Whoa Here She Comes

The word is "Whoa."

As in:

Whoa here she comes
Watch out boy, she'll chew you up
whoa here she comes
she's a maneater

I have been using songs to get the actors singing, so that the words become less intimidating with a familiar melody. Once we have successfully sung the song, I go back to the text and ask them to say it again. It's amazing how the delivery changes. Blends together. Becomes more about saying something to someone else and less about getting the words right. If you don't recognize the lyrics above, that's a Hall & Oates 80's Classic called "Maneater."

"What's a maneater?" one of my students asked. "Good question," I say, walking over to my laptop and hitting play on the track. The drums start in and it's so early 80's I cannot help but bounce to the beat, thinking of Martha Quinn, shoulder pads, leather pants and guys with hairsprayed perms. But the song is not just great for creating a mood -- the beat is easy to remember. Easy to put words to. I lean against one of the walls, my head bouncing ever so slightly, but oh so rightly, to the synthesized percussion. Then I put on my bedroom eyes. It's so easy for me -- being cheezy. I toss my hair to both sides even though it's in a pony tail, sip my imaginary chablis, and look around the room with hungry eyes. As in Dirty Dancing with Patrick Swayze and his "Hungry Eyes." One look at you and I can't describe, I get...

My students are laughing. They get it. So then we do it, all of us sing together:

Whoa here she comes
watch out boy, she'll chew you up
whoa here she comes
she's a maneater!

But their 'whoa' is still stiff and sounds more like "wow." I say "whoa, whoa, whoa," cuz I gotta tell them about "whoa." "Whoa," when by itself, is usually a reaction of some kind, indicating surprise. It's an announcement, like a spoken exclamation point. Your kid chugs his glass of milk in one feel swoop and says: "ahhh!" to which you reply: "Whoa!" A box of ornaments fall from the attic ladder step to the hallway just missing your head and you say: "whoa," (or any number of expletives -- but this is a PG class so far). You are Keanu Reeves in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and you've just traveled back in time, AND you live in Encino. KEANU REEVES: "Whoa."

When "whoa" is repeated more than once, "whoa, whoa," or "whoa, whoa, whoa," it's putting on the brakes; you want someone or something to stop. Your friend, who has been up for 5 days straight on cough syrup, is rambling about a new plan to set the school on fire to avoid midterms -- and wants you to buy a gallon of gasoline. You say: "whoa, whoa, whoa, Martel -- chill." Your wife blames you for having stinky feet and you say: "whoa, whoa, whoa Wendy -- you're the one that bought me these sheepskin slippers that make my feet itch and sweat." The Ghostbusters stand on a rooftop, fighting to keep their minds blank to avoid death and the destruction of Manhattan -- when they are told that their Finisher has been chosen. "Whoa, whoa, whoa." That's impossible. They all kept their minds empty, right? Except for Dan Akroyd's character -- who thinks of the most benevolent image imagineable: The State Puffed Marshmallow Man. And then we see him, coming around the corner in that sailor boy hat with those big freaky eyes and a distorted devilish grin. The State Puffed Marshmallow Man. And we say: "Whoa."

They get it. So we sing it again -- and this time it's great. I write another four lines on the wipeboard -- with the same beats as the lyrics.

Sign your name right here
Don't forget to put the date
Write your name right here
And your birthday

But this time I give them a scene about signing up for a lottery to win an apartment in Greenwich Village (funny how these exercises have begun to incorporate my fantasies). Everyone takes a turn. I clap and say: "Yokatta!" You did it.

Then we do an improv. Three actors and I give them their environment, the lines they have to say at some point (in English), their characters, and a small back story. It's Yukine, Mai and Koichi. I worried at first that I gave them too much info and I'm sure I'm going to have to stop them, adjust them -- but then the scene starts and I don't want it to stop. There was no pushing. No indicating. No acting. Just moment to moment. Loved this. I LOVED THIS. Told them that this was the scene we would be going back to when we get to scripts and everyone freezes up. That this is the model for how any script or scene should feel. Real.

Today I felt like a Bona Fide, Superfly, Hang to Dry -- Sensei.
Whoa.