So, I was going to write about our opening night and the glory that was our accomplishing that first night of stellar performance, but now I'm going to write about the surreal events of this evening instead.
Last night, Thursday, was fabulous. There were the expected massive blunders. Massive. Blunders. But there was also the anticipated genius. The training held strong, and the actors worked wonders. The techies, myself included if I may say so, manuevered their way through a minefield of potential disasters without any perceptable hitch. A thrilling and stupendous night. And lots of notes for improving the next shows.
Tonight, Friday, started off fine. It felt a touch slow in terms of energy (mostly just second-night syndrome, a common occurrence in live theater) but it went more technically smoothly than the last show. The audience was slow to warm up, but warm up they did, and well. Everyone had both some slight errors and some excellent moments and/or interactions as well.
Then we had our intermission.
This show has been a series of firsts. One of them was having an intermission at all. Another was having to cancel a performance.
Yes, that's right. During intermission tonight, our lead actress, and fabulous web designer, became incredibly ill. Nausea and severe dizziness, not to mention fever and an inability to stand for risk of fainting, prevented her from continuing the show, although she had already valiantly survived the first act. She had not realized how sick she was, and certainly none of the rest of us had either. After stretching intermission out to nearly 30 minutes in an effort to get her standing and semi-functional again, I decided that this was not going to work as she was obviously about to fall over when we finally got her to her feet; she had to sit again immediately and couldn't stand without support. I went to the audience, told them we were all fine but that one of our actors was very sick and that we were cancelling the rest of the evening. I also told them, on a moment of sudden inspiration, that they could come back tomorrow for free if they wanted to. I hope some of them do, we got two pages-worth of names of people who might return. In the mean-time, I eventually got Emma home to her mother and to bed.
So now we wait through the night. We assume that Emma will be up and going tomorrow, but we leave open the possibility of cancelling the matinee. I'll check in with her and then talk to the other actors also. We suspect she got hit hard with a stomach flu since one of our stage managers left during intermission with one yesterday and now i'm getting nauseous and headachey as well. Let's hope no one else gets sick and that the shows will indeed go on! "Let's give three cheers and one cheer more for the good person of Szechwan!"
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Thursday, May 31, 2007
The Day Before
Actually, it's now technically the day of... oh well. The important thing is that tonight was our last chance to accomplish miracles, fall apart completely, and/or at least run the show from top to bottom. Oddly, none of that happened. As is so frequently the case at the 13th hour with the North Star Players, we managed to get both a great deal and nothing at all done. It is at these times when everything could potentially descend into unbridled, frustrated chaos from whence we would never return.
But the thing is, we're going to be fine. I gave a pep talk tonight that I believe to be deeply true about the power and skill of our little theater troupe. I told the students, as they peered at me through frazzled eyes which almost popped with self-exasperation as well as loathing for their castmates and me brought on by hours and days of endless rehearsing in close quarters, that tomorrow the show would be fine. As you stare out through a red haze of panic, I told them, as the adrenaline rushes you through the entire show, you will mostly be unaware of anything other than each terrifying and exhilerating moment. The second the show is over, you will scream for joy, and half an hour later you'll be enthusiastically picking it all apart, bemoaning the errors and resolving to repair them in the following productions. You will revel in your fantastic saves and strokes of brilliance. I accept that there may be one or two show-stopping mistakes, either from the poor techies who never really got a chance to rehearse all the cues, or the poor actors who are stressed to the max, and that despite these great mishaps, the show will exceed both the performers' and audience's expectations and that we will bounce back from this vaguely rocky start to present 3 more fabulous and thrilling performances. Hey, now that I've said it aloud, maybe we'll skip right over the rocky start and just open with a resounding bang!
The point is, it is at these times of greatest doubt, fear, and dread that the beauty of live theater becomes clear. Each moment is unique and is shared with you, your castmates, and your audience; and there is nothing which cannot be made glorious if approached with the right attitude. The training and discipline which you have honed for months will propel you through danger and inspire both your audience and your castmates, not to mention yourself. When you are at your most panicked you may be at your most cunning, and there is every opportunity to do amazing work.
I left this evening's sometimes delightful, sometimes infuriating rehearsal with a calm heart and a relatively light step; the Players have talent, they are committed to each other and to this project, and they will flourish in their work and their play. I look forward to tomorrow and I am sure that they will surprise me with their genius. They do so every year.
But the thing is, we're going to be fine. I gave a pep talk tonight that I believe to be deeply true about the power and skill of our little theater troupe. I told the students, as they peered at me through frazzled eyes which almost popped with self-exasperation as well as loathing for their castmates and me brought on by hours and days of endless rehearsing in close quarters, that tomorrow the show would be fine. As you stare out through a red haze of panic, I told them, as the adrenaline rushes you through the entire show, you will mostly be unaware of anything other than each terrifying and exhilerating moment. The second the show is over, you will scream for joy, and half an hour later you'll be enthusiastically picking it all apart, bemoaning the errors and resolving to repair them in the following productions. You will revel in your fantastic saves and strokes of brilliance. I accept that there may be one or two show-stopping mistakes, either from the poor techies who never really got a chance to rehearse all the cues, or the poor actors who are stressed to the max, and that despite these great mishaps, the show will exceed both the performers' and audience's expectations and that we will bounce back from this vaguely rocky start to present 3 more fabulous and thrilling performances. Hey, now that I've said it aloud, maybe we'll skip right over the rocky start and just open with a resounding bang!
The point is, it is at these times of greatest doubt, fear, and dread that the beauty of live theater becomes clear. Each moment is unique and is shared with you, your castmates, and your audience; and there is nothing which cannot be made glorious if approached with the right attitude. The training and discipline which you have honed for months will propel you through danger and inspire both your audience and your castmates, not to mention yourself. When you are at your most panicked you may be at your most cunning, and there is every opportunity to do amazing work.
I left this evening's sometimes delightful, sometimes infuriating rehearsal with a calm heart and a relatively light step; the Players have talent, they are committed to each other and to this project, and they will flourish in their work and their play. I look forward to tomorrow and I am sure that they will surprise me with their genius. They do so every year.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Tech Week Part 1
We had our first Tech Rehearsal yesterday.
After several hours at the North Star building (the place where we usually rehearse) we carpooled over to P.A.C.E., in Easthampton.
At North Star we worked through several scenes of the play. We polished things that weren't quite done, either in the blocking or the character work. Ellen (our director) also worked with Matt (our all-around sound guy) to add more sound effects and music.
The all-around part isn't too far off. Matt's been working with quadraphonic sound. Once his speakers were all set up, if you stood in the middle of the room he could move the sound around you. All around you. There was a 2-minute period where a bunch of us stood in the middle of the room, marveling at the effect. When he moved a sound from speaker to speaker quickly enough there was an almost dizzying effect. It was as though we were being circled by a ring of musicians, whirling around and around.
At P.A.C.E. we did a bit of cue-to-cue work; which is when you go quickly through the play, stopping at all the sound and lighting cues. It isn't actually a very quick process. That is the time when all the tech people set up what they need for the show, and rehearse their part in it. For the actors it can be very tedious. We might be required to say the same line over and over again (or remain silent and still) as lights go on and off, as people in the sound/lighting booth write down their cues, or as they repair or adjust their equipment.
It's a good test of patience for the actors. It's also more than a little humbling. Here we get to see the hard work of the (usually unseen) people who will be working alongside us during the whole show, at every show. It's the time for us to shut up and do as they tell us, basically. We remember that we aren't the center of everything.
I quite like cue-to-cues. I mean, yes, they're dull for long stretches of time, which are then followed by a few moments of speech and activity. Which is then followed by the dullness. And the dull times usually require you to keep your place on the stage and half an ear open for instructions from Ellen or Matt.
But it can be peaceful, in its way. As the lights go up and down around you, as the sound blares then cuts out--followed by Matt's frustrated voice calling to Ellen or the person nearest that speaker--you achieve a kind of serenity, if you're lucky. You get the feeling that you really are right in the belly of the beast, so to speak. There are few times that you realize so strongly that this is live theater.
It's a good feeling.
After several hours at the North Star building (the place where we usually rehearse) we carpooled over to P.A.C.E., in Easthampton.
At North Star we worked through several scenes of the play. We polished things that weren't quite done, either in the blocking or the character work. Ellen (our director) also worked with Matt (our all-around sound guy) to add more sound effects and music.
The all-around part isn't too far off. Matt's been working with quadraphonic sound. Once his speakers were all set up, if you stood in the middle of the room he could move the sound around you. All around you. There was a 2-minute period where a bunch of us stood in the middle of the room, marveling at the effect. When he moved a sound from speaker to speaker quickly enough there was an almost dizzying effect. It was as though we were being circled by a ring of musicians, whirling around and around.
At P.A.C.E. we did a bit of cue-to-cue work; which is when you go quickly through the play, stopping at all the sound and lighting cues. It isn't actually a very quick process. That is the time when all the tech people set up what they need for the show, and rehearse their part in it. For the actors it can be very tedious. We might be required to say the same line over and over again (or remain silent and still) as lights go on and off, as people in the sound/lighting booth write down their cues, or as they repair or adjust their equipment.
It's a good test of patience for the actors. It's also more than a little humbling. Here we get to see the hard work of the (usually unseen) people who will be working alongside us during the whole show, at every show. It's the time for us to shut up and do as they tell us, basically. We remember that we aren't the center of everything.
I quite like cue-to-cues. I mean, yes, they're dull for long stretches of time, which are then followed by a few moments of speech and activity. Which is then followed by the dullness. And the dull times usually require you to keep your place on the stage and half an ear open for instructions from Ellen or Matt.
But it can be peaceful, in its way. As the lights go up and down around you, as the sound blares then cuts out--followed by Matt's frustrated voice calling to Ellen or the person nearest that speaker--you achieve a kind of serenity, if you're lucky. You get the feeling that you really are right in the belly of the beast, so to speak. There are few times that you realize so strongly that this is live theater.
It's a good feeling.
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