Ah, monologues.
My relationship with monologues is, well, slightly strained.
From an audition perspective, they’re a frustrating necessity, yet in a full script, they’re often an incredible way to dive deep into a character’s psyche.
So, there are ups and downs. Especially since most monologues we come across as actors are through the never-ending audition process.
We’re working on it, though, monologues and me. Both committed to making it work. But as with any relationship, time put in is key.
Now, learning a monologue is multi-layered, right?
You can’t just learn the lines, hope on stage or in front of the camera, and expect to give a stellar performance.
Character work is essential.
Always.
Even if said monologue is for an audition.
Especially if you’re working from one of those monologue books that all stand-alone with no full-length script to call their home. With those, there’s just so many blanks to fill in.
So, let’s say you’re working on a monologue, and you need to add some physicality.
Adding physicality
Now, when I say adding physicality, I don’t mean, “when I say this line/word, I’m going to move my arm like so….”
Nope.
I’m personally not a fan of working this way.
Because, honestly, this puts you in danger of becoming a robot.
Suppose you perform a specific gesture on the same word, in the same way, every time. It becomes rote. (Unless being rote is the entire point of said character/script, mind you.)
So, something I love to do is craft a movement signature for each character I play.
Regardless if it’s a full-length script, one-act, or an audition monologue.
That way there’s a pattern of moving for the character and it’s a great deal easier to have gestures come about naturally.
I could talk about deep dives into a character’s psyche all day—interpersonal relationships, how their minds tick, behavioral tendencies, backstory, baggage, etc.
But I’m also a movement coach.
I need to make sure I give a role I’m learning equal opportunity to dive into the physical as well as psychological.
So, I’ve got a monologue I’m gonna share with ya, a favorite of mine from Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Christopher Hampton.
The character is La Marquise de Merteui, or in the film, Mertuil.
Played by Lindsay Duncan in the original Broadway cast in 1985 alongside the late great (I will always miss) Alan Rickman.
In the film adaptation, Dangerous Liaisons, she’s played by Glenn Close.
Oh, and if you ever saw Cruel Intentions, it’s based on this story.
The play is based on the book by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, first published in 1782.
A bit of context:
As with any character crafting, context is important.
The story of Dangerous Liaisons takes place in France, just before the Revolution in 1789.
Merteui is a self-made woman in an aristocratic patriarchal society. A brilliant woman who refuses to succumb to the roles society has demanded of her.
A master in manipulation, she presides over her social circle by using seduction to exploit and control those around her as she deems fit.
A rival and ex-lover (it’s complicated and confusing) plus an insider to her manipulative ways is Le Vicomte de Valmont, who, during one conspiring visit, asks her:
“VALMONT: I often wonder how you managed to invent yourself.”
Her response always gives me chills. But we’ll get to that in a bit.
Firstly, just a touch of historical costume context.
Costumes and character movement
Before I can even get into Mertuil individually, we gotta break down what was socially appropriate behavior and wardrobe for the upper crust of French society at this time.
Simply put, both were incredibly restrictive.
France, at the time of the late 18th century, was firmly in the Rococo style of fashion.
Which for ladies like Mertuil, the daily wardrobe looked a little something like this…
The three main things I want to point out here are:
-Panniers, which are wide hoops that rest under the skirt at the hips (why double doors were invented btw)
-Corsets (don’t leave your bedchambers without wearing one)
-Pagoda sleeves that restrict movement of one’s shoulders to the elbow.
Bottom line, VERY restrictive clothing.
Not including the amount of makeup one was expected to wear, which is basically a mask and therefore restrictive in another way.
This ties into the social norm of repressed emotions, women not speaking up or having any power/say over their lives, be sweet and dainty, only speak when spoken to patriarchal bs.
(The beautiful clothing of the time was constrictive for men too. I highly recommend checking out this post from costume designer Whitney Anne Adams, where she dives into the 1988 film’s costumes and history.)
With such restrictive clothing, partnered with the societal norms, we basically have a time period movement signature for women.
This baseline societal movement signature basically says: only move if you have to, when you have to move, make it as graceful as possible wearing everything you’re wearing, oh, and sudden movements might startle your companions.
From a Labannotation perspective, I would call this: sustained, free flow though you’re physically bound and light.
So, with those pieces in mind, let’s take a look at her monologue and see what other movement nuggets we can find.
Monologue time!
Now, if you’d rather see this performed vs. reading the monologue below, check out the entire scene with Glenn Close’s phenomenal performance. Valmont is the delightful John Malkovich.
Once again, Valmont asks of Mertuil:
“VALMONT: I often wonder how you managed to invent yourself.”
Her response…
“MERTEUIL: I had no choice, did I, I’m a woman. Women are obliged to be far more skillful than men, because who ever wastes time cultivating inessential skills? You think you put as much ingenuity into winning us as we put into losing: well, it’s debatable, I suppose, but from then on, you hold every ace in the pack. You can ruin us whenever the fancy takes you: all we can achieve by denouncing you is to enhance your prestige.
We can’t even get rid of you when we want to: we’re compelled to unstitch, painstakingly, what you would just cut through. We either have to devise some way of making you want to leave us, so you’ll feel too guilty to harm us; or find a reliable means of blackmail: otherwise you can destroy our reputation and our life with a few well chosen words.
So, of course I had to invent: not only myself, but ways of escape no one else has ever thought of, not even I, because I had to be fast enough on my feet to know how to improvise. And I’ve succeeded, because I always knew I was born to dominate your sex and avenge my own…
When I came out into society I’d already realized that the role I was condemned to, namely to keep quiet and do as I was told, gave me the perfect opportunity to listen and pay attention: not to what people told me, which was naturally of no interest, but to whatever it was they were trying to hide. I practiced detachment. I learned how to smile pleasantly while, under the table, I stuck a fork into the back of my hand. I became not merely impenetrable, but a virtuoso of deceit.”
Where to start!?
Firstly, there’s so much to unpack here.
An incredible monologue that is a window into the life of aristocratic women of the time and well…
There’s a great deal of this that still rings true today.
But that’s a different, lengthily, ranty post for later. I’m strictly looking at movement. Now, in analyzing this monologue, I won’t get into the phycological stuff, their relationship, her motivations, etc.
I’m strictly looking at movement. Also, a great deal of my movement analysis is rooted in Labannotation, a dance notation system used by actors and created by Rudolf Laban in the mid 20th century.
If you’re unfamiliar with Labannotation, check out my intro post to give you a feel for the lingo that I use.
Monologue movement nuggets
Societal norms aside that I addressed above, there are two pieces in particular leap out at me when looking at this monologue, giving hints to what is perhaps her more natural movement signature:
“…we’re compelled to unstitch, painstakingly, what you would just cut through.”
Society wants her to have a sustained flow to basically everything. A gentle, light, and delicate sensibility. While she envies men the ability to operate more suddenly, rashly, and swiftly.
“I practiced detachment. I learned how to smile pleasantly while, under the table, I stuck a fork into the back of my hand.”
She knows herself and how her body moves, employing different aspects of movement depending on her surroundings. Or, indeed, covertly at the same time.
That sustained, free flow though you’re physically bound, and the light quality I talked about earlier is not her desired baseline.
Now, the only time we see her feeling all the feels and entirely uninhibited to move freely is at the end, which, without too many spoilers, I’ll simply say, the mask literally and figuratively slides off.
At this point, we’ve gotten to know her as a very detailed, calculating, and direct personality. However, here in the final moments of the story, we see movement in a way that is indirect, sudden, and heavy.
What movement nuggets will you find?
The intriguing part for me about playing Mertuil is to be able, to begin with, the baseline societal movement signature and discover her signature beneath it.
The satisfying joy is discovering the moments where her authentic movement shines through, even just for a moment. Or what it’s like if the mask falls.
So, next time you’re working on a monologue, for whatever purpose, take a comb through it with the lens of character movement work.
Who knows what nuggets you’ll uncover to further unlock the complex human you’re playing!
