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Quotations"Magic!"
Illustration by Janet Shelby, Artist ©Morning Glory Greetings, Grand Rapids, MI. Used with permission.
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The Belle of AmherstEMILY ON STAGE
I had a year to prepare. I began by reading the play two or three times a week, not out loud, but as a reader, no plans, no judgments, no decisions as to how I would play it, just exploring Emily’s world within the context of the play. After a couple of months I began learning the lines. I started at the beginning of the play reading small sections of the text out loud until I knew them. With a one-person show there are, of course, no cues. One has to form a mental connection between one beat and another. This takes time. As I finished one section and moved to the next one, I would run the previous section so as not to forget it. I also recorded the entire play, which I listened to while walking my yellow lab, Riley.
Around that time I contacted New York costume designer Sarah Timberlake to see if she could copy Emily’s original white dress, now in a vault at Harvard. She did a beautiful job. Another bit of great news was that director, actor, playwright, teacher, Austin Pendleton agreed to direct. Austin had brilliantly directed my play War in Paramus in its premiere production off-Broadway. He was my first and perfect choice to direct The Belle. The entire play revolves around fifty-three-year-old Emily as she talks to the audience. At fifty-three Emily had become extremely reclusive. She would never have shared her innermost thoughts with an audience. So the question was, to whom would I imagine Emily was speaking. One person? Two? Who were they? What did I want from these visitors? What did I expect? How did they react? What did I do about that? There are many poems in the play. A terrific idea of Austin’s was to make a seamless transition between the poetry and the dialogue. I was excited by the concept. I didn’t ‘recite’ the poems. I just continued communicating to my guests what I wanted them to know. I never would have thought of this, but it worked really well. I felt inside Emily’s mind. ![]() PLAYING EMILYKirby Theatre, Amherst College When Jane Wald, the director of the Emily Dickinson Museum, asked if I wanted to know whether Julie Harris would be attending the performance I didn’t know what to say. My first thought was that I’d rather not know. Julie had been my idol since I was thirteen. She had originated the role. She won a Tony Award for it. The pressure would be too great. Then I thought maybe I should know. Playing Emily in William Luce’s play, The Belle of Amherst, means doing a one-woman show, alone on stage, talking to the audience. If I saw Julie Harris unexpectedly, sitting in the front row I might faint! I should give myself time to get used to the idea of her presence. As it turned out she was planning to attend. Be still my heart! I had no idea how I would react. At least it wouldn’t be a surprise. Before the performance Jane Wald delivered a tiny package to me, saying it was from Julie. It was an antique brooch that had belonged to Julie’s grandmother. I was overwhelmed. During the performance, Julie sat in the front row in rapt attention, sending waves of joy and support my way. After the show we stood at the edge of the stage, holding each other, the sharing the night and our love for our beloved Emily. I wear the brooch in every performance. Burt Reynolds Institute of Theatre and Film
I was told by several people at the theatre before the start of my week’s run in Florida that “Burt” was recuperating from open-heart surgery and would not be able to make the opening but hoped to see the show at one of the final performances. I hoped he would feel up to it. The play opens with about thirty seconds of music at the top of Act One. The music fades and Emily enters carrying a teapot, ready to serve her guests. On opening night I stood in the darkened wings, holding the teapot. As the music started I felt a hand on my shoulder. When I turned around, there was Burt. “Thank you so much for being here”, he said. “What can I do for you? Do you like the hotel? How’s the car?” I was stunned, surprised, disoriented, thrilled, confused, in awe. He was so tall in his familiar “Smokey and the Bandit” cowboy boots. He took my free hand. He kissed it. “Anything you want,” he said. “Just tell me what it is.” The music began to fade. It was time to enter! Emily Dickinson, I thought. New England! 1884! Go! It was at least five minutes before I could find myself in Emily’s world.
The New York Botanical Gardens I did two performances of “The Belle of Amherst” at The New York Botanical Gardens as part of their month long celebration of the poet. It was May. It was 86 degrees. It was windy. I was performing outside under a small tent intended to shield the stage from the bright sunlight. As the show begin, there was a gentle breeze, which soon became more than that. The vase on Emily’s bureau by her nephew’s picture, containing a single rose, blew over. I kept talking, picked up the vase and the rose, re-filled the vase with water from the nineteenth century pitcher on the parlor end table, replaced the rose and set the vase back on the bureau. By the time the second act was underway it had become extremely windy, causing crackling noises in my lapel mike. All at once the photographs of Emily’s family, in frames on the sideboard, came crashing to the stage, glass shattering about the parlor floor. I picked up the pictures, the frames and the glass and continued as a veritable typhoon-like gust ripped the downstage right tent pole from its moorings. I was just beginning the final poem of the play. Gripping the pole in an attempt to keep the entire tent from blowing away, I proceeded. “Because I could not stop for death he kindly stopped for me!” What? And quit show business?
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