Nonologue

Saturday J'mel's group The Feminist Debutante Guild did a monologue show. All the monologues were written by J'mel, with a slew of performers. I was pleased to be one of the performers, and although I'm not entirely happy with my work (I could give you a list of things I did wrong, but David Mamet pointed out that it's rude to the audience for actors to do so) it went quite well!

One problem: one performer, whom I've worked with before and knew to be a talented actor, didn't show up at call time. The director called this actor-whom we'll call Box for reasons which shall remain obscure- and Box explained that he was drunk, in a bar, having a panic attack. So the director did a perfectly fine staged reading of the monologue. All was well.

Later that night we sat on the deck of a popular late-night bar and grill, scarfing down burgers, when who should come shambling by, with a girl on his arm, but Box. He turned on his panty-removing charm and apologized to us all, but it was a cloying "Pwease wuv me" apology, the kind sleazy boyfriends use to bamboozle their girlfriends into forgiving their infidelities. "Don't hate me" was his refrain. I don't hate him, but I've lost respect for him, and I'm worried for him.

There was a time when I did similar no-shows for little local films in which I didn't really want to take part, and while the films turned out badly or not at all I'm sorry I handled it that way. Now I understand that one should simply keep one's promises or not make promises. Show up or sod off.