Coaching Session
A good many years ago I was a member of a television comedy troupe called The Henway Company (what’s a Henway? About four pounds. Cue rim shot, da dum bah!) It was the brain-child of a witty guy named Ray Edelstein, and it was openly based on the sketch comedy of NBC’s “Saturday Night Live.” Cable television was brand new back then, and its various producers were desperate for comedy shows to add to their formats of news, history shows, and movie re-runs. Ray was our director and cameraman; we shot our episodes in a space provided by Bill De Seta, the husband of the prominent casting director Donna De Seta, who was the sister of the great musical comedy star Bernadette Peters. One of Bernadette’s long-running Broadway hits was “Dames At Sea,” a parody of the old Busby Berkeley musicals of the Depression era, which always featured a chorus girl rising from obscurity to stardom because of her talent, grit, and good looks. Bill, an aspiring producer, gave us a room of the brownstone he shared with Donna, in return for including in each show an episode of a series he had written, called “Bachelors At Bay” (get it?), which mostly featured guys trying to score with dolls who didn’t wear many clothes. What can I tell you? It was the 60s.
One of the sketches we came up with was a piece about Jesus Christ suffering from stage-fright a few days before He had to preach the Sermon On The Mount, and hiring an acting coach to give Him some tips that would settle Him down. An actor named Kerry Welch played J.C., and Ray himself did the coach.
I wrote most of the script, but unfortunately I’ve lost it, so the following is a reconstruction based on my imperfect memory.
Jesus Christ: Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.
Acting Coach: No problem, Lord. I can always find time for the Son of God. What’s the trouble?
J.C.: Well, I’ve got a major event coming up, and for the first time since I started this campaign, I feel really uptight.
Coach: Wow, that’s not like you, Jesus. You’ve always been good at public speaking, very easy and mellow. That’s one of the many things people like about you.
J.C.: Bless them. But this time I’m so nervous I feel sick.
Coach: Can’t you heal yourself?
J.C.: It doesn’t work that way. I can only heal other people. Lepers, cripples, folks possessed by demons, that kind of thing. You know the old saying: The sandal-maker’s sandals are always worn out.
Coach: Your sandals look pretty good.
J.C.: It’s a metaphor, dammit.
Coach: Whoa! Watch your language, there, Lord.
J.C.: Mea culpa, OK?. But that’s what I mean – I’m not myself today.
Coach: I can see that. All right. Do you have your speech memorized?
J.C.: Of course. There’s nothing wrong with my memory. I remember everything that’s ever happened to me since I was born. And even before that. I liked it in the womb. No hassles, just floating around comfortably with no one asking me to do miracles.
Coach: Well, everyone wants to return to the womb when life gets hard. But I say, when the going gets tough, the tough get going.
J.C.: That’s it? That’s all the advice you can give me? How did you ever get to be an acting coach?
Coach (snippily): If you know everything, why don’t you tell me?
J.C.: OK, I’m sorry. I’m tense. I can’t even walk on water when I’m tense. I just sink straight to the bottom, shbloop!
Coach: Yeah, I can see you’re tense. Your shoulders are up around your ears. (Comes closer, puts his hands on J.C.’s shoulders) Here, let me give you a little massage…
J.C.: Noli me tangere!
Coach: Say what?
J.C.: Oops, sorry, that’s Latin. It means ‘Don’t touch me!’ (Coach removes his hands) And I’m not supposed to say it until much later in the script. In fact the script got the language wrong. I never spoke Latin. That was the language of the guys who crucified me. Or are going to crucify me. Aggh, there I go again, all mixed up in time.
Coach: Come on, chill out, big guy. This is just pre-game jitters. Negative perspiration. We can work it out.
J.C.: It’s not easy being the Only Begotten Son Of God The Father Almighty. I have to do everything perfectly, or he loses his temper. He says if I can’t redeem the human race, he’ll wipe it out with another plague, and start over again with a different species. Maybe cats. He’s always been partial to cats. Cats walk by themselves, and all places are alike to them. They don’t argue about politics or religion, and they don’t have thumbs, so they can’t build weapons or wicked cities he has to go to the trouble of destroying. Plus, they kill rats. God doesn’t like rats.
Coach: Then why did he make them?
J.C.: It was early in the creation project. He was beta-testing a lot of critters that didn’t work out very well. Like cockroaches and gnats. Oh, and some really wild stuff – flying dragons that breathed fire, and birds so big they ate elephants.
Coach: There are stories about dragons. And those birds – weren’t they called rocs?
J.C.: Yup. They’re nothing but fairy-tales now, but back in the day they were real enough. Humankind couldn’t bear that much reality, though, so Dad stopped making them. Listen, can you help me here? The big speech is the day after tomorrow, and I’m so nervous I keep making word-salad out of my lines. Yesterday I was running them with my brother James on book, and I got to the part about the poor in spirit, and I said, ‘Blessed are the pooped in syrup.’ James cracked up.
Coach: That wasn’t very nice of him.
J.C.: Oh, I forgave him his trespasses, and told him to forgive those who trespassed against him. I forgive everybody. That’s my schtick.
Coach: We’re lucky to have you, Lord.
J.C.: Yeah, but I will not always be with you. And when I come back, don’t be surprised if I’m not in a forgiving mood.
Coach: Is that a threat?
J.C. Those who have ears, let them hear.
Coach: Got it. OK, let’s forget about the big speech for now, and start with something simpler, like one of your parables. People are crazy about your parables.
J.C.: Even when they don’t get them.
Coach: My, we’re in a fine old snit today, aren’t we?
J.C.: If you go on mocking me, I’m going to smite you!
Coach: OK, OK, I’m sorry I was out of line. So, how about the parable of the Prodigal Son? That’s one of my favorites.
(J.C. rotates his shoulders to get the stiffness out of them, shakes his arms, clears his throat, and says, rapidly, rolling his r’s, “Around the rough and rugged rock the ragged rascal ran.” Feeling looser, he begins):
J.C.: There was a rich man and he had two sons. Now the older of these sons was hardworking, honored his parents, kept the Law, and feared God. But the younger son was lazy…
Coach: Cut!
J.C: What’s wrong?
Coach: It’s too flat. We need more intimacy here. Let me give you a little adjustment. Pretend you’re talking to kids. You’re great with kids.
J.C: Children… Yes. (Begins again, in a high voice, overemphasizing each word) There was a rich man who had twooo sons (holds up two fingers and waggles them). Now the older of those sons was haard working and…
Coach: No, no, stop. This isn’t working. Let me think a minute… OK, I got it. Remember that time in Bethany, with Mary Magdalene and the candles and the wine?
J.C.: NOTHING HAPPENED IN BETHANY! (He waves a hand, and a clap of thunder sounds. The Coach flinches and covers his ears)
Coach: Come on, cut it out. No need to get testy here.
J.C.: The Lord is not mocked!
Coach: OK, I get the picture, already, sheesh… Let’s try another adjustment. One on one. Just like you’re talking to me right now.
J.C.: But there’s going to be five thousand people there!
Coach: I know, but…
J.C. My Father’s going to be there!
Coach: Come on, he’s proud of you! When John baptized you, God spoke from heaven, saying, ‘This is my own beloved son, in whom I am well-pleased.’ Right?
J. C.: He was in a good mood that day.
Coach: Look, John’s your Forerunner, right? And he’s a hell of an orator. Why not talk like John does?
J.C: But John shouts!
Coach: OK, pretend you’re just thinking out loud. You know, talking to yourself.
J.C.: People who talk to themselves are crazy.
Coach: But you’re not an ordinary person. You’re the Messiah, for Christ’s sakes!
J.C.: Watch your language.
Coach: OK, sorry again. But please, just try it. Third time’s the charm, right?
J.C.: I sure hope so. (He begins again, speaking in a low, meditative voice) There was a rich man who had two sons. Now the older son was hardworking, honored his parents, kept the Law, and observed the Commandments. But the younger son was lazy. One day he went to his father and said, “Give me my inheritance, that I may enjoy it while I am still young.” So the father gave him his full portion, and the younger son went off to foreign parts, where he squandered his fortune on strong drink, games of chance, and prostitutes. When he had beggared himself, he managed to return home, ragged and hungry. His father saw him coming, and killed a fatted calf to welcome him home. His servants bathed him and clothed him in rich raiment, and the younger son sat at the table on his father’s right hand, drinking wine and feasting. When the older brother came in from the fields and saw his brother regaling himself, he was aggrieved. “Father,” he said, “I have served you faithfully all my life, working hard, honoring you and my mother, never asking for anything but your approval. Yet here is my lazy, profligate sinner of a brother, back from his dissolute journey, regaling himself at the banquet table, drinking wine and feasting. It is not fair.”
The father said, “Son, you are always with me, and I rely on you. Your reward will come in time, and it will be rich. But your brother went away, and I feared that he was gone forever. But he has come back. That which was lost is found, and he that was taken away has been restored unto me.” (Pause) How was that?
Coach (dabbing his eyes): See that? Tears. Real tears. Perfect. You’ll knock ‘em dead.
J.C. (Looking up): Are you listening, Dad?
The Voice Of God: I’m always listening. You know that.
J.C.: Will that be OK?
God: Fine, son. Just pick up the pace.