The personal becomes the play in “Rinse, Repeat,” Domenica Feraud’s wrenching exploit of a family in the throes of one member’s eating disorder. Both written by and starring Feraud—and running through Aug. 24 at the Romulus Linney Courtyard Theatre at the Pershing Square Signature Center—the 100-minute production subverts every melodrama that generally mars depictions of eating disorders; that’s due to Feraud’s personal experience with the subject matter, imbuing the piece with unrelenting truth even when it’s hard to look at. The playwright and actor, who makes her professional writing debut with the show, speaks with Backstage about how making her own work has made her a substantially better actor (and vice versa) and the actionable ways to get your writing up and running.
Starting broad, what was your initial impetus to tell this story?
I studied acting at the Stella Adler Studio, and in our second year we had to devise “poetry projects.” The prompt was to devise a five-minute piece that focused on one particular topic, and I chose to explore eating disorders. It’s fascinating looking back, because I was in such complete and fierce denial about my own orthorexia at the time—you’d think I would have avoided the matter completely. But I was also so obsessed with food, no other subject matter inspired me in the same way. The feedback from my teachers and peers was overwhelming. Apparently it was the most emotional, raw performance I had given thus far, probably because it was a massive cry for help at its core. After that piece, I started getting cast in leading roles; I remember a teacher telling me that was the moment she finally saw what I was capable of as an actor. I think the impetus to tell this story has been in me since that day. It’s just taken me a while to figure out the best way of doing so.
Why did you feel compelled to star in the piece yourself, rather than casting another actor to do so?
For me the question was always: Why shouldn’t I star in the piece myself? This play and this subject matter are incredibly important to me, and if I ever felt my ability as a writer was being challenged by my decision, I would have stepped back immediately. I have done readings where I played Rachel, and readings where I had another actor read the role. I always felt my rewrites were strongest when I was inside of it. Acting in this play made me a better writer. Rachel’s story is familiar to me, it’s in my bones, and watching this piece from the outside impaired my ability to hear it as clearly. However, I know my decision made my director’s [Kate Hopkins] job a lot more difficult, so I am incredibly grateful to her for always supporting me and trusting that it was the right choice for this play.
READ: Jocelyn Bioh Proves Why Writers Make Great Actors
Actors are often given the advice to “write their own stuff” for the very purpose of creating opportunity for themselves. Is that true for you?
I have definitely been given that advice, but that wasn’t the driving force behind this play. I was incredibly frustrated by the lack of eating disorder representation in the arts. Back in college when I was selecting texts for my poetry project, it was extremely challenging to find material that delved into this particular topic. I ended up having to use passages from young adult novels because that’s what was out there. I was recently speaking with a woman who had battled anorexia when she was younger, and she confessed she had been hesitant to see the play because in her experience, the few encounters she’d had with stories about eating disorders had been disappointing; they were shallow glances at a deeply complex problem. My experiences had been similar [and] I was tired of seeing myself, and most of the women in my life, continue to be ignored by the thing I loved most: theater. It’s important to know we aren’t alone. Often that’s what gives us the courage to speak up. I wrote this play because I couldn’t bear not to.
Is acting in a play you’ve written—particularly one that navigates such personal material—very different from starring in a play someone else wrote?
Absolutely. When something goes wrong onstage, I have to remind myself to stay in the moment and not worry about how the audience is experiencing my play as a result. The writer in me starts screaming, and the actor has to silence her and keep going. That’s not something I have to worry about when I’m performing in a play someone else wrote. There were some previews where it was good to have the writer onstage, because I could figure out how to cover in a way that was still true to the story. The personal nature of the material also raises the stakes for me. When I ask [my brother in the play], “Do you still hate me?,” I think of my own brother. When I do the scale scene, I’m reminded of my masochistic ritual. And when I say the line, “I want to beat this. OK? For good,” I mean it with every fiber of my being. Acting in “Rinse, Repeat” has been a deeply cathartic experience for me.
Did you find that you had to negotiate when to wear either your writer’s or actor’s hat?
That was the most challenging part of this process for me. The first few weeks of rehearsal, I found myself mostly in writer mode, making cuts among other things. After our first designer run, our director told me, “Now I need you to just be an actor.” Our next rehearsal she pushed me so hard [my co-star] Michael Hayden asked me, “How does it feel to be in the eye of the storm?” And the truth is it felt embarrassing and painful and scary at first. A part of me wondered if we should recast the role. I had to accept that while I may have written Rachel, there was a lot I didn’t know about her journey. I surrendered to Kate and let my actor hat fully take over. If Rachel’s experience isn’t fully communicated to the audience, the play fails. They have to be on her side, and that requires a performance that’s all in, not one that’s half distracted by which line to tweak or how the audience is responding to the text.
What advice would you offer the fledgling writers out there who want to get their work seen and produced?
Organize readings as often as you can, even if you feel your work might not be quite ready yet. I wrote a play four years ago called “For Erin” that was completely autobiographical, and upon reflection, not that good. I held an informal reading, which [“Rinse, Repeat”] producer John Gould Rubin attended. He saw potential in me as a writer, and wanted to continue reading my work. Two years later, I sent him “Rinse, Repeat.” He organized a reading and cast Florencia Lozano as Joan, who then brought the play to LAByrinth for their summer intensive, and it was kind of a domino effect from there. As for submitting your play for consideration, try not to take rejection personally. I can’t tell you how many places turned “Rinse, Repeat” down, but audiences were connecting to the story, so I kept fighting for it. It’s also critical to find a team of collaborators who support and inspire you. I’ve been working with Florencia [who plays my mother] and Kate on this for a while. Our producer Daniel Abeles believes in this play even more than I do. There comes a point when your play will want to live beyond the page, and when that time comes, forming the team that lifts you up and makes you a better writer is critical.
Inspired? Check out Backstage’s theater audition listings!
