The Challenge

Good week to everybody! I’m in better spirits now than I have been in the past weeks or should I say months. What has changed, I don’t know, I mean things are pretty much the same way they have been this year; still looking for more money to solve my incessant needs, Frieda still screeching in my left ear and futilely thinking that nagging me continuously is going to get me to do what she wants when she wants it – she never halla!- or eating from my plate when she has hers right in front of her and calling it love! Life has its small every day tragedies I tell you! Maybe those small tragedies are there to keep us from blowing our heads off when the tsunamis come but then, that’s just me. Why then do I feel different today? I think it’s perhaps the thought that I spent over a hundred dollars today buying only fruit on which I intend living solely on for the duration of a month. Of course I will procure more should I exhaust my supplies. Or perhaps my elation at making my very first successful smoothie from very humble beginnings comprising the most disgusting non-fat vanilla yoghurt, fresh strawberries, fresh blueberries, kiwi fruit and bananas blended into a pink creamy tasty smoothie delight this afternoon. All accomplished by the great culinary skills of Kalu Ikeagwu! Mrs Nkem Odewunmi eat your heart out! The reason behind my fruity expedition is simply competition and self preservation.

I had done a movie in New York involving a large cast. It was quite exhausting, mostly because I was in most of the scenes and a lot of them were emotionally tasking. I worked with a large number of people at different times and this meant I met new people all the time, worked towards getting used to working with each individual and just as I would begin to get used to the one, the one would be yanked away and another take his/her position, and the whole cycle would start all over again. Anyway, in one of such instances I, my character, was supposed to have a heated argument with a medical colleague and friend over a medical decision in my office. There were a lot ‘nonsensical’ medical terms in the scene that took some getting used to, so the other actor and I, after introductions, got down to rehearsing our lines. He was an extremely good looking well built white guy about my height and none of the ladies in the vicinity could keep still on account of him. Yes, I did feel a little green creeping in my colour at the sight of this, this fine intruder taking away my shine and having all the girls swooning at his feet. “The true test of why we’re here will show the boys from the men!”, I seethed, supposing him to be just a pretty airhead who was caught up solely in his looks. When we began the dry run (ultimate rehearsals) in preparation for the actual take, and this ‘airhead’ let rip, I was left a spectator in my own scene. Everyone’s jaw dropped, then clapped; nobody expected that performance from him. But, trust your guy na , it only happened once. I stepped up my game sharp sharp! For the next five scenes we did together after that, it was fire for fire, toe to toe, head to head, without ever overacting. It was sublime. I remembered what it was like being with serious actors who take their work seriously, as a craft to be honed and practiced continuously.

My useless director kept dancing up and down with glee! “Kalu! Now I have seen someone who’ll keep you on your toes and not let you get comfortable! Others let you get away with anything but me? I will punish you to get the best out of you!” *itch!

Well this nemesis of mine is going to be on the same project as me in a month’s time from now and I am not going to ‘carry’ last. My fruit regime starts yesterday with a vengeance in preparation for something I’m salivating over – a good challenge! Have a great week everybody!

Love for the Art

Top of the week to all and sundry. I’m on set at the moment with my mind filled with better places I would rather be than at work. I don’t know why I have a sudden urge to go on a holiday. The strange thing about it is, much of our work actually does seem to outsiders like one big holiday; we work far into the night when others are sleeping, sleep and lounge when most others are working. What most people don’t know is that for every scene that lasts for, say a minute or a minute and a half, an approximate three to five hours’ work goes into making that scene possible depending on how many people there are in the scene.

Usually, when people badger me about wanting to act I smile and ask them why they want to go into it – the fame or the love for it. I think someday, when I become a producer, if anyone accosts me and inundates me with pleas to induct him or her into the world of acting, I will make sure their first scene is a party scene where the main characters meet and have some sort of conversation or specific action to take. Those of my colleagues in the business who read this bit will probably snigger at my sadism, and with good reason too because we all know how full of drudgery “party scenes” are.

The worst part of a party scene isn’t the fact that it takes at least four hours to record a scene (I for one, have once begun one at 9pm and did not finish recording till 4am the next morning), but that one would have to nurse the very same half filled glass of wine or beer, with a strained grimace and faking a conversation with a member of the opposite sex who is supposed to be your significant other in the movie, whom you have silently vowed to never give the opportunity to take “the relationship” further than the confines of the set – you kinda get the clues regarding their intentions when they still keep leaning onto you even after the director shouts cut, and you politely have to remind them that the take is over.

Or maybe a plate of food you are supposed to be carrying but are not allowed to eat for “continuity” purposes. God help you if it’s actually a really lovely dish and the producer emphatically urges you not to waste the “props” as he is on a tight budget, or the miserly props manager – they always are – sidles up to you and begs you with a whisper in your ear to take it easy on the grub. I usually scoff the lot if I’m hungry and dare them to “disgrace” their production by not refilling my character’s plate. You watch that hot sizzling food slowly turn to a congealed mass of dulled brown slabs of meat and sodden vegetables atop icicles of yellowed rice fast stuck in a frozen lake of brown grease. Now imagine going through this routine coupled with the tedious movements, dances (again, heaven forbid that you should forget your sports deodorant at home), all the while trying to look like you’re having an absolutely fabulous time for at least fifteen to twenty times. Finish this gruelling routine, expectantly wait for the movie to come out in six to eight months ,sit down to watch and wait for that scene you laboured in for ten hours straight disappear in two minutes flat with your loved ones about you grumble about the scene dragging on for an unnecessarily long time. Yes I do believe it would make for a fitting welcome to the acting community!

Darn it! I’ve gone and got carried away with my distaste for crowd, especially party, scenes and my desire to inflict them on naïve aspirants and forgotten about the holiday I really wanted to talk about. Well let’s hope I remain focused next time and not get distracted by my innate sadistic desires. Have a great week everyone!

PS: Kudos to two of my fave people, Formerly Stealth Reader and Rosa Winkler for getting the quote on my last post correct. We shall sit at a round table with our lawyers and iron out the modalities of reward. Cheerio!

A Love Scene

Hello and a good week to everyone. It’s been a funny past week here in Nigeria, what with the scare of the predicted acid rain that would fall in this region and cause skin cancer to many. It’s been hilarious watching even bus conductors, market women and truck pushers scampering frantically for safety in the nearest shelter. The white patches I have seen on my car after the rain have given me some concern; curiously enough, soon after this discovery, my skin has begun itching ( I’ve been caught out once or twice by the rain too) on my forearm. I’m wondering if the itches are imaginary or real. No one has tested the rain to know if it is acidic or not or is the government stopping scientists’ mouths to prevent a panic as some of us conspiracy theorists are wont to believe? There, just scratched an itch again.

I had a unique experience from a movie set I’d just concluded; I was “fallen” in love with. Is that correct English? Perks or hazards of the business as they say. Anyway, I had this actress who played my love interest in the project where some really intimate scenes came up. We had talked at length about what each person’s boundaries were regarding kissing and touching intimate body parts on set. She was a very good actress who took her work seriously and even though she hadn’t done very much as regards screen work, she showed a remarkable grasp of understanding the tools available to her as an actor – and she used them well. Because she made the character she played so believable, I found my work with her to be a breeze as we meshed in unison.

One of the scenes we played was one where, I, sorry, the character I played, had been an absolute bastard to the woman he loved, denied her a position he was empowered to give her even though she was more than qualified for the position, eventually realised the error of his ways and had crawled back to beg for another chance at love. The scene was a very deep one I had been dreading – I absolutely hate weepy scenes because they force me to go to depths I’m not comfortable with sharing with the outside world. Fortunately the director did what she could to make it as comfortable for us as possible by removing everyone from the room save the camera man, the boom man and the continuity person. The lights were soft, the air conditioning on and the stage set for an evening of romance – just joking! I shuffled towards her with the proud desperation of an egotist who recognises the time when pride has to be swallowed to avert being swallowed up by depression. I went down on my knees and clasped her right leg, saw the full hips at my eye level, felt the soft body beneath the denim fabric I was grasping and remembered why I was begging. Sorry, I went down on my knees and begged her forgiveness having seen the error of my ways, from which I was pulled up and very reluctantly professed my love for her. The character I played did this with his eyes averted, looking everywhere else but her eyes while he made the painful confession and when I finally looked up at her eyes they were flooded with tears as we closed in for the kiss. Everyone applauded.

The next day, she asked if she could have a moment with me. I acquiesced and we went outside. She told me she, for reasons she did not know felt very attracted to me. I smiled, because I remembered the very same thing happening to me some years back when I did a stage play with someone I regarded as a sister who played my love interest. We had this love scene during rehearsals where we had that moment. It was like this weird chemical love spirit that just passed through us at the same time and we both looked into each other’s eyes and knew we were hit without being able to explain why. I couldn’t sleep that night or for rest of the week for that matter. I knew it wasn’t right but I couldn’t explain or ignore its power and I could see my relationship with my then girlfriend, who was very dear to me, being threatened. Funny enough, a few days after the play ended my strong feelings for the lady in question began to dissipate. I realised then that I had temporarily opened up a part of me that was vulnerable but crucial to my craft as a tool for interpretation of my role. I also realised that an actor while delving into his reserves and emotions to do his work, must also have control over them and recognise their use in any project for what they are; transient. I explained as such to her and encouraged her to play around with her emotions without getting too caught up in them, because our job at the end of the day is just what it is, a job.
I haven’t heard from her ever since we wrapped up so my belief is that she’s okay now. Just thought to share that with you guys so amidst everything else, do have a great week everyone! Hi Frieda!

The Carnival 'Free'

Another good ‘fortnight’ to all my good people. The dreaded night arrived; the night my mettle as a monarch with the royal dance steps would be tested, the night that would validate this talented artiste as a competent carnival scion or ridicule this ‘bloody’ actor who thinks just because he’s some celebrity he can jump out of nowhere to come and wrestle the crown from those in the know and in the system and have actually worked hard to get where they are. I could see it in their eyes as we made our way to our stand past some other stands. The blaze of colour across the length of the different stands was amazing. The vividness of colour went even beyond the spectrum – red, scarlet, fuscia, rusty brown, turquoise, lime green, lime yellow, colour that would shame the brightest plumed parrot or peacock. It was a pleasing rarity seeing people take absolute pride in their work even if it was going to be showcased for just a fleeting night.

I hid under the shade of the mermaid costume that my queen was to strap unto her back away from any possible person that might recognize me, biting my lips and almost my nails as I went through my routine on that damned vast stage and her theme music I would regally dance to while pushing the winged cart all over the place over and over again in my mind. Then it was our turn. I was already strapped in complete with my bow tie, robe, sceptre and orb. I wheeled myself out close to the ramp I was to push myself up only to face a huge barrage of flashing light bulbs. There was a solid wall in front of me, of dark figures from which the blazing eyes kept winking. I fought back. I just stood there staring at them with a stolid baleful look in my eyes, my face set as flint. I know how I looked because I refused to give them anything until I’d finished the dreadful business of the night. I wasn’t going to waste the precious reserve of energy I’d built up that evening only to burn myself out when the rubber hit the road. My band leader came up to me, a worried look in her eyes, and asked me if I was okay and I told her I was fine and wheeled myself up the ramp unto the stage to the booming voice of our narrator and my theme music feeling the weight of every one of my band members on my shoulders.

I got unto the stage and immediately began executing the ‘M’ formation I’d so diligently rehearsed without my props or costume in my head. I tried to dance in rhythm to the music and at the same time tried to manoeuvre my winged wheeled throne and quickly abandoned the dancing bit feeling very silly. Seeing the vast waves of faces looking up at me and the bright lights looking down at me from around the stadium, I made for the front end of the stage and quickly found myself looking over its edge at the dark abyss miles below me. Almost panicking at the thought of toppling over and having the ‘obong’ and all his regalia landing unceremoniously in a heap among his ‘subjects’, I made to turn back towards the centre of the rear stage to execute the second stroke of my
‘M’ formation only to find I couldn’t turn. I tried again and still couldn’t move! Subtly panicky and smile still frozen in place, I cast surreptitious glances at both ends of my wings to see if they’d been caught by the overhead cables but they were free. I then saw the wings fluttering and realised what had happened. The huge wings had caught the attention of a hearty breeze and the resultant drag prevented me from turning. After straining for a lengthy while of about half a second, or two, I obeyed my wings and turned back to my audience, my tight smile now straining against my ears and wondered how I was going to get out of the mess.

It was at that moment I remembered who I was; the obong! These were my subjects in front of me – the judges, the governors, everyone! This was my stage, I wasn’t answerable to anybody, I wasn’t bound by any stupid rules; I made them and tonight I was going to bend them to my will! Turning and facing the right side of the stadium, I lifted my hand and waved as sedately as I could, my smile softening into a benevolent one. A huge roar rose from that side of the wall. I tried to turn again and found myself rewarded with a gentle push from behind towards the place I’d previously aimed and found I only had to struggle mildly to turn around again to make for the left side of the stage. I waved again, this time with a million watts on my smile and got an even greater roar in response. I moved to the centre front stage and showed myself off in full splendour. It was rapturous. I turned, left the stage, went down the ramp into another waiting wall of flashing bulbs exploding in front of me and answered them in kind with my thirty two, sorry, thirty one pearly whites. My band leader came and hugged me tightly telling me how unbelievably regal I looked on stage and how she couldn’t believe it was the same person who had been fooling around on stage earlier in the afternoon.

Suffice it to say we won the coveted king award, among the numerous awards we carted away in the course of the competition – and it was fierce; a product of dedicated teamwork from everyone in our band of whom I was merely the icing. All that is nothing compared to what is happening on the other side of the world, Haiti. Let us spare a thought and many prayers, if that’s all we can offer, for our brothers and sisters across the lake. I haven’t been brave enough to even conceive what it would be like having almost everyone I love or know being wiped out in a matter of minutes. May God never let compassion and empathy die in our hearts. This post is dedicated to all Haitians, living and asleep, God be with you. Have a great week everyone.


PS: I am most likely to end my carnival experience here but if, and only if, you my dear ones want a post on the carnival proper then please do let me know. Otherwise you can let me know through your questions what you’d like me to write about so we can feel more connected with one another. One love!