A new book about Del Close is out “The Funniest One in the Room”. I read an excerpt in the local indie newspaper, The Reader. They had a link to a video of Del’s living wake, a party he threw for himself while in the hospital. Kinda cool. And morbid. A bit of a who’s who, a lot of famous people. I wasn’t there.
All of the legends of Del focus on his daring exploits and his razor-sharp wit. Embarrassing and offending those whom he felt deserved to be. Or the legends mention his improv wisdom. I use a lot of it in my teaching. “If the whole is to be art, the pieces must not be.” That’s a favorite. Stories of Del’s weaknesses are limited to his drug use and occasional abrasiveness but even these are seemingly explained away as the musings of genius. A fearless explorer, leaving no stone of life unturned. (High-fives all around)
I never knew him as a person. My professional knowledge of him was limited to a workshop and a few hello’s and excuse me’s. My impression of him was set by his legend. And as legend usually go, I never heard stories of him being afraid or crying or having genuine, real emotion, ironically the very thing he preached in his teachings. When faced with difficult or tense moments, the legends had him snapping off a witty remark or a disconnected reference to some long-past historical event. All things I would give my students a stern note for doing.
I watched that video of his living wake last week. He was being funny and as jolly as he could be. I was struck by how frail he was. He spoke quite openly and calmly about his death, just like you’d expect. Mortality is but the first act in the play of our soul. But in one small moment, barely thirty seconds and at times cut with witty remarks, he spoke fearfully of his death. He struggles to find his words “We don’t have to blow it all tonight, we might get lucky and push on another few.” He was saying that to himself, mostly. A truly honest and heart felt moment of humanity. He felt the sadness that, despite all of our bravado and charm, despite any belief in an after life, death will take us away from the friends we have on Earth.
The most recent thing I stole from Del was a note he gave to one of his students many decades ago. I found it rummaging through a collection of old notes I found on the internet. The note is that you should always be talking to your scene partner and never to the audience. When people break the moment and go for a joke they are talking to the audience. That’s it. Every line you speak is meant for your scene partners ears alone. In Harold openings, games and non-verbal organic physical explorations ever action is in response to and soley intended for your partner. That is the only person you will ever talk too.
(I told a buddy of mine in the traditional theater world about this discovery. He said “duh”.)


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