands now suddenly sky high, I had to be disciplined about a regular schedule, focused effort, and performance-level intensity – all injected with a healthy dose of play, curiosity, and discovery – during each rehearsal to properly prepare for the summer shows.
I had to “practice how you play,” as they say in the sports world.
As the calendar approached July 1, Buster was ready to bust out. I could hardly wait until that first show date on July 9. In retrospect, I remember thinking that scheduling a dress rehearsal in front of a live audience would have been a good idea. Then, out of the blue, as if by grace and serendipity, a call came from another library for a last-minute replacement on July 2. I jumped at it; I was ready.
2. A show is a guided journey.
A show should take the audience (and the performer, for that matter) on a guided journey. Each audience and audience member is a gift, and I’ve got 45 minutes of their lives to take them on an entertaining ride to places they’ve never been before!
I wanted to construct my show with a sense of adventure that started the moment I hit the stage. At times, depending on the audience and situation, I used the pre-show to play and improvise, introducing my character, warming up the audience, building trust, prompting curiosity, and setting the tone for what was to follow.
The clown enters reading a book, “How to Be a Clown.” (These performances were part of each library’s Summer Reading Program, after all.) His misadventures help him and the audience “discover” how a clown looks, how a clown acts, and what a clown does.
Everything in the show’s structure – including sequence, flow, rhythm, pace, intensity, scripted routines, and unscripted opportunities for play – had a purpose. It projected the clown’s character, introduced conflict, moved the storyline along, or created moments of play, resulting in a shared roller coaster ride experience.
3. Know the show.
The show had to flow naturally and effortlessly. I had to really “know” the show and its mechanics, not just commit it to memory but be able to perform passionately, energetically, and relaxed, without having to consciously think about it. That would allow me to stay ‘in the moment’ and focus on the audience.
The show had to reside and breathe and spring to life from the clown’s sub conscience. To get to this level, it meant repetition, focus, and intensity throughout rehearsal, ingraining the show in the clown’s muscles, mind, and soul.
I had to master and internalize the show’s storyline, routines and set pieces, music soundtrack and cues, and its physical properties (props and stage). I had to map the physical layout of the stage into my internal GPS and know where I was and where I needed to be at all key times and moments in the show.
Two weeks before the show was to make its debut, I had a wild idea. I wanted to conclude the show with a song accompanied by the ukulele. I don’t speak when I perform, I can’t really carry a tune, and I don’t play the ukulele. I didn’t even have a ukulele, but I had the chords and lyrics for the
song, so why not?
Convinced I could pull this off, I bought a ukulele, took online lessons, and practiced for a few days. That was long enough to realize that learning to play an instrument, sing along to it, perform a song in public, do it ‘in character,’ incorporate it into the show, and do it effortlessly was going to take a LOT longer than two weeks to be able to pull it off, let alone in the midst of putting the finishing touches on the show itself. That wild idea was moved to the back burner for rethinking after the summer season.
So, now you know a little more of the story about how Buster went to clown performing arts reality school this summer and got schooled. In the next installment of this blog post, I’ll explain and reflect on the next three lessons learned at the Summer School of Clown Knocks. Look for it in a couple of days.
Peace and thank you,
Mike “Buster” Bednarek
After performing 17 summer reading program library shows for a wide variety audiences in just as varied settings, I’ve learned a lot, grown as a clown performing artist, and shrunk my waistline. If you are a more seasoned veteran of clowning, you’ll probably be thinking, “Ha! You rookie!! Welcome to Big Boy Clowning!!!” as you read through this post. That’s fair; I made quite a few rookie mistakes at times this summer.
I may have known many of these things before. But I hadn’t really 'learned' them to the point that I actually DID them until now. Here are the nine lessons I learned this summer:
1. There’s routine and rigor and play to good rehearsal.
2. A show is a guided journey.
3. Know the show.
4. Listen to the audience.
5. Know the venue.
6. Don’t assume anything.
7. Learn from every performance.
8. Have a support system.
9. There is no ‘off-season,’ just different seasons.
Here’s a little ‘splaining on the first three:
1. There’s routine and rigor and play to good rehearsal.
I do physical comedy. I work hard while performing and demand a lot of myself physically. At 58, the body doesn’t stretch as well, flex as much, or heal as quickly as it did 30, 20, or even 10 years ago. In preparing to perform a busy slate of shows this summer – many two a days, sometimes as many as five in three days – I had to get in shape to meet not just the physical demands, but also the performance demands.
Up to this year, I’d been a part-time clown, pulling shows and performances together in fits and bursts as needed. With expectations, stakes, and demands now suddenly sky high, I had to be disciplined about a regular schedule, focused effort, and performance-level intensity – all injected with a healthy dose of play, curiosity, and discovery – during each rehearsal to properly prepare for the summer shows.
I had to “practice how you play,” as they say in the sports world.
As the calendar approached July 1, Buster was ready to bust out. I could hardly wait until that first show date on July 9. In retrospect, I remember thinking that scheduling a dress rehearsal in front of a live audience would have been a good idea. Then, out of the blue, as if by grace and serendipity, a call came from another library for a last-minute replacement on July 2. I jumped at it; I was ready.
2. A show is a guided journey.
A show should take the audience (and the performer, for that matter) on a guided journey. Each audience and audience member is a gift, and I’ve got 45 minutes of their lives to take them on an entertaining ride to places they’ve never been before!
I wanted to construct my show with a sense of adventure that started the moment I hit the stage. At times, depending on the audience and situation, I used the pre-show to play and improvise, introducing my character, warming up the audience, building trust, prompting curiosity, and setting the tone for what was to follow.
The clown enters reading a book, “How to Be a Clown.” (These performances were part of each library’s Summer Reading Program, after all.) His misadventures help him and the audience “discover” how a clown looks, how a clown acts, and what a clown does.
Everything in the show’s structure – including sequence, flow, rhythm, pace, intensity, scripted routines, and unscripted opportunities for play – had a purpose. It projected the clown’s character, introduced conflict, moved the storyline along, or created moments of play, resulting in a shared roller coaster ride experience.
3. Know the show.
The show had to flow naturally and effortlessly. I had to really “know” the show and its mechanics, not just commit it to memory but be able to perform passionately, energetically, and relaxed, without having to consciously think about it. That would allow me to stay ‘in the moment’ and focus on the audience.
The show had to reside and breathe and spring to life from the clown’s sub conscience. To get to this level, it meant repetition, focus, and intensity throughout rehearsal, ingraining the show in the clown’s muscles, mind, and soul.
I had to master and internalize the show’s storyline, routines and set pieces, music soundtrack and cues, and its physical properties (props and stage). I had to map the physical layout of the stage into my internal GPS and know where I was and where I needed to be at all key times and moments in the show.
Two weeks before the show was to make its debut, I had a wild idea. I wanted to conclude the show with a song accompanied by the ukulele. I don’t speak when I perform, I can’t really carry a tune, and I don’t play the ukulele. I didn’t even have a ukulele, but I had the chords and lyrics for the
song, so why not?
Convinced I could pull this off, I bought a ukulele, took online lessons, and practiced for a few days. That was long enough to realize that learning to play an instrument, sing along to it, perform a song in public, do it ‘in character,’ incorporate it into the show, and do it effortlessly was going to take a LOT longer than two weeks to be able to pull it off, let alone in the midst of putting the finishing touches on the show itself. That wild idea was moved to the back burner for rethinking after the summer season.
So, now you know a little more of the story about how Buster went to clown performing arts reality school this summer and got schooled. In the next installment of this blog post, I’ll explain and reflect on the next three lessons learned at the Summer School of Clown Knocks. Look for it in a couple of days.
Peace and thank you,
Mike “Buster” Bednarek