MY RYLANCE STORY
So it is after a performance at the Globe, we are hanging out down in the Pennystinkers’ (Groundlings’) section, and some of the crew had pulled a rope from front center stage to the first row of seats, and we began playing “foot volleyball,” which I found out later is an actual thing people play—and a game that does not play to the typical American’s strengths. On the same side as me, talking to another member of the cast, is Mark Rylance. Yeah, THE Mark Rylance. He had moved on from the Artistic Director position at the Globe, so it was a bit of a surprise to see him. If you know me, you know that I am not one to be star struck. (My favorite example is running into Lawrence Fishburne at intermission outside a small theatre, and he had just lit up a smoke and made eye contact with me as I walked toward him. He grinned, I think hoping a grin and a nod would be enough to keep from having to have a conversation. I just nodded back, said “What’s up, Larry?” and kept walking. I was walking away on a NY street, so I can’t say for certain, but I am pretty sure I elicited a pretty big, deep Lawrence Fishburne laugh. But I digress).
I didn’t want to just walk up to Rylance and talk his ear off. Dude is just hanging out. So I didn’t walk over. Maybe 5 minutes, I notice he is walking over toward me. He stops, and says to me very casually, “I really liked what you did tonight; that was quick on your feet.” Another actor had dropped a line, and it was a line you can’t really drop, so I had casually dropped it in a moment later. That wasn’t what I was thinking about, though. I was thinking about the fact that Mark Rylance had just watched me perform. Thank f-ing god I did not know that during the performance.
From there we chatted for what was probably only like 20-30 minutes; I would swear it was 2 hours. The conversation went all over the place; I remember at one point he had mentioned that he was the first (well, one of two) actor to have actual sex for a film scene that wasn’t a pornographic film. He asked where I was from, said something nice about Louisville even though I doubted he had ever been here, and we talked for a bit about this new play I had started writing in the house before rehearsals, I was calling it Chasing Ophelia. I even mentioned that while I wish I could just stay there forever, the end was coming soon, and I had this idea about creating my own pub theatre space back in Louisville. “Your own little Bard in Louisville,” he said. But he does not get credit for the name. He has enough going for him. We talked about Glynn MacDonald, the master of movement there, and how much I adored her. He said something about how he would trust anyone who didn’t.
Then, as the conversation was coming to a close, he said this: “I can’t remember the last time I conversed like this without the other asking anything of me.” He paused. “Usually, it’s asking me for the keys to acting, or an introduction, or to read something.” In typical me fashion, I suddenly worried I might have offended, come off as some arrogant guy who didn’t need anything from him. “I can ask you for something; I have plenty of deficiencies.” He laugh. “No, it was nice. To just talk.” He looked around, and then said “I always like to exit mid-match. The others will think it was so ‘artistic’ of me.” He began to turn and walk off, and I said, “Hey, Mark. What’s the meaning of life?” He grunted out a laugh, and said “I see why Glynn likes you so much.” Then he walked off. And I was left realizing he had also had a conversation about ME. Mind. Blown.
I haven’t seen or heard from Mark Rylance since that day. I doubt he would even recognize me—although knowing him, he probably would because I don’t think that man misses anything. Either way, those 30 minutes will always be 30 of the most memorable ones of my life.
I didn’t want to just walk up to Rylance and talk his ear off. Dude is just hanging out. So I didn’t walk over. Maybe 5 minutes, I notice he is walking over toward me. He stops, and says to me very casually, “I really liked what you did tonight; that was quick on your feet.” Another actor had dropped a line, and it was a line you can’t really drop, so I had casually dropped it in a moment later. That wasn’t what I was thinking about, though. I was thinking about the fact that Mark Rylance had just watched me perform. Thank f-ing god I did not know that during the performance.
From there we chatted for what was probably only like 20-30 minutes; I would swear it was 2 hours. The conversation went all over the place; I remember at one point he had mentioned that he was the first (well, one of two) actor to have actual sex for a film scene that wasn’t a pornographic film. He asked where I was from, said something nice about Louisville even though I doubted he had ever been here, and we talked for a bit about this new play I had started writing in the house before rehearsals, I was calling it Chasing Ophelia. I even mentioned that while I wish I could just stay there forever, the end was coming soon, and I had this idea about creating my own pub theatre space back in Louisville. “Your own little Bard in Louisville,” he said. But he does not get credit for the name. He has enough going for him. We talked about Glynn MacDonald, the master of movement there, and how much I adored her. He said something about how he would trust anyone who didn’t.
Then, as the conversation was coming to a close, he said this: “I can’t remember the last time I conversed like this without the other asking anything of me.” He paused. “Usually, it’s asking me for the keys to acting, or an introduction, or to read something.” In typical me fashion, I suddenly worried I might have offended, come off as some arrogant guy who didn’t need anything from him. “I can ask you for something; I have plenty of deficiencies.” He laugh. “No, it was nice. To just talk.” He looked around, and then said “I always like to exit mid-match. The others will think it was so ‘artistic’ of me.” He began to turn and walk off, and I said, “Hey, Mark. What’s the meaning of life?” He grunted out a laugh, and said “I see why Glynn likes you so much.” Then he walked off. And I was left realizing he had also had a conversation about ME. Mind. Blown.
I haven’t seen or heard from Mark Rylance since that day. I doubt he would even recognize me—although knowing him, he probably would because I don’t think that man misses anything. Either way, those 30 minutes will always be 30 of the most memorable ones of my life.