Lost Journal

Humor Column
by Tim Mollen
April 27, 2006

Putting the Ham in Iambic Pentameter

Journal Entry:  April 19, 1988 (age 18)

It’s my second semester at SUNY Oswego, and I am thrilled to be cast as “Bottom” in the theatre department’s production of Shakespeare’s comedy A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  The pun in Bottom’s name is intended.  The joke is made obvious in the play when Bottom is magically transfigured into a man with the head of an ass.  I was born to play this role.

Rehearsals are a lot of fun, but also a lot of work.  We spend hours learning to wrap our mouths around Shakespeare’s poetry, to swordfight without looking like kids playing pirates, and to project masculinity while dancing in tights.  The large, talented cast includes my close friends Lisa Sleeper and Russ Finley, both of whom look better in tights than I do.

Our director is a remarkable woman named Rosemary S. Nesbitt.  She was selected by the university as a distinguished teaching professor of theatre, and is the official historian for the City of Oswego.  Mrs. Nesbitt is a stern disciplinarian, a legendary perfectionist, and generally the type of person you do not want to cross.  Her knowledge of Shakespeare, and of theater in general, makes her an even more imposing figure, particularly to wet-behind-the-ears freshmen like myself.  After yesterday’s rehearsal, Mrs. Nesbitt pulled me aside for some private coaching.

“Tim, I like what you’re doing as Bottom.  But it needs to be much BIGGER.  I want you to ham it up!  You really can’t overdo comedy.”

I left the theater feeling confused.  I had never been told that I wasn’t hamming it up enough onstage.  I imbued most of my scenes with a Fozzie-Bear-ian subtext of “Wakka wakka!”  In fact, most of my comedic performances had a nuance-to-ham ratio of the world’s top rodeo clowns.  But I deferred to Professor Nesbitt’s judgment and resolved to crank up the ham content.

So at tonight’s rehearsal, I really let loose.  I danced like a drunken marionette.  I stopped in the middle of sentences to shamelessly mug at the audience.  I used character voices from Bugs Bunny cartoons.

After the run-through, the cast assembled in front of our director to get notes on the performance.  I felt grateful to Mrs. Nesbitt for having given me such insightful direction the night before.  I was doubly grateful that she had done so in private.  Now, in front of the entire cast, I was ready for some major kudos.  I made a point of sitting next to Margaret McCarthy, a particularly beautiful castmate with whom I had recently been exchanging what Shakespeare might have called “goo-goo eyes.”  Still flushed from the exertions of my acrobatic, flamboyantly extravagant performance, I eagerly raised my hand when Mrs. Nesbitt started her notes by asking, “Where’s Bottom?”  Her fierce, keenly intelligent eyes met mine, and time slowed to a crawl as she continued.

“Ah, there you are.  Tim, when you overdo comedy, it’s DEADLY.  I don’t know what you were doing up there tonight, but it wasn’t comedy.”

My kingdom for a horse.

© 2006 Tim Mollen

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