Spring Break
Actor gives marathon talk, with reading, lecture and performance
James Lecesne, actor, screenwriter and gay rights activist, spoke about activism and art, read from his works and performed.
by Alex Singer
Arts | 2/5/08
Posted online at 11:51 PM EST on 2/4/08
Last Wednesday, James Lecesne joined the Brandeis community in the Slosberg Recital Hall to discuss art, his recent novel and activism. Lecesne is something of a Renaissance man. With his 1994 Academy Award-winning short film, Trevor, his roles in shows such as Sex and the City and Will and Grace and his recently-published novel, Absolute Brightness, Lecesne has established himself as an actor and author. Recently, however, Lecesne has broadened his repertoire to include the title of activist.
Using his entertainment credibility as a base, Lecesne has launched outreach programs targeting America's youth. He co-founded a gay and lesbian teen suicide hotline called the Trevor Project and organized a theater company in post-Katrina New Orleans, LA. Although his accomplishments can only be applauded, Lecesne's presentation was a little overwhelming and somewhat disjointed. The audience, expecting a brief presentation, maybe a Q-and-A, was forced to endure a two-hour variety show involving the works, from a one-man show and a book-reading to a documentary screening.
After Lecesne was introduced, the room went black. Five minutes of nervous paper-shuffling and coughing elapsed before a beam of light descended from the ceiling onto Lecesne's black-clad frame. With his arms outstretched to the ceiling, he morphed into his first persona, a Brooklynite named Frank. Frank spoke about his job in a heavy New York accent and, of course, his dysfunctional but endearing family. His mother, reminiscent of Woody Allen's mother in Annie Hall, yelled at other family members while constantly complaining about her son's inability to accept things as they are. Every member of the family had a different complaint that was supposed to be charming.
The following scenes featured an Irishman waiting in a hospital for his girlfriend, who had a terminal disease. Another was about an old woman, who looked and sounded like Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire, reminiscing about her past in Africa. Another act was from the point of view of a simple, God-fearing Southern woman. Although the stories were familiar and the stereotypes were obvious, there was something intriguing and ingenious about the way Lecesne pulled off each character. At times, he was so believable that I forgot I was watching one man and not a cast of actors. He presented his characters with mastery, never faltering with an accent or mannerism. For instance, Frank's mother constantly put on mascara. Acting out this scene, Lecesne opened his mouth and widened his eyes, as if he really was applying mascara. He even changed his body language from one character to another. While the Irishman spoke with his chin jutting out toward the audience, the Southern woman kept her hands close to her heart, softly muttering, almost to herself. It was this attention to detail that made each character distinctive.
Using his entertainment credibility as a base, Lecesne has launched outreach programs targeting America's youth. He co-founded a gay and lesbian teen suicide hotline called the Trevor Project and organized a theater company in post-Katrina New Orleans, LA. Although his accomplishments can only be applauded, Lecesne's presentation was a little overwhelming and somewhat disjointed. The audience, expecting a brief presentation, maybe a Q-and-A, was forced to endure a two-hour variety show involving the works, from a one-man show and a book-reading to a documentary screening.
After Lecesne was introduced, the room went black. Five minutes of nervous paper-shuffling and coughing elapsed before a beam of light descended from the ceiling onto Lecesne's black-clad frame. With his arms outstretched to the ceiling, he morphed into his first persona, a Brooklynite named Frank. Frank spoke about his job in a heavy New York accent and, of course, his dysfunctional but endearing family. His mother, reminiscent of Woody Allen's mother in Annie Hall, yelled at other family members while constantly complaining about her son's inability to accept things as they are. Every member of the family had a different complaint that was supposed to be charming.
The following scenes featured an Irishman waiting in a hospital for his girlfriend, who had a terminal disease. Another was about an old woman, who looked and sounded like Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire, reminiscing about her past in Africa. Another act was from the point of view of a simple, God-fearing Southern woman. Although the stories were familiar and the stereotypes were obvious, there was something intriguing and ingenious about the way Lecesne pulled off each character. At times, he was so believable that I forgot I was watching one man and not a cast of actors. He presented his characters with mastery, never faltering with an accent or mannerism. For instance, Frank's mother constantly put on mascara. Acting out this scene, Lecesne opened his mouth and widened his eyes, as if he really was applying mascara. He even changed his body language from one character to another. While the Irishman spoke with his chin jutting out toward the audience, the Southern woman kept her hands close to her heart, softly muttering, almost to herself. It was this attention to detail that made each character distinctive.
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