actornamedrory:
Even Ike’s laughter was a pleasing sound. Rory didn’t know what to do with that thought, but he knew he wanted to make Ike laugh more, just to hear it again. “I just think… if you need to dredge up personal trauma every time you have to play something serious on stage.. that’s a pretty fuckin’ miserable life, huh? Like… I get the act of getting immersed in your character… and really feeling their pain. But if I have to feel my pain, deeply and fully to get there? That’s… cruel and unusual punishment. Couldn’t be me.” There was that laugh again. Rory sighed, content. “I haven’t had much of the pleasure of working with playwrights, I have to admit. I mean in college, a little bit. But all of my professional work has been with ol’ William Shakespeare, and sometimes I think that man would be rolling around in his shallow grave, if he could see me now. Would be a dream to work with someone like you, though. I’d feel a different command of my character.” He grinned, a smirk gracing his lips. “I’m competitive, deep down. Could never want to give up my winning streak. And hey! I’m the nice Jewish boy who hasn’t been to synagogue since he was Bar Mitzvahed, so I can’t really be safe, either.” Another sip of his coffee, with eyes crinkling at the sides. “Edgar’s a hard one. Most think of his bastard brother, Edmund, with his whole Machiavellian complex, and all that. Edgar’s a bit more simplistic… yet he’s a brilliant supporting role. I’m deeply lucky… and the cast is dynamite. I’m way too lucky to be working like this.”
“I mean, between you and me, Rory, I dredge up personal trauma all the time. And for no good reason whatsoever. Shits and giggles.” Ike allowed his features to spread into a wide, joking grin. Still, leaning forward on the table, he listened intently. “I mean, I hear you, man. Acting can be cathartic, sure. At least that’s what they tell me. But it sure as hell ain’t therapy. That’s why I was never any good at it, though. They always needed me to be at, like, an eleven. Crying, screaming, wailing, weeping, gnashing of teeth. And, let me tell you, I’ve never been more than mildly annoyed at anything in my entire life. Doctor says more than that is bad for my blood pressure.” Ike sighed deeply, wrinkling up his nose, before balancing his chin in his palm. He smirked. “Who cares what William Shakespeare thinks? To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream. He could use a few nightmares to keep shit interesting down there. In any case, though, you ought to think of branching out.” He laughed, giving a playful roll of his eyes. “But I’d hate to be your nightmare, pal. Most of what I churn out is crap. This new one, I dunno. I really don’t. Polyester Bloodbath was a fluke. You’d be good as the son in that one, though. We had this lousy guy out in Connecticut. Too tall. Put on this sort, of, weird Yankee accent.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, I guess so long as you don’t cheat, it cancels it all out. But only marginally. In any case, we’re both doomed. Maybe we ought to brush up on our Hebrew and try to at least get a handful of brownie points. When’s the last time I did a good deed? There’s not going to be a single angel to vouch for me.” He shook his head. “Ah, that’s right. I’m sure you’re knockin’ it outta the park. But don’t knock yourself. You’re there ‘cause you deserve to be. Luck don’t got nothing to do with it. I mean, really. I promise you there are plenty of young actors to choose from. They woulda picked a different one if he were better. I smell award season.”














