This one's for Lauren.
Well, the G-Man has been knocking them out of the ballpark as far as quotes of the day are concerned. Here are a few gems from rehearsal:
Greg: "Could you take out the pause there and just say, "Hello ladies?"
Jackson: "But...there's a comma."
(Greg falls flat on his back on the stage in despair).
Yes, that actually happened. Priceless moments in theatre. Here are some more:
Always follow the turnip greens. -GJ
When you say 'Ivanhoe', it's like saying 'bucket of shit.' -GJ
Can you tighten that up? This is not, 'To Kill a Mockingbird' or 'The Heck Tate Story.' -GJ
America is based on the touchdown. -GJ
Whether you believe it or not...they were all funny at the time. Have a great weekend.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Friday, January 09, 2009
Caution: Humans are fragile
Not long ago I wrote another post about injured actors, so this one will be brief. We had our first on-the-job-injury last night. Those of you who know who's in the cast can probably guess who it was. (I'll give you a hint: his name starts with "Jim".)
It's a disheartening feeling to watch a fellow company member get hurt, for a multitude of obvious and less obvious reasons. In the worst of ways, it interrupts the work - at our most humanly compassionate moment, we feel horror for our coworker and want to help. In a small, selfish place, we wish it hadn't happened so that we don't have to deal with it. That's fleeting. Of course it is. But there's a little part of it, for a moment, the flickering whisper of our primal selves that used to leave the injured behind. We overcome it so instantly it's as if it never happened, but it's there. It's the same part of us that won't take twenty seconds to dig out a dollar for the Salvation Army Bell ringers. It doesn't make us bad people. It just makes us uncomfortable.
We just want life to be smooth. We want everything to go according to Plan. (Having recently watched 'The Dark Knight' I can appreciate this quality of normalcy even more). And we certainly don't want anyone to get hurt, especially someone we care about - not only for their pain, but our own. It's the same principle as stepping on someone's toe. Usually the offender feels worse than the person upon whose toe they actually stepped, and they end up comforting them. A person who gets injured on the job is the one who feels it most keenly - the person who should worry more about healing has all the same feelings about messing up the Plan and being a burden. That's in general. There are other kinds of people; different kind of reaction that I won't go into here.
The funny thing is how we live to create drama on the stage. We crave it, and relish it when we have the chance to watch or get our hands in it - because it's clean, but savory. Like reading a book or watching a movie. In the end, no matter how risky, daring, violent or racy or sad your project is, there's distance. No matter how someone felt about it, they felt it all in a secondary place, a carthartic place that lets us go through all the trouble and still walk out of the theatre without bleeding. That's the Plan.
Maybe that's why it's doubly upsetting when our pretend world brings someone to harm.
He'll be just fine, by the way.
It's a disheartening feeling to watch a fellow company member get hurt, for a multitude of obvious and less obvious reasons. In the worst of ways, it interrupts the work - at our most humanly compassionate moment, we feel horror for our coworker and want to help. In a small, selfish place, we wish it hadn't happened so that we don't have to deal with it. That's fleeting. Of course it is. But there's a little part of it, for a moment, the flickering whisper of our primal selves that used to leave the injured behind. We overcome it so instantly it's as if it never happened, but it's there. It's the same part of us that won't take twenty seconds to dig out a dollar for the Salvation Army Bell ringers. It doesn't make us bad people. It just makes us uncomfortable.
We just want life to be smooth. We want everything to go according to Plan. (Having recently watched 'The Dark Knight' I can appreciate this quality of normalcy even more). And we certainly don't want anyone to get hurt, especially someone we care about - not only for their pain, but our own. It's the same principle as stepping on someone's toe. Usually the offender feels worse than the person upon whose toe they actually stepped, and they end up comforting them. A person who gets injured on the job is the one who feels it most keenly - the person who should worry more about healing has all the same feelings about messing up the Plan and being a burden. That's in general. There are other kinds of people; different kind of reaction that I won't go into here.
The funny thing is how we live to create drama on the stage. We crave it, and relish it when we have the chance to watch or get our hands in it - because it's clean, but savory. Like reading a book or watching a movie. In the end, no matter how risky, daring, violent or racy or sad your project is, there's distance. No matter how someone felt about it, they felt it all in a secondary place, a carthartic place that lets us go through all the trouble and still walk out of the theatre without bleeding. That's the Plan.
Maybe that's why it's doubly upsetting when our pretend world brings someone to harm.
He'll be just fine, by the way.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Another Reason, Another Season
...for making theatre.
How could anyone describe the start of a new theatre job? (I ask myself as I sit here and try to think that very thing...)
Anyone who's done it knows the feeling, although they might never have thought about it beyond the first blast of enthusiasm that quickly wears down to day-to-day work ethic. Whether it's one show that you'll be taking on a national tour for three months or a year, or a season of musicals of Shakespeare in one location, there's a certain...stuff. It manifests so slowly and broadly we don't see it, but we know when it's there.
It's like looking at a white piece of paper, if you're an artist, or a blank screen and blinking cursor if you're a writer. Not only does the stage begin empty, the great canvas of each actor, director, designer and determined member of the crew, but the project itself becomes a blank slate.
It seems impossible that in just a few weeks walking around this great, steel set will feel just as familiar as walking around my own house. It seems impossible that I'll know every location of every hazard backstage so well I can navigate it in the dark - as will most of the crew. Sorry actors, most of you still haven't mastered this. But we know why. You have to go out front and face down the bright lights and expectant audience. We see in the dark - you tell the story. It's give and take.
Even more than the physical presence of the set and the daunting schedule that makes it look as if we'll be dog-tired every (although you hit a miraculous stride on tour) - it seems more impossible that all these people wandering around will become familiar to me. Intimately familiar, and with each other as well. (Some more than others, in every way.) Saying it's like a family is almost as worn out as saying 'the show must go on.' But it's true. We find our brothers and sisters, our annoying siblings, our mentors. Enmities rise and fade, because we're a family - except that we more or less chose to come together.
There is an even bigger, invisible canvas stretched out here. It's a chunk of our lives. It's a very specific way we've chosen and trained to spend our time - to create a sacred creative space, present a story, and go on our way again. But behind that sacred space onstage in the theatre is a band of people. They're the real canvas: the way we'll come together. The way we'll clash, and cry. Presenting the most dramatic moments in the lives of a fictional person can wear someone down. Dragging around and erecting a ton of steel and lights each day can wear someone down.
But when those lights come up and the actors set foot on that stage and are no longer Mikel, Marie and Jen but Jem, Scout and Atticus Finch... that's what keeps us together. Maybe we'll be the moment that changes some person's life forever, because they came to our show, and had a couple of hours to sit quietly and live through someone else's eyes. A differen audience every night. A different chance to say what we came to say to willing, expectant ears. With that kind of opportunity, there's little room left for squabbling and It's always said that you don't have to like everyone - but you have to be courteous. You have to remember why we're all here. That we chose to be. That, at some point in time we all wanted - desperately - to be doing this.
You have to remember that - or when you're sitting looking at all the people and the vans and the huge scenery and the long, long drives and days....
Well, it looks just a little bit crazy. But we're used to it. We've done it before - and we'll do it again, because when we find that magic Stuff, whatever it is for each person, it's most addictive thing in the world.
How could anyone describe the start of a new theatre job? (I ask myself as I sit here and try to think that very thing...)
Anyone who's done it knows the feeling, although they might never have thought about it beyond the first blast of enthusiasm that quickly wears down to day-to-day work ethic. Whether it's one show that you'll be taking on a national tour for three months or a year, or a season of musicals of Shakespeare in one location, there's a certain...stuff. It manifests so slowly and broadly we don't see it, but we know when it's there.
It's like looking at a white piece of paper, if you're an artist, or a blank screen and blinking cursor if you're a writer. Not only does the stage begin empty, the great canvas of each actor, director, designer and determined member of the crew, but the project itself becomes a blank slate.
It seems impossible that in just a few weeks walking around this great, steel set will feel just as familiar as walking around my own house. It seems impossible that I'll know every location of every hazard backstage so well I can navigate it in the dark - as will most of the crew. Sorry actors, most of you still haven't mastered this. But we know why. You have to go out front and face down the bright lights and expectant audience. We see in the dark - you tell the story. It's give and take.
Even more than the physical presence of the set and the daunting schedule that makes it look as if we'll be dog-tired every (although you hit a miraculous stride on tour) - it seems more impossible that all these people wandering around will become familiar to me. Intimately familiar, and with each other as well. (Some more than others, in every way.) Saying it's like a family is almost as worn out as saying 'the show must go on.' But it's true. We find our brothers and sisters, our annoying siblings, our mentors. Enmities rise and fade, because we're a family - except that we more or less chose to come together.
There is an even bigger, invisible canvas stretched out here. It's a chunk of our lives. It's a very specific way we've chosen and trained to spend our time - to create a sacred creative space, present a story, and go on our way again. But behind that sacred space onstage in the theatre is a band of people. They're the real canvas: the way we'll come together. The way we'll clash, and cry. Presenting the most dramatic moments in the lives of a fictional person can wear someone down. Dragging around and erecting a ton of steel and lights each day can wear someone down.
But when those lights come up and the actors set foot on that stage and are no longer Mikel, Marie and Jen but Jem, Scout and Atticus Finch... that's what keeps us together. Maybe we'll be the moment that changes some person's life forever, because they came to our show, and had a couple of hours to sit quietly and live through someone else's eyes. A differen audience every night. A different chance to say what we came to say to willing, expectant ears. With that kind of opportunity, there's little room left for squabbling and It's always said that you don't have to like everyone - but you have to be courteous. You have to remember why we're all here. That we chose to be. That, at some point in time we all wanted - desperately - to be doing this.
You have to remember that - or when you're sitting looking at all the people and the vans and the huge scenery and the long, long drives and days....
Well, it looks just a little bit crazy. But we're used to it. We've done it before - and we'll do it again, because when we find that magic Stuff, whatever it is for each person, it's most addictive thing in the world.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
And the Oscar goes to...
If you're around my town or you've been in touch with my adventures at all this summer you'll know that right now I'm immersed in rehearsals for "Another Side of the Island," an adaptation of Shakespeare's Tempest, by Olympia Dukakis and friends.
Everyone is very excited to have Ms. Dukakis in town doing the show. Maybe because she's not of my generation, I felt less excitement about the whole thing and more apprehension - would we be able to offer what she's used to in regards to the process?
It's been a rollercoaster but fortunately we've become desensatized to the many, how shall we call them... Greek Tempests.
I'm glad I had a chance to chat for a few minutes with one of the directors about any tips on working with Olympia before we got started, or the first storm would've scared me (not that I haven't seen my directorial and actorly Storms before).
One minute you're quietly discussing the scene in a nice, indoor voice, the next, the passion and intensity shoots from 0 to 60 in .5 and we're shouting and pounding the table. Funnily enough, it's never in anger, hence the lack of fear. It's best to let the storm roil and roll on. It's when too many people get caught up and everyone is getting louder fighting to be heard that stage management must step in. Otherwise, I've accepted it as part of the process.
I'm also fascinated to see the conflicts that come with a directorial Team. I've always thought it was best to have one person at the wheel and most of the time I think it would've been true here, too, especially when it comes to one director blocking a scene happily, another director stepping in to observe and saying, "Have you thought of this...?" Which is usually opposite of the first director's intention, and lastly, the leading lady offering her opinion until the actress who is actually in the scene is driven to tears.
All in a day's work.
There are also moments when it's handy to have two directors who can, for lack of a better term, team-rope an actor into making a decision that's best for the play, when otherwise an argument could go on and on.
We've also changed rehearsal spaces three times throughout the process of this rehearsal for various reasons. Today we finally get to move to the theatre and work onstage, but we aren't allowed backstage yet because of the school's cleaning schedule.
I'm struggling through all the tempests and the details and the contradicting opinions to keep a handle on what I need to accomplish and yet things still slip through the cracks. Such as choosing to shorten lunch break today to one hour, which then interferes with photographers that we had coming in, hoping for interviews.
But we shouldn't have to schedule around PR, right?
Still...I have to reorient and find my omnicient, all-seeing SM self to make it through the rest of this week. There will be no sliding Home in this production.
I keep telling myself I would be bored if I was working in the bookstore right now...and it'll all be worth it when the lights go up, the fog rolls in and we hear that first thunderclap ring through the house. Not for us - for them. For the audience. I want to see their faces when they see what we've been trying to see and create these last weeks. That's what it's about.
That's what gets me through.
Everyone is very excited to have Ms. Dukakis in town doing the show. Maybe because she's not of my generation, I felt less excitement about the whole thing and more apprehension - would we be able to offer what she's used to in regards to the process?
It's been a rollercoaster but fortunately we've become desensatized to the many, how shall we call them... Greek Tempests.
I'm glad I had a chance to chat for a few minutes with one of the directors about any tips on working with Olympia before we got started, or the first storm would've scared me (not that I haven't seen my directorial and actorly Storms before).
One minute you're quietly discussing the scene in a nice, indoor voice, the next, the passion and intensity shoots from 0 to 60 in .5 and we're shouting and pounding the table. Funnily enough, it's never in anger, hence the lack of fear. It's best to let the storm roil and roll on. It's when too many people get caught up and everyone is getting louder fighting to be heard that stage management must step in. Otherwise, I've accepted it as part of the process.
I'm also fascinated to see the conflicts that come with a directorial Team. I've always thought it was best to have one person at the wheel and most of the time I think it would've been true here, too, especially when it comes to one director blocking a scene happily, another director stepping in to observe and saying, "Have you thought of this...?" Which is usually opposite of the first director's intention, and lastly, the leading lady offering her opinion until the actress who is actually in the scene is driven to tears.
All in a day's work.
There are also moments when it's handy to have two directors who can, for lack of a better term, team-rope an actor into making a decision that's best for the play, when otherwise an argument could go on and on.
We've also changed rehearsal spaces three times throughout the process of this rehearsal for various reasons. Today we finally get to move to the theatre and work onstage, but we aren't allowed backstage yet because of the school's cleaning schedule.
I'm struggling through all the tempests and the details and the contradicting opinions to keep a handle on what I need to accomplish and yet things still slip through the cracks. Such as choosing to shorten lunch break today to one hour, which then interferes with photographers that we had coming in, hoping for interviews.
But we shouldn't have to schedule around PR, right?
Still...I have to reorient and find my omnicient, all-seeing SM self to make it through the rest of this week. There will be no sliding Home in this production.
I keep telling myself I would be bored if I was working in the bookstore right now...and it'll all be worth it when the lights go up, the fog rolls in and we hear that first thunderclap ring through the house. Not for us - for them. For the audience. I want to see their faces when they see what we've been trying to see and create these last weeks. That's what it's about.
That's what gets me through.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Q to Q
Now that I'm more or less backstage for this show, I had a little extra time to enjoy the process. I was mesmerized by all the colors and lights during the cue to cue, so here are some pictures to mesmerize you, too.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
A Little Sample
Billy, Kim and Tim rehearse for Pete 'n' Keely... doesn't it just give you feve-ah? I cut the clip juuust before Billy started filling in vocals. Oh well.
Show # 2
Lots to catch up on! This will be a long entry, broken up into easy, aesthetically pleasing chunks for your reading ease.
First things first...
Onward...
First things first...
The End (of the Full Monty)
No pun intended. You'll all be happy to know that we wrapped up this production with all actors and most of the scenery intact. In fact we suffered only a couple of injuries worth mentioning, since my last entry.
For those of you who saw the show, you know that one of the scenes features a real live (if comically small) car onstage. We had gutted and tweaked this machine into a fine piece of mobile scenery for our purpose, but apparently missed one jagged piece of metal on the inside passenger door. One of our actors, through the course of the scene, punctured his hand on this piece of metal and bled profusely. He continued with the scene, using another actor's extra costume piece (flannel shirt wrapped around the waist) to stop the blood flow. Once he was offstage, my intrepid ASM patched him up and sent him on his way.
Interestingly enough, there was a doctor in the house who was able to look at the actor's hand during intermission. He required stitches and a tetanus shot. I took my Leatherman pliers to the car after the show and tamed the sharp metal, but needless to say no one was happy. Don't let anyone tell you this profession is particularly easy or safe. Without any sarcasm at all, I will say that I think actors and stage hands are some of the most courageous people out there - and if you look at big shows like The Full Monty and things they have to work around, you must agree.
After that it was smooth sailing for the final night. Scene changes were a little rough. Matinees will do that to you. We held our closing night party at a fancy lodge at Iron Horse, passed around many hugs and congratulations and... the time has flown. It took such force and momentum to get the show up, I think we were all surprised how quickly it passed.
Definitely a case of 'What didn't destroy us made us stronger.' To say the least.
Onward...Pete 'n' Keely
The second show hasn't garnered much attention here a) because I haven't been writing and b) because it has simply been toiling quietly on without the drama and struggle of Monty. A two person musical comedy, PK features smaller but still way-snazzy scenery, fewer changes, a smaller stage, and overall a smoother, more cocktail-lounge and soft music kind of feel than the hard-pressed, rough steel of Show # 1.
We're going into techs today and the atmosphere is mostly calm. Calmer. My ASM and I are swapping roles for this one and she will be calling the light and sound cues while I handle things backstage on deck. She reads music better than I do... okay, let's be honest. She reads music. That's right. I've skated by doing musicals for years and I don't read music. It doesn't help so much anyway. You can assign a count or a beat that a light cue is supposed to go on, but it's really a gut process. You get the show in your body as much as an actor gets a dance move, and you feel it.
Either way, I'll be getting a sort of break, and also be appearing onstage. That's right. PK features an onstage Stage Manager's console as part of the set dressing, and that's where I'll be for much of the show. Go figure.
Wish us many broken legs!
Show #3
I have to say that doing straight stock all summer takes some kind of stamina, and I still don't know if I prefer it over doing show in rep. That way, you get all your shows open and basically have the daytime free. This way, you're always busy, but part of me has such a lazy streak, it's hard to say which is better.
While digging down into techs for P & K, we must already be thinking about rehearsals for Olympia Dukakis' Another Side of the Island, which begins rehearsals next Wednesday. I'm thrilled to be working on this project, but also a little out of sorts. I'm the Production Stage Manager and that big title makes a shiny impressive impression, but there are still some questions like..
"Olympia.." Oh wait, should I say,.. "Mrs. Dukakis.." Or.. "Ms. Dukakis..?"
Time for that 'Attitude is Everything' advice I've always lived on.
I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, hope to see you all at the next show.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Climb Every Mountain
Okay, wrong musical.
I've been negligent with good excuse this time. We didn't so much climb mountains as move them in order to get The Full Monty up on its feet. Or shove them out of the way, cursing and crying.
This show is a spectacular bit of eye candy as far as grandeur of set, lights, and movement. Every bit of that requires Time and Energy. Anyone in the corporate world knows those words. There comes a point in the theatre world, when you run out of time, energy, and supplies, that you have to make things work. Our mighty scenic crew, bless them from on high, put in twenty hour days to get this giant up and running. Our actors, crew, myself and the designers put in fourteen hour days doing "Cue to Cue" which involves rehearsing every technical element of the show before we run it in sequence. Generally that takes one or two days. For a variety of reasons, not the least of which might have been my own lack of momentum...ours took five days.
Generally you have three dress rehearsals before you open a show, with maybe some invited audience members to watch the final dress.
The first time we ran this show in its entirety with all costume and technical elements in place was Tuesday afternoon - six hours before we opened. Not a lot of room for error. The set still had touch ups, as did the costumes. The crew didn't have time to finesse scene changes. I certainly was not entirely comfortable with the 300-odd light and sound cues I would be calling during the show. The cast was nervous. The crew was nervous. The director was, understandably nervous.
I was terrified.
But there are very few things that will prompt a theatrical producer to cancel a show. 'The show must go on,' may be an old, dusty, cheesy phrase tossed around these days like a discount bumper sticker, but it is also an iron clad credo.
The show must go on. The show will go on. It always does. I have known of shows that went on, and very soon after, the death of company members. Shows go on when scenery is incomplete and actors may or may not know their lines and entrances.
Why? It's like breaking a promise if it doesn't. You have paid for your tickets, and been looking at our posters and reading press releases. Our promise is, "We will be there for you, if you're there for us." We know you will be, so there we are.
There is something powerful that happens inside when you stare into the face of the inevitable. Once we have dragged ourselves battered and exhausted over the hurdle of of Final Dress (or first dress, in the case of this show), there is an odd release. The show will open. What will be. Stay on your toes and forge ahead.
So our show went on.
And only one piece of scenery fell off and broke.
What did we do? Well, no one was hurt. The show went on.
I've been negligent with good excuse this time. We didn't so much climb mountains as move them in order to get The Full Monty up on its feet. Or shove them out of the way, cursing and crying.
This show is a spectacular bit of eye candy as far as grandeur of set, lights, and movement. Every bit of that requires Time and Energy. Anyone in the corporate world knows those words. There comes a point in the theatre world, when you run out of time, energy, and supplies, that you have to make things work. Our mighty scenic crew, bless them from on high, put in twenty hour days to get this giant up and running. Our actors, crew, myself and the designers put in fourteen hour days doing "Cue to Cue" which involves rehearsing every technical element of the show before we run it in sequence. Generally that takes one or two days. For a variety of reasons, not the least of which might have been my own lack of momentum...ours took five days.
Generally you have three dress rehearsals before you open a show, with maybe some invited audience members to watch the final dress.
The first time we ran this show in its entirety with all costume and technical elements in place was Tuesday afternoon - six hours before we opened. Not a lot of room for error. The set still had touch ups, as did the costumes. The crew didn't have time to finesse scene changes. I certainly was not entirely comfortable with the 300-odd light and sound cues I would be calling during the show. The cast was nervous. The crew was nervous. The director was, understandably nervous.
I was terrified.
But there are very few things that will prompt a theatrical producer to cancel a show. 'The show must go on,' may be an old, dusty, cheesy phrase tossed around these days like a discount bumper sticker, but it is also an iron clad credo.
The show must go on. The show will go on. It always does. I have known of shows that went on, and very soon after, the death of company members. Shows go on when scenery is incomplete and actors may or may not know their lines and entrances.
Why? It's like breaking a promise if it doesn't. You have paid for your tickets, and been looking at our posters and reading press releases. Our promise is, "We will be there for you, if you're there for us." We know you will be, so there we are.
There is something powerful that happens inside when you stare into the face of the inevitable. Once we have dragged ourselves battered and exhausted over the hurdle of of Final Dress (or first dress, in the case of this show), there is an odd release. The show will open. What will be. Stay on your toes and forge ahead.
So our show went on.
And only one piece of scenery fell off and broke.
What did we do? Well, no one was hurt. The show went on.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Accoutrement
I don't envy the heads of theatre companies. We've all heard the time honored saying that no one gets into the business for the money, and if they do, they've chosen the wrong profession. Some people strike gold (or oil, as it were,) but most are in it for the love and fun of the process, making art, being artists, creating and, at the end of the day, a little acknowledgement. We love putting on shows.
But somehow, when you're at the top of pyramid, all these other things sneak in. I see the heads of our theatre not only directing, acting, producing and promoting the shows, but looking through boxes of merchandise, appearing at PR events and checking boxes of postcards, napkins for concessions and worrying over what kind of treats we can serve at rehearsals.
Greg, one of my mentors and bosses, is not only the Artistic Director of the Montana Rep, but directs one of the touring shows now and then and serves as the head of the acting/directing department at U of M. Last year as we were in the throes of putting together Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, we were on a brief break and a young man who was putting together the Benefit Party came into Greg's office in a worry over finding coat racks for the party.
There is a larger lesson to be learned about the chain of command and delegation here, but the bottom line being: Greg didn't get a break. In the midst of directing our great American Drama, he was answering emails about phone interviews, photos, bookings, artistic statements, issues with the following semester - and coat racks.
He came back to rehearsal bemused, and told the story. Coat racks..?
I suppose it's a lesson to be learned for all of us...in the midst of creating art, drama, comedy, having big visions and dreams and big, big fun, there are minutiae to be considered. The kind of things that nobody notices unless they aren't done.
I hope the artistic heads of our army of art will be able to reach a point when they don't have to worry about the extras and can focus on the art - but then again, as it all ties together, I suppose the little things can have an impact that pushes a company up from 'neat' to 'Great.' Still, all those extras shouldn't be what keep them awake at night, should it?
Really.
Coat racks.
But somehow, when you're at the top of pyramid, all these other things sneak in. I see the heads of our theatre not only directing, acting, producing and promoting the shows, but looking through boxes of merchandise, appearing at PR events and checking boxes of postcards, napkins for concessions and worrying over what kind of treats we can serve at rehearsals.
Greg, one of my mentors and bosses, is not only the Artistic Director of the Montana Rep, but directs one of the touring shows now and then and serves as the head of the acting/directing department at U of M. Last year as we were in the throes of putting together Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, we were on a brief break and a young man who was putting together the Benefit Party came into Greg's office in a worry over finding coat racks for the party.
There is a larger lesson to be learned about the chain of command and delegation here, but the bottom line being: Greg didn't get a break. In the midst of directing our great American Drama, he was answering emails about phone interviews, photos, bookings, artistic statements, issues with the following semester - and coat racks.
He came back to rehearsal bemused, and told the story. Coat racks..?
I suppose it's a lesson to be learned for all of us...in the midst of creating art, drama, comedy, having big visions and dreams and big, big fun, there are minutiae to be considered. The kind of things that nobody notices unless they aren't done.
I hope the artistic heads of our army of art will be able to reach a point when they don't have to worry about the extras and can focus on the art - but then again, as it all ties together, I suppose the little things can have an impact that pushes a company up from 'neat' to 'Great.' Still, all those extras shouldn't be what keep them awake at night, should it?
Really.
Coat racks.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
The Tradeoff
Some days I think that a life in the arts requires too much caring. There's a certain kind of job that lets you really detach at the end of the day (you know, like retail), and really not think about work until you walk through the door the next morning. Theatre isn't like that.
I've become a big fan of a TV show that aired awhile back in Canada, called Slings & Arrows. It follows a group of performers in a Shakespeare company, and profiles so many of the hysterical...and heartbreaking truths about the industry. One of the biggest is most artist's inability to 'compartmentalize.' You can't leave your work onstage. As one of the characters says, "My work is thinking. How can you stop thinking?"
And it's so true. So many of the challenges and problems get solved as you mull over them at the end of the day, seeking solutions, lying awake, or over coffee when you're trying to rev up for the day ahead. Stop that process, and nothing will get solved.
On the other hand...
When does it stop? When are you allowed to let it go and be a human being for awhile, eating ice cream, listening to music (that's not from your current show), diving in the lake, not thinking about your character or this scene change or how everything will fit backstage? There are brief moments I'm at work and I start to think that a job I can let go of at 6:00 sounds really good. I have other creative interests to pursue. I have a life (or at least, I want one...), and nothing is worth the compounding stress of putting together a blockbuster show.
On the other hand...
The reward of seeing the transformation from day one when they're sitting around a table reading, through music rehearsals, singing over and over again, repeating dance moves over and over again until they're sharp and really say something...truly understanding the work and struggle that goes into 'finding' a show...
...to seeing it up onstage under lights, moving like magic, and hearing the audience laugh - hearing the audience clap...to know that they're sharing it with you, finally seeing what all the weeks of struggle have been for, all the stress, the drama, the juggling, compacted into two hours of sweat onstage, and that maybe they'll walk out of the theatre singing or thinking about something new - and know that they love it?
I guess you don't get that in retail.
I've become a big fan of a TV show that aired awhile back in Canada, called Slings & Arrows. It follows a group of performers in a Shakespeare company, and profiles so many of the hysterical...and heartbreaking truths about the industry. One of the biggest is most artist's inability to 'compartmentalize.' You can't leave your work onstage. As one of the characters says, "My work is thinking. How can you stop thinking?"
And it's so true. So many of the challenges and problems get solved as you mull over them at the end of the day, seeking solutions, lying awake, or over coffee when you're trying to rev up for the day ahead. Stop that process, and nothing will get solved.
On the other hand...
When does it stop? When are you allowed to let it go and be a human being for awhile, eating ice cream, listening to music (that's not from your current show), diving in the lake, not thinking about your character or this scene change or how everything will fit backstage? There are brief moments I'm at work and I start to think that a job I can let go of at 6:00 sounds really good. I have other creative interests to pursue. I have a life (or at least, I want one...), and nothing is worth the compounding stress of putting together a blockbuster show.
On the other hand...
The reward of seeing the transformation from day one when they're sitting around a table reading, through music rehearsals, singing over and over again, repeating dance moves over and over again until they're sharp and really say something...truly understanding the work and struggle that goes into 'finding' a show...
...to seeing it up onstage under lights, moving like magic, and hearing the audience laugh - hearing the audience clap...to know that they're sharing it with you, finally seeing what all the weeks of struggle have been for, all the stress, the drama, the juggling, compacted into two hours of sweat onstage, and that maybe they'll walk out of the theatre singing or thinking about something new - and know that they love it?
I guess you don't get that in retail.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
If You Can't Handle the Heat
....Get off of the hot tin roof!
At least everyone had their Facebook pages up and running.
Suffice to say: We had a skilled cast and crew. The show recieved powerful reactions (good and bad, but mostly good) from our audiences....but this above all:
It is difficult to tour a drama.
There, I said it. We avoided the madness of Streetcar, but Mr. William's fingers were dug into our company as surely as they were last time. Hurrah for the great American theatre, but give me a comedy anyday.
Which brings me to the current month: June.
That's right. We skipped tour. Anyone who knows me saw that coming. However, I think this will be a whirlwind and I will try to keep this going again.
My second summer at Alpine Theatre Project is off to a running start. I'm back in Musical land, which is a fun place to be. We're striding into The Full Monty. I have to confess when I first read the show, I wasn't seduced, and the same goes for the music. However, now that I'm getting to know it - the music, the real core of the story, the comedy and the grand spectacle that it's going to be, I think I'm ready to offer my dollar bill, if you see what I mean.
This will be a huge production and summer in many ways. We're in a new space, our company has tripled from last year; the first show is a monster of technical elements and the final show will be very important for the company: Olympia Dukakis's adaption of The Tempest.
Actually, just thinking about it makes me tired. But there's an update.. More soon.
At least everyone had their Facebook pages up and running.
Suffice to say: We had a skilled cast and crew. The show recieved powerful reactions (good and bad, but mostly good) from our audiences....but this above all:
It is difficult to tour a drama.
There, I said it. We avoided the madness of Streetcar, but Mr. William's fingers were dug into our company as surely as they were last time. Hurrah for the great American theatre, but give me a comedy anyday.
Which brings me to the current month: June.
That's right. We skipped tour. Anyone who knows me saw that coming. However, I think this will be a whirlwind and I will try to keep this going again.
My second summer at Alpine Theatre Project is off to a running start. I'm back in Musical land, which is a fun place to be. We're striding into The Full Monty. I have to confess when I first read the show, I wasn't seduced, and the same goes for the music. However, now that I'm getting to know it - the music, the real core of the story, the comedy and the grand spectacle that it's going to be, I think I'm ready to offer my dollar bill, if you see what I mean.
This will be a huge production and summer in many ways. We're in a new space, our company has tripled from last year; the first show is a monster of technical elements and the final show will be very important for the company: Olympia Dukakis's adaption of The Tempest.
Actually, just thinking about it makes me tired. But there's an update.. More soon.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
First day on the Road
...and one truck down.
No one was hurt, but one of the trucks slid off the road and into the ditch. Fortunately it didn't tip over, but white-out conditions and icy roads, and a blizzard blowing around the hotel is not particularly encouraging weather for brand new tour-ees on the first day out of the chute.
So now we're all safe and huddled in Lewistown, Montana, smack dab in the middle of the miserable, frozen state. We'll load in tomorrow and perform the 'clean' version of the play. I still wouldn't let kids watch it, but that's Williams for you.
I'm at least proud to think of how far I've come when it comes to driving. My first tour I hated to drive. It was long, straight, dry highways or nothing at all. Today I drove all day and didn't even flinch. I suppose there really is something to be said for experience.
I don't have much else, but I'm sure there will be plenty of tales from our opening night tomorrow... Ciao.
No one was hurt, but one of the trucks slid off the road and into the ditch. Fortunately it didn't tip over, but white-out conditions and icy roads, and a blizzard blowing around the hotel is not particularly encouraging weather for brand new tour-ees on the first day out of the chute.
So now we're all safe and huddled in Lewistown, Montana, smack dab in the middle of the miserable, frozen state. We'll load in tomorrow and perform the 'clean' version of the play. I still wouldn't let kids watch it, but that's Williams for you.
I'm at least proud to think of how far I've come when it comes to driving. My first tour I hated to drive. It was long, straight, dry highways or nothing at all. Today I drove all day and didn't even flinch. I suppose there really is something to be said for experience.
I don't have much else, but I'm sure there will be plenty of tales from our opening night tomorrow... Ciao.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Back to Tennessee
And by Tennessee, I mean Williams.
I've been without computer for some time, and the rest of the time I just didn't have it in me to post. So, welcome! Welcome aboard for the Montana Repertory Theatre's tour of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof!
Our cast, looking snappy for Dress Parade and PR photos.
This will be an interesting tour to observe. I'm constantly on the lookout for variables that affect the mood and success of a tour besides, obviously, the quality of the show and personalities involved. Williams has a particularly gritty outlook on things that's meaty and satisfying to watch, but it can wear on the soul of a company. However, I think this show will be different. Not only does the mood tilt slightly upwards at the end, but there are moments of humor. Our company is well put together and communicative, which is a recipe for good relations. So far. You'll also notice the warm and bright colors on the set behind them. As odd as it may sound, I think this helps, too, when the world we live in and look at half the time is bright and not dark and brooding.
The rehearsal process flew by in a flurry of schedule changes, short days, long days, lots of days of experimentation, and here we are at Tech Week.
Vague enough?
I thought so. Today we begin adding all the lights, sounds and other effects. This show has been amazingly low-stress, I think because of the very few props involved. For some reason, that's always a big stress. Live by the prop, die by the prop. The play also takes course over a continuous line of action, meaning there are no black outs during the acts, and no big scene changes to worry about choreographing. I hope for (but knock on wood) a smooth and painless tech.
This is just a brief line to let everyone know I'm alive...check back in for travels! We set out on the road next week, starting in Lewistown, Montana!
Til then...
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
The Circle
I'll pretend that last post was actually posted at Halloween and that this one is months later after time spent at mundane labor and reflection.
I've been thinking for awhile about the Magic of our profession. Performers uphold it, Designers crave it, hardcore Technicians stick it in their belt with a snarky comment and a smirk. I stand between, one foot on the outside, one foot in rehearsal, and watch the magic work. Sometimes for warmup or focus, I still gather casts in a circle.
When we speak of the Circle, we say it with a sideways smile, from the corner of our mouth, because it's something we've sat in since kindergarten and Acting for Non-Majors. It's something for Pow-wows and prayer and curious, old, wonky beliefs that have no place in the modern high paced world, right up there with songs like 'Kumbaya' and campfires.
But the circle endures in everything we do. The circus uses three rings. Football fields are ringed all around by viewers. Theatre in the round and in thrust seems to be the fad of the future. What other place do we sit and watch not only actors onstage, but look up and across at each other? There is magic in that, and so I still use it.
When we speak of the Circle, we gather for our warmup with a flippant comment and a joke and someone sings a line from Kumbaya or makes dramatic about holding hands. We mustn't take ourselves too seriously, we really can't, or the magic slips from our fingers. But under the snark and the smirk, I think it's really there, and I think we really know it.
So we stand in a circle, still, onstage sometimes. And it works, whether we really admit it or not, no matter what we do in that circle. That's why we still do it. We stand and look and we must look at each other, and feel the heat of another on either side of us, and bring everyone's mind to the center and feel the power there.
It's okay to chuckle and smirk. Nothing sillier than grown professional adults believing in magic.
Except we do. That's why we're here.
I've been thinking for awhile about the Magic of our profession. Performers uphold it, Designers crave it, hardcore Technicians stick it in their belt with a snarky comment and a smirk. I stand between, one foot on the outside, one foot in rehearsal, and watch the magic work. Sometimes for warmup or focus, I still gather casts in a circle.
When we speak of the Circle, we say it with a sideways smile, from the corner of our mouth, because it's something we've sat in since kindergarten and Acting for Non-Majors. It's something for Pow-wows and prayer and curious, old, wonky beliefs that have no place in the modern high paced world, right up there with songs like 'Kumbaya' and campfires.
But the circle endures in everything we do. The circus uses three rings. Football fields are ringed all around by viewers. Theatre in the round and in thrust seems to be the fad of the future. What other place do we sit and watch not only actors onstage, but look up and across at each other? There is magic in that, and so I still use it.
When we speak of the Circle, we gather for our warmup with a flippant comment and a joke and someone sings a line from Kumbaya or makes dramatic about holding hands. We mustn't take ourselves too seriously, we really can't, or the magic slips from our fingers. But under the snark and the smirk, I think it's really there, and I think we really know it.
So we stand in a circle, still, onstage sometimes. And it works, whether we really admit it or not, no matter what we do in that circle. That's why we still do it. We stand and look and we must look at each other, and feel the heat of another on either side of us, and bring everyone's mind to the center and feel the power there.
It's okay to chuckle and smirk. Nothing sillier than grown professional adults believing in magic.
Except we do. That's why we're here.
Mike Eldred and the cast of Godspell. Alpine Theatre Project, summer 2007
But What I Really Want to Do....
...is design!
Ha! No, not really. I can fake my way through a design for Halloween, as you see here. Just thought I would show everyone how I'm keeping the theatrical spirit alive in my off time. Maybe it's a little too much off time. I love that Halloween is so enormously ridiculous and well-celebrated in Whitefsh. It gives me an excuse to play dress up again. Yes, I designed and created the costume, and yes, I also did the cheesy photo manipulation to place myself in the woods.
Ha! No, not really. I can fake my way through a design for Halloween, as you see here. Just thought I would show everyone how I'm keeping the theatrical spirit alive in my off time. Maybe it's a little too much off time. I love that Halloween is so enormously ridiculous and well-celebrated in Whitefsh. It gives me an excuse to play dress up again. Yes, I designed and created the costume, and yes, I also did the cheesy photo manipulation to place myself in the woods.And yes, I also won Second Place in the down town costume contest. (Comes with a cash prize that almost covered the cost of the costume. Oh yeah.)
View from the back ;) I made and painted the wings too. What an Ordeal.
Closeup of my makeup and sparkliness. 
Good time of year. Ciao...
Friday, August 31, 2007
The Learning Curve
I'm proud to say that much of my extra time this summer was spent working on a very important personal project, and that will be my excuse for not updating.
In my Vast Years of Experience (yes, that's big sarcasm) I've never worked for such a young company. One must keep on one's toes and take nothing for granted. I'm used to the system of decades-old companies that, while you face challenges galore, there's a general system in place for most of the regular details.
ATP is a glorious and ambitious theatre that I admire very much, for the scale of their dreams as well as giving theatre jobs to people like me. Every year they learn a little something new. This year's big challenge on my end was scheduling. Leave no calender stone unturned. Stay on top of the clock and make sure everyone's thinking about the things that should be thought about.
It all sounds obvious, but it's surprising how quickly things will sneak up on you, especially when Equity slips in. The stakes for ATP are also much higher than I've had to think about before. Every performance is a proving ground: are we worth the donor's money, the company's effort, the city's time?
But overall the summer has been good. Very different. It's interesting to see the next tier of skill in performance that these actors bring to the stage. Sometimes the more an actor has carved their place and paid their dues, the more dramatic they can be, and what can you do but be calmer? On the whole the company rocked. In the world of theatre, you're either whirling within the hurricane, or you're in the eye, I think. I suppose you could be standing miles away watching, but what fun is that?
There are a lot of concrete details to remember and track, of course, to wield next time. But as the season winds to a close this weekend I can only hope that the intangible lessons will stick with me, the lessons that can't be Told. There are lessons that you have to slog through, have dropped in your lap or dissolve in front of your face so that next time, when the situation that no one can prepare you for begins to worm to the surface, you'll notice the early warning signs.
Some lessons are obvious when you think about them, but trickier in execution. Some of the intangibles that I think can be applied to any field in theatre, and perhaps any field anywhere:
Don't worry about things you can't control.
You can't control the weather.
Know the rules.
There's no reason to take anything at work personally. Remember, it's Work. Not You. We in the creative field forget this, because so many of our passions lie in what we do. Remember to seperate. You're still a good, competent human being even if you Did call that cue late. (Yes, that note is to myself.)
There is a never a situation that excuses discourteousness. (Also to me. Take a deep breath.)
Smiles go a long way. So does asking how someone's doing, even if you don't care. Kindness diffuses tension. Sounds cheesy, but I really did learn this.
Perspective: The weeks, tears, sweat and stress that we compact into a performance consumes our world. But remember, it's only two hours out Mr. or Mrs. Audience Person's evening. See lesson One.
When in doubt, coming bearing candy.
And with that... I'm ready to call it a season.
In my Vast Years of Experience (yes, that's big sarcasm) I've never worked for such a young company. One must keep on one's toes and take nothing for granted. I'm used to the system of decades-old companies that, while you face challenges galore, there's a general system in place for most of the regular details.
ATP is a glorious and ambitious theatre that I admire very much, for the scale of their dreams as well as giving theatre jobs to people like me. Every year they learn a little something new. This year's big challenge on my end was scheduling. Leave no calender stone unturned. Stay on top of the clock and make sure everyone's thinking about the things that should be thought about.
It all sounds obvious, but it's surprising how quickly things will sneak up on you, especially when Equity slips in. The stakes for ATP are also much higher than I've had to think about before. Every performance is a proving ground: are we worth the donor's money, the company's effort, the city's time?
But overall the summer has been good. Very different. It's interesting to see the next tier of skill in performance that these actors bring to the stage. Sometimes the more an actor has carved their place and paid their dues, the more dramatic they can be, and what can you do but be calmer? On the whole the company rocked. In the world of theatre, you're either whirling within the hurricane, or you're in the eye, I think. I suppose you could be standing miles away watching, but what fun is that?
There are a lot of concrete details to remember and track, of course, to wield next time. But as the season winds to a close this weekend I can only hope that the intangible lessons will stick with me, the lessons that can't be Told. There are lessons that you have to slog through, have dropped in your lap or dissolve in front of your face so that next time, when the situation that no one can prepare you for begins to worm to the surface, you'll notice the early warning signs.
Some lessons are obvious when you think about them, but trickier in execution. Some of the intangibles that I think can be applied to any field in theatre, and perhaps any field anywhere:
Don't worry about things you can't control.
You can't control the weather.
Know the rules.
There's no reason to take anything at work personally. Remember, it's Work. Not You. We in the creative field forget this, because so many of our passions lie in what we do. Remember to seperate. You're still a good, competent human being even if you Did call that cue late. (Yes, that note is to myself.)
There is a never a situation that excuses discourteousness. (Also to me. Take a deep breath.)
Smiles go a long way. So does asking how someone's doing, even if you don't care. Kindness diffuses tension. Sounds cheesy, but I really did learn this.
Perspective: The weeks, tears, sweat and stress that we compact into a performance consumes our world. But remember, it's only two hours out Mr. or Mrs. Audience Person's evening. See lesson One.
When in doubt, coming bearing candy.
And with that... I'm ready to call it a season.
The Recipe
For Large Musical
10 Actors
1 Large and intimidating set
A handful of crew (but probably not enough)
7 gallons of Glitter
A variety of Designers
A judicious sprinkling of Musicians
100 Beers
10 gallons of Coffee
Mix together and stir for two weeks. Bake at high temperature under particolored lights in a darkened space for three days.
Dump in Audience.
Serve up one Godspell (serves 300)
For One Smaller musical:
4 Actors
1 Large and funky set.
1 Piano Player
1 Violinist
Note: While it is an interesting experiment to attempt this Recipe with the Cook/director gone for three days, it is not recommended. Also never underestimate the complexity of a recipe due to its smaller portions. Time and forethought are recommended for this recipe as much as for the Large Musical.
Throw together in two days under Lights on Set. May be disatisfying if ingredients are not allowed proper cooking time. Given one performance in front of an audience and an extra tech rehearsal, better results may be achieved.
For One Comedy:
4 Actors
1 shit-ton of Dialogue
1 semi-absent-for-the-first-few-rehearsals-SM
1 or 2 Nervous Breakdowns
As for the Smaller Musical, the amount of Cooking Time for the comedy is not to be underestimated. Fewer ingredients does not equal less cooking time. Dished up prematurely, such a Recipe may end up lumpy and less palatable than one given an extra few days to cook.
This time may be substituted for extra Line rehearsals in addition to quick Broiling in front of an audience.
Serve.
10 Actors
1 Large and intimidating set
A handful of crew (but probably not enough)
7 gallons of Glitter
A variety of Designers
A judicious sprinkling of Musicians
100 Beers
10 gallons of Coffee
Mix together and stir for two weeks. Bake at high temperature under particolored lights in a darkened space for three days.
Dump in Audience.
Serve up one Godspell (serves 300)
For One Smaller musical:
4 Actors
1 Large and funky set.
1 Piano Player
1 Violinist
Note: While it is an interesting experiment to attempt this Recipe with the Cook/director gone for three days, it is not recommended. Also never underestimate the complexity of a recipe due to its smaller portions. Time and forethought are recommended for this recipe as much as for the Large Musical.
Throw together in two days under Lights on Set. May be disatisfying if ingredients are not allowed proper cooking time. Given one performance in front of an audience and an extra tech rehearsal, better results may be achieved.
For One Comedy:
4 Actors
1 shit-ton of Dialogue
1 semi-absent-for-the-first-few-rehearsals-SM
1 or 2 Nervous Breakdowns
As for the Smaller Musical, the amount of Cooking Time for the comedy is not to be underestimated. Fewer ingredients does not equal less cooking time. Dished up prematurely, such a Recipe may end up lumpy and less palatable than one given an extra few days to cook.
This time may be substituted for extra Line rehearsals in addition to quick Broiling in front of an audience.
Serve.
Friday, June 01, 2007
The First Dream
We'll pretend that I'm a religious journal keeper and the last weeks of tour were faithfully recorded for your entertainment and my personal log of life.
Now, onward to my next season (perhaps with bits from tour sprinkled in).
You all know what I'm talking about - and if you don't, I want your secret to night time oblivion. There comes a time in the Process when, while you remain outwardly calm and unruffled, your mind worries away at the upcoming onslaught of creative egg-beating and potential brilliance or disaster. You toil away during your daylight hours to get the show up and then, at night, your most secret and greatest fears come to life.
The dreams.
Last night I had my first and I haven't even begun work yet. In the dream, we were opening 'Godspell'. For some reason, I was part a preshow appearance of actors onstage. I was holding a large cross and was part of the center piece arrangement onstage. I kept looking at my wrist, even though I wasn't wearing a watch, knowing that I should be calling times and places soon. I finally managed to slip offstage and make it to the booth just in time to start the play. I knew Betsi was waiting as I fumbled through the balcony to get to my spot. I put on my headset and apologized to everyone for being late. I informed them that I was pretty sure this was a dream, since I didn't remember any of the rehearsal process, nor did I have any cues written in my prompt book! They assured me they would take care of it (they had obviously been through some rehearsals I missed...) and the show began! It was very odd. I didn't care for the music or the lighting and I woke up relieved because I knew our 'Godspell' would be much better and hopefully I would be more prepared.
I can't wait to see what happens when we've actually started rehearsals.
The other thing I've realized over my break here is that for the last four years I've basically spent my May-June months indoors. From nine in the morning until the dark hours of the evening I've been inside and missed spring springing and summer blossoming until my days are free to explore.
Now, onward to my next season (perhaps with bits from tour sprinkled in).
You all know what I'm talking about - and if you don't, I want your secret to night time oblivion. There comes a time in the Process when, while you remain outwardly calm and unruffled, your mind worries away at the upcoming onslaught of creative egg-beating and potential brilliance or disaster. You toil away during your daylight hours to get the show up and then, at night, your most secret and greatest fears come to life.
The dreams.
Last night I had my first and I haven't even begun work yet. In the dream, we were opening 'Godspell'. For some reason, I was part a preshow appearance of actors onstage. I was holding a large cross and was part of the center piece arrangement onstage. I kept looking at my wrist, even though I wasn't wearing a watch, knowing that I should be calling times and places soon. I finally managed to slip offstage and make it to the booth just in time to start the play. I knew Betsi was waiting as I fumbled through the balcony to get to my spot. I put on my headset and apologized to everyone for being late. I informed them that I was pretty sure this was a dream, since I didn't remember any of the rehearsal process, nor did I have any cues written in my prompt book! They assured me they would take care of it (they had obviously been through some rehearsals I missed...) and the show began! It was very odd. I didn't care for the music or the lighting and I woke up relieved because I knew our 'Godspell' would be much better and hopefully I would be more prepared.
I can't wait to see what happens when we've actually started rehearsals.
The other thing I've realized over my break here is that for the last four years I've basically spent my May-June months indoors. From nine in the morning until the dark hours of the evening I've been inside and missed spring springing and summer blossoming until my days are free to explore.
These last weeks I've been overhwhelmed by green and the scent of earth and flowers coming to life again. Fancy, isn't it? I could get used to this, but I will pay for it later once we've settled into a stock season. That's right. Once we start rehearsals we're in it almost until the end of summer. My solace is of course, Equity hours and daylights savings time. I'll still have my summer, but I'll miss the power of the repertory, days free season.
I call this my "Nyah nyah!" view....
And I'll miss Bigfork. My heart broke when we went to the opening night of their comedy, this year, "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Abridged" - wonderful! But...I saw all the people I wouldn't get to work with and smelled the theatre and the booth I wouldn't be rehearsing and calling in, even the rehearsal hall. I never thought I would miss the rehearsal hall; bland walls and a mylar floor to protect the actors' feet, the air heavy and sticky and smelling hopelessly of sweat. I remember leaving fans running all night and coming early in the morning to open the doors, run the fans and spray cinnamon air freshener in the hopes of clearing the air a little so everyone could feel we had a fresh slate to work in - not a space dampened and warm from yesterday's efforts.I'll miss it.
And I'll miss shrimp-filled, meatball laden and sparkling champagne opening nights, actors gleaming from their efforts to burst out of the cannon like fireworks - the triumphant glow dimmed only by the knowledge that we have to get enough sleep to begin rehearsals for the next show all too early Tomorrow.
I'll miss that, too.
Local families who have been loyally attending the Bigfork Summer Playhouse seasons host parties for the company and for their friends who lovingly corner an actor or a designer to ask them about the Process. We've all come up with answers that are witty, charming and warm enough to involve them and help them understand, a little. But you can't really understand if you haven't been there. You just can't.
People say you have to 'move on'. Or 'move up'. I don't know about that. To me, it's all creating. Maybe I've 'paid my dues' or I want to work an easier schedule or just be able to keep an entirely different job that happens to require that I'm Union. But the ache of missing what has been my summer home and family? I wouldn't call that moving on. I certainly wouldn't call it moving up. I would call it moving. I would call it shifting sideways to get a new look, see new people, be nestled in by a different lake, a different mountain and getting ready to learn the smell of a new rehearsal space. A new booth. New actors. A new stage.
I'll miss Bigfork. But as I've learned from touring, wherever the theatre is, is home.
Break a leg...
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