On screen, the actress smashes down the phone.
She wrecks the thing because she can’t get through.
She plays it stagey even when alone.
If you were there, she might be wrecking you.
Actors believe they have to show, not tell,
Any annoyance that the script dictates,
Therefore it’s not enough for them to yell:
they must pull down a cupboard full of glasses.
An actress wrecks a room. The actor who
is playing husband to her does not protest
Perhaps he doesn’t have enough to do
All day, and thinks her outburst for the best.
For God forbid that actors bottle up
Their subterranean feelings so that we
Can’t see them. We must watch the wine glass
Reduced to smithereens, the shelf swept free
Of all its crockery. Another take
Requires the whole set to be dressed again
With all the gubbins she got to break
The first time. Aren’t they weary, now and then,
The poor crew, setting up the stuff once more
That someone trashes in a rage,
False to the core,
The screen experience gives us gauge
For our real lives
Not even mentioning some simple fact
That brings us to the aching point of tears –
Lest people think that it might be an act.
heavenfaced 