The essential ingredient

Tonight is tech.

For the past several weeks, we’ve been rehearsing in empty rooms in random buildings. Just the actors and the words.  We worked on moments and moves to find just the right interplay among these characters, when portrayed by these actors.  We made discoveries, made adjustments, made connections.

All that hard work: theatre work, but not yet theatre. Important parts of the process, but not the essential ingredient.

Tonight is another step. At tech, we bring in the props, costume changes, lighting and sound transitions. We move from cue to cue, to get the changes right. Of course, we have to let go of the flow that we so carefully crafted in all those weeks of rehearsal. We go from lights up to lights down, lights down to lights up, again and again until we get it right.

Hard work. Important work. Theatre work, but it’s not yet theatre. Important parts of the process, but not the essential ingredient.

Tomorrow night, we begin to put it back together. Lights, costumes, props, sound, changing from one scene to another to support the actors’ work as they reclaim the flow, the life of these characters. The world of the play becomes more real.

Final dress rehearsal. Theatre work, but it’s not yet theatre. . An important part of the process, but not the essential ingredient.

This Friday, we have our first preview. The house will open to admit our preview audience.

This Friday, theatre happens. Because all of the work of the weeks and months before has been theatre work, but not theatre. It is not theatre until we have the essential ingredient.

The audience.

You.

well and truly done

Thank you, theater magic.

It's been a long, exhausting process. The drive is close to an hour each way. There have been actors missing rehearsals, actors missing lines, actors missing props.

Props missing.

Scenic elements unseen until literally the eleventh hour... well, not literally the eleventh hour because we were kicked out of the rehearsal space at the ninth hour, but you get the drift...

AND YET...

It happened. The actors hit their marks. The scenic elements not only set the stage but lifted the actors and supported the play.

The props functioned and gathered laughs of their own.

It worked.

Magic. Miracles.

I guess I'm still a believer.

:-)

The Good Person of Szechuan.

I hate this play (again)

It's that time again.

Actors are calling for "line!" right and left. Entrances are late. Props are forgotten.

I have given the same note to the same actor EIGHTEEN TIMES.

(Well, maybe only twelve. Okay, maybe only seven. BUT A LOT, OKAY?)

It looks like tech is just around the corner.

If I didn't know, from long experience, that this always happens, I would be more panicked than I am.

But, this always happens.

And, of course, I always panic.

I understand why it happens: We've pulled the play apart to work on individual moments, and now it feels like bits and pieces of something that will never come together.

It's hard to get the overall sweep of the play, when working the individual moments/scenes/details.

Especially with Brecht's deliberately episodic structure.

AND of course the actors are not confident of their lines...

So I panic.

I always do.

But- usually- somehow, through theater magic, it all comes together.

Here is hoping that theater magic is about to happen!

for the love of the game

The opening ceremonies for the 2012 Olympics were held recently. Theater and the Olympics both trace their roots to the ancient Greeks.

When I was growing up the Olympic athletes were amateurs, not professionals. I've used the words "amateur" and "professional"- and the Olympics- as conversation starters in teaching theater.

The definition of "amateur" is contrasted with "professional". The connotation- and even, these days, the definition- of amateur includes the idea of unskilled, lacking in competence, or a dilletante.

The definition of professional, on the other hand, includes the ideas of expertise, great skill, and learning.


Originally, the words were not antonyms of one another. At one time, professional meant that you were paid for your work (or that you were one of the "learned professions"- such as law).

And the word amateur comes from the Latin for love.

An amateur does what they do for the love of it; a professional does what they do as their occupation, to earn a living. As in the Olympics, the amateur is not necessarily unskilled; the amateur can be one of the best in the world.

And so it is with theater. Some of the greatest innovations and triumphs of theater have come from amateurs, or those who began as amateurs. I do not suggest for a moment that actors, directors, stage managers, designers, technicians or any of the myriad artists of the theater should not be paid. I would merely like to suggest that if some of us still have a "day job" that our work should not be ignored or assumed to be of poor quality.

Whether or not one holds an Equity card does not determine the excellence of the work. It is up to each artist to give passion, effort, intensity and creativity to the task at hand.

For the love of the game.

Why I have been so passionate about youth in theater

A few months ago, I was asked a few questions about why I have been so involved with youth theater for over twenty years. Here are some of my answers.
I guess why I have done this so long and for so many hours and sometimes even at cost to myself is because I believe in theater and I believe in young people. I believe in the power of both theater and youth to transform our world.

I believe that theater gives us an opportunity to put ourselves in another's shoes and see the world from another perspective. Theater allows us to question, to explore questions of what it means to be human, what it means to be good, what it means to love.

I believe that young people have the energy and the vision to take on the challenges of making the world a better place. One of my favorite quotes is attributed to John Andrew Holmes:

“Never tell a young person that anything cannot be done. God may have been waiting centuries for someone ignorant enough of the impossible to do that very thing.”

I believe that young people care about the big questions and the hard questions. I feel that most places and people water things down for kids, thinking they are protecting kids. It's not helpful for a teen struggling with depression to be misled that everything is always sunshine or always should be.

beginnings and endings

As the current chapter in my theater life draws to a close, and new chapters are waiting to be written (literally- written!) I reflect back on some of the beginnings.

Although I fell in love with theater earlier, my first on-stage experience didn't happen until I was a freshman in high school when I landed the lead role in "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes". Incredible casting, since at that point I was not blonde, voluptuous or preferred- but to be fair, my romantic lead was nothing like a gentleman, either.

It was an odd beginning for the woman and theater artist I have become: "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" is a fluffy little comedy about sex appeal being the way to get a man; about a woman's assets being her- well, physical, not spiritual or mental, attributes.

One of the girls in the cast, a senior, tried to teach me how to walk with a wiggle in my non-existent hips.

The theater department found a blond wig for me.

I was costumed in red satin "flapper style" dresses, though I had nothing whatever to flap.

For the woman I am now- a believer in the complexity and depth of all human beings, a devotee of Shakespeare and others who explore the infinite variety and diversity of the human experience- it was, to say the least, an incongruous place to start.


But.

I made them laugh, and I was hooked.

Ensemble

My job is essentially over. For the director, opening night is the closing of the work.

I still have a few things to do- in this particular production, I am giving a curtain speech to set up the audience- but in the main, what I can do, I have done.

And there is still so much more being done.

I am reminded, as I watch the emails fly back and forth among the cast and crew, of what a truly collaborative art theater is.

There are those coming early to set up tech, coming a bit later to set up concessions, others are bringing long staplers to put the programs together.

Some are bringing signs; some are bringing repaired props or costumes.

We are just a few hours from opening.

From theater magic!

Hell week- the ultimate rehearsal

Yesterday, of course, was the *penultimate* rehearsal(s). The first half of my 12 hour day was sweltering, like a sauna- or more like a steam bath.

Progress, definite progress. I now have a sound track I can live with, and most problems are addressed. There are always the last minute items- shortening a skirt, finding some black socks, one last improvement to props- but the tech end is just about in place.

Except for lights. We aren't sure about lights.

Because the SECOND half of my 12 hour day? It rained. I huddled under an umbrella, sitting in the shower, in essence, taking my notes.

Tonight- the ultimate rehearsal(s)! And tomorrow- opening night! The end- the reward- for all the work.

I think the most essential ingredient of all in theater is: the audience.

Hell week- continued...

So day 2- Friday- went much like day 1- It was hot and sticky and so was I and not in a good way.

Saturday I had "off"- although dh K and I had several social engagements and shopping to get through- and we managed.

Sunday - from noon, the hot part of the day, on!- was our set-building marathon.

I have to say, it was pretty awesome. From bare cement to 3 painted façades and several accent/ masking units in 5 hours in the hot sun- amazing.

One of the aspects I love about the set-building day is the camaraderie of all the families working together. We see dads and siblings on set-building day that we haven't met before. Also, everyone is involved. Everyone, especially this time, had something to do: lift something, clean something, cut something, paint something.

It is "many hands make light work" at its finest. It is *satisfying*, too, to see tangible results of your work- unlike many of the other of the director's tasks.

So, that was a long, satisfying day.

Yesterday, Monday, was the first dress rehearsal, and we brought in the sound equipment. We brought in the lighting, too, but didn't have time to deal with that on Monday. Maybe tonight.

There are issues that we discovered with the set that we must address: the enormously wide stage has huge areas that need masking to hide the backstage areas. Everything needs stabilizing due to the wind.

And my sound designer apparently attended entirely different meetings- with me- than I did! Because the sound design is NOT Western at all. The farts I asked for and the chimes I asked for are not there. We will see if it is amended today; if not, it will be a long night tonight or an early morning tomorrow for me - with or without the sound designer.

Oh! And, daily I've been getting sunburns, despite increasingly desperate efforts to stay out of the sun. No worries today, though: it's supposed to rain!

Of course it is!

I'm ready for theatre magic to kick in, whenever...

Hell week: day 1

We open one week from yesterday.

Yesterday was the start of hell week for me.

It's Comedy of Errors- sometimes literally!- Shakespeare in the Park, with teen theater troupe. TWO complete casts: one traditionally cast, one all female- except for Dr. Pinch, who is a guy in drag.

The last week of July. A heat wave.

Yesterday was the first day the actors were not allowed to call for line.

Oh, how I dread that long, painful day in the rehearsal process. Doubly dreadful this time, two run throughs, one for each cast.

And, to add to the delight, a storm.

I arrived at the amphitheater to find the storage rooms had flooded. The cement space in front of the stage (we plan to use it for seating) was flooded- three or more inches deep in places.

Joy.

NOT.

We unloaded additional collected props, set up for rehearsal, pulled out what had been soaked to dry.

I set up my director's chair and opened my notebook- and my umbrella.

And, as predicted, it was awful.

But... I actually laughed out loud - at the *play*- in a few places.

There is hope!

tech week

I am about to enter hell.

Tech week is called "hell week" by many, many theater folk. It's when in bringing it all together, it all falls apart- and, with luck, prayer, hard work and theater magic, it all comes together.

On Sunday, teens and adult mentors are gathering for a one-day marathon creating our set. The challenge this year is a new bandshell amphitheater - yea!- with a CEMENT FLOOR- boo! Fortunately, our design concept is Western cardboard cut out facade with bright primary colors and Southwestern rose and tan and taupe for neutrals- so it actually fits in with our concept if the audience can see braces and supports.

At least, I will tell everyone that it's an artistic choice!

Monday we bring in the rented lights and the rented microphones. We bring in the costumes and the props. We add the sound track.

Tuesday we add make up and hair.

Wednesday: final dress tech rehearsal. As close to show conditions as possible.

Thursday: OPENING #1!

Friday: OPENING #2!

(Oh, did I forget to mention that on each of those days I am doing everything TWICE? Once for each of two casts?)

Double hell.

the darkest hour

I'm THERE with this play. EVERY process of play production seems to have it: the point where it all is so horrible you can barely stand it.

The actors are struggling with lines.

As one costume problem is solved, another lighting problem arises.

There are key props that simply don't seem to exist.

And opening night seems just moments away.

This, I always tell my team, is just before it all comes together! Theater magic! Don't give up hope!

And this time, I am praying and telling this to myself as well!

echoing theater magic

My daughter has written both a moving blog about the magic of theater, and a more light-hearted blog about theater magic past and present. Both are beautiful and have reminded me powerfully of those transformative experiences that theater can provide.

There is something magical about theater. We speak of the willing suspension of disbelief, the magical contract between artists and audience that we will set the ordinary rules of life aside for this brief time, and let ourselves transcend our lives, our very selves.

It is spiritual, moving, powerful.

And it's fun.

This time around, I have written a spoof of the Twilight vampire series that is the current rage for teens and tweens.

It is terrifying to write comedy, and also, when successful, immensely satisfying.

Immensely satisfying because, when the audience laughs you know the script works. You know you have brought enjoyment, amusement, smiles and laughter to a world that certainly needs more of all of these.

Terrifying, because if the audience doesn't laugh, you SUCK. No place to hide with comedy.

About two weeks from opening, I was terrified. My teen actors of our troupe were stumbling over lines, unable to make the timing work, missing the point and the punch of gags.

ARGHHH!! I thought. I have written CRAP. I SUCK.

And costumes weren't quite what I envisioned. Scenic design almost non-existent. The sound track hugely complicated.

And my actors were taking turns being sick, or out of town, or absent due to choir rehearsal.

ARGHH!! I thought. I have written CRAP. I SUCK. The play will SUCK. I will have to leave town and change my name.

And then...

Theater magic.

The sound track lifted and supported the gags. The actors started to hit their marks. We had a pizza party.

We still had actors out with the flu, but fortunately we were double-cast, so "twins" stepped in.

We added the final ingredient: an appreciative audience.

And opening night was wonderful. In the tiny theater, the 60 + people were a full house. The audience roared with laughter. The music and the make up, the actors and the action all worked brilliantly.

AHHH!! I thought. I have written COMEDY! We ROCK!

theater magic

There is a marvelous recurring phrase in the movie Shakespeare in Love. It's an exchange of dialogue.

Philip Henslowe: Mr. Fennyman, allow me to explain about the theatre business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster.
Hugh Fennyman: So what do we do?
Philip Henslowe: Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.
Hugh Fennyman: How?
Philip Henslowe: I don't know. It's a mystery

This exchange caused me great mirth when I first saw the movie because it is so true. I can absolutely imagine the real Henslowe saying something very much like this, because I have said something much like this both before I saw the movie, and after.

In working on the Scottish play in 2008, I sent up prayers for the intervention of theater magic. And, in spite of numerous insurmountable obstacles and clear sightings of imminent disaster during this famously "unlucky" play, it, strangely enough, turned out well.

And again, when working on Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, insurmountable obstacles of serious illness and mishap in my own family seemed to place the play directly on the road to imminent disaster. Strangely enough, it turned out well.

Then, working on Twelfth Night, set in the 1890s, more insurmountable obstacles, and again, strangely, it all turned out well.

Why? As the man said, ultimately, it is a mystery. We call it theater magic. We know some of the ingredients: passion, commitment to each other and to the play.

Somewhere in the recipe there is fear as the opening night approaches; excitement as costumes, set and props are added.

I am convinced that food-- pizza or pot-luck, it doesn't matter-- the sharing of a meal together in the midst of the work-- this is also a critical ingredient.

But the process, the means by which all of these come together to solve the unsolvable, heal the unhealable, surmount the insurmountable--

Well, it's a mystery.

A mystery to which I am grateful, once again.