Something so sentimental, something so detrimental
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore-
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over-
like a syrupy sweet?
On this week's season finale of Bunheads, Sutton Foster's Michelle goes to an open call audition for a new Broadway musical based on the Bette Davis film Dark Victory. For the chorus. Even after she's decided to go, she isn't sure she wants to, stopping and starting the car at least three times before she actually gets up the nerve to drive away. Her students, the four title dancers, curious as to what she's up to, follow her, and once they realize it's an audition, watch as discretely as they can. They watch as Michelle avoids being typed out (just barely, apparently, as the director or choreographer takes an extra-long pause when he gets to her). They watch as she learns the dance combination. Because they're dancers themselves, they pick it up and even insinuate themselves onto the outside edge of the group to do it with the professionals for the last run-thru before they break into smaller groups.
Then, a funny thing happens: Boo (the awkward but talented one who doesn't have a "dancer's body") becomes determined to join in one of the smaller groups. "This is my chance," she says. This is obviously slightly insane, and her friends call her out on it, especially Sasha (the super-talented, super-bitchy one). Then, Boo gets mad at them, especially Sasha, for trying to deter her. She sees this as an opportunity, her one-in-a-million shot to be discovered. During this scene, my heart was in my throat and I was on the verge of tears. Seriously. And I started mentally preparing myself for what I thought was going to happen (and what would surely have happened were this exact same scene playing out on Glee): Boo would push herself through and somehow make it to the end, and Michelle wouldn't. To my utter relief, Bunheads is most definitely not Glee, and the girls stall Boo for long enough so that it's Michelle's turn and they watch her get asked to stay and sing. The prospect of any of them sneaking into an audition group is never brought up again, as they watch as Michelle is told by the pianist to not sing her chosen song ("Frickin' Hathaway!" he proclaims), but instead sing "If My Friends Could See Me Now", which Michelle protests as wholly inappropriate as an audition song for this particular show. But sing it she does, and since she's Sutton Foster she could hardly have picked a better song to showcase her talents. Then, outside, the pianist tells her how great she was (best he's seen all day, really). And then, in walk a group of girls looking like they own the place. Michelle asks who they are, and the pianist tells her that they're the dancers for the show: This choreographer always works with the same girls, and the auditions were just a formality for the union. Michelle never even had a chance. The pianist tells her how much he would love to work with her, that he's always doing benefits in NYC, and to look him up. He goes to give her a card, but can't find one, and gets called back into the room. He tells her he'll find her and runs away.
This scene wrecked me. WRECKED. On numerous levels. This feeling of failure, of rejection, of utter hopelessness, grabbed hold of me and wouldn't let go. Working as a performer is both the best and worst job in the world. Best because of time spent working on a production and then performing it in front of an audience. There is simply nothing better, more satisfying, than this. But worst because that comprises, for most performers, about one-third of your job. The other two-thirds is auditioning. Literally 66% of your job is looking for a job. And the line between getting the job and not getting the job is razor-thin and more often than not has absolutely nothing to do with you and your ability to do the job. This is a large part of why I decided to not go whole-hog into performing as a profession.
BUT.
There's always a but, isn't there?
A good friend of mine has, for the past several years, been the Artistic Producing Director of a performing arts center not that far from me. They mostly do teen theater programs, but also do professional performances (such as a recent production of The Color Purple). Yesterday, he posted on Facebook auditions for Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest. I've done this play three times, twice as Algernon. I know the thing backwards and forwards, and it's one of two or three shows that I would ever, EVER consider crashing an Equity call for because I know I can knock it out of the park.
But.
There's that damn "but" again.
I have a new job now. A job that I really like, and that is paying me really well, and that will actually allow me to start a life of my own, which I've only wanted to do ever since I graduated college six years ago. If I somehow managed to get cast in this show , I would either have to quit this great new job, or work something out with them - after I've only been there for three months. And either way, what do I do after the show ends in April? Either go back to my job (meaning nothing has changed), or take my Equity card and try (AGAIN) to make it? And if I don't get cast (the far more likely scenario), I haven't gained anything and have lost valuable time and energy, and perhaps much of my dignity (always dignity).
I wrestled with this ALL NIGHT. Because, if this call had been posted even only four months ago, I would have done it in a heartbeat. But now? Now I'm not so sure. Because nothing compares to that high you get when you're performing for a live audience. And to be in a professional production? It would be a dream come true. But in my experience with this business we call show, dreams coming true really are one in a million. And nothing compares to pounding the pavement exhausting yourself hustling from audition to audition, either, and not in a good way. I tried it for a year while I worked as a choreographer for a children's musical theater company fresh out of college. It is by the far the most demeaning, deadening, ultimately depressing process I can imagine. Giving 100%-plus of yourself for days on end, getting nothing in return. Not even a "no thank you" call or email, something any other job gives you as a courtesy, without even thinking about not doing so.
This is why I so infinitely prefer Bunheads to Glee. The latter has turned into a complete fantasy, where great opportunities just fall into one's lap and raw talent will get you everything (something that is also true, although slightly more complicated, on Smash). The former, though, is completely, often brutally, honest about the realities of being a performer: It sucks. The rewards, if and when you get to reap them, are tremendous, but are they really worth it? Michelle has been around long enough to know, or at least guess, what the deal is with that Dark Victory audition, but she goes anyway, because she knows she has the chops. All she needs is that big break. The same is true of Boo. The mere possibility of making it, the tiniest glimmer of getting out of a mundane existence for a life upon the stage, is so tantalizing that they are both, in different ways, ready and willing to risk everything for it. While watching this episode, my heart broke a little bit for Ginny at the end of the episode (how could it not?), but it had already shattered for Boo and Michelle. And for me. Because a dream deferred is a terrible thing to carry around.
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore-
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over-
like a syrupy sweet?
On this week's season finale of Bunheads, Sutton Foster's Michelle goes to an open call audition for a new Broadway musical based on the Bette Davis film Dark Victory. For the chorus. Even after she's decided to go, she isn't sure she wants to, stopping and starting the car at least three times before she actually gets up the nerve to drive away. Her students, the four title dancers, curious as to what she's up to, follow her, and once they realize it's an audition, watch as discretely as they can. They watch as Michelle avoids being typed out (just barely, apparently, as the director or choreographer takes an extra-long pause when he gets to her). They watch as she learns the dance combination. Because they're dancers themselves, they pick it up and even insinuate themselves onto the outside edge of the group to do it with the professionals for the last run-thru before they break into smaller groups.
Then, a funny thing happens: Boo (the awkward but talented one who doesn't have a "dancer's body") becomes determined to join in one of the smaller groups. "This is my chance," she says. This is obviously slightly insane, and her friends call her out on it, especially Sasha (the super-talented, super-bitchy one). Then, Boo gets mad at them, especially Sasha, for trying to deter her. She sees this as an opportunity, her one-in-a-million shot to be discovered. During this scene, my heart was in my throat and I was on the verge of tears. Seriously. And I started mentally preparing myself for what I thought was going to happen (and what would surely have happened were this exact same scene playing out on Glee): Boo would push herself through and somehow make it to the end, and Michelle wouldn't. To my utter relief, Bunheads is most definitely not Glee, and the girls stall Boo for long enough so that it's Michelle's turn and they watch her get asked to stay and sing. The prospect of any of them sneaking into an audition group is never brought up again, as they watch as Michelle is told by the pianist to not sing her chosen song ("Frickin' Hathaway!" he proclaims), but instead sing "If My Friends Could See Me Now", which Michelle protests as wholly inappropriate as an audition song for this particular show. But sing it she does, and since she's Sutton Foster she could hardly have picked a better song to showcase her talents. Then, outside, the pianist tells her how great she was (best he's seen all day, really). And then, in walk a group of girls looking like they own the place. Michelle asks who they are, and the pianist tells her that they're the dancers for the show: This choreographer always works with the same girls, and the auditions were just a formality for the union. Michelle never even had a chance. The pianist tells her how much he would love to work with her, that he's always doing benefits in NYC, and to look him up. He goes to give her a card, but can't find one, and gets called back into the room. He tells her he'll find her and runs away.
This scene wrecked me. WRECKED. On numerous levels. This feeling of failure, of rejection, of utter hopelessness, grabbed hold of me and wouldn't let go. Working as a performer is both the best and worst job in the world. Best because of time spent working on a production and then performing it in front of an audience. There is simply nothing better, more satisfying, than this. But worst because that comprises, for most performers, about one-third of your job. The other two-thirds is auditioning. Literally 66% of your job is looking for a job. And the line between getting the job and not getting the job is razor-thin and more often than not has absolutely nothing to do with you and your ability to do the job. This is a large part of why I decided to not go whole-hog into performing as a profession.
BUT.
There's always a but, isn't there?
A good friend of mine has, for the past several years, been the Artistic Producing Director of a performing arts center not that far from me. They mostly do teen theater programs, but also do professional performances (such as a recent production of The Color Purple). Yesterday, he posted on Facebook auditions for Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest. I've done this play three times, twice as Algernon. I know the thing backwards and forwards, and it's one of two or three shows that I would ever, EVER consider crashing an Equity call for because I know I can knock it out of the park.
But.
There's that damn "but" again.
I have a new job now. A job that I really like, and that is paying me really well, and that will actually allow me to start a life of my own, which I've only wanted to do ever since I graduated college six years ago. If I somehow managed to get cast in this show , I would either have to quit this great new job, or work something out with them - after I've only been there for three months. And either way, what do I do after the show ends in April? Either go back to my job (meaning nothing has changed), or take my Equity card and try (AGAIN) to make it? And if I don't get cast (the far more likely scenario), I haven't gained anything and have lost valuable time and energy, and perhaps much of my dignity (always dignity).
I wrestled with this ALL NIGHT. Because, if this call had been posted even only four months ago, I would have done it in a heartbeat. But now? Now I'm not so sure. Because nothing compares to that high you get when you're performing for a live audience. And to be in a professional production? It would be a dream come true. But in my experience with this business we call show, dreams coming true really are one in a million. And nothing compares to pounding the pavement exhausting yourself hustling from audition to audition, either, and not in a good way. I tried it for a year while I worked as a choreographer for a children's musical theater company fresh out of college. It is by the far the most demeaning, deadening, ultimately depressing process I can imagine. Giving 100%-plus of yourself for days on end, getting nothing in return. Not even a "no thank you" call or email, something any other job gives you as a courtesy, without even thinking about not doing so.
This is why I so infinitely prefer Bunheads to Glee. The latter has turned into a complete fantasy, where great opportunities just fall into one's lap and raw talent will get you everything (something that is also true, although slightly more complicated, on Smash). The former, though, is completely, often brutally, honest about the realities of being a performer: It sucks. The rewards, if and when you get to reap them, are tremendous, but are they really worth it? Michelle has been around long enough to know, or at least guess, what the deal is with that Dark Victory audition, but she goes anyway, because she knows she has the chops. All she needs is that big break. The same is true of Boo. The mere possibility of making it, the tiniest glimmer of getting out of a mundane existence for a life upon the stage, is so tantalizing that they are both, in different ways, ready and willing to risk everything for it. While watching this episode, my heart broke a little bit for Ginny at the end of the episode (how could it not?), but it had already shattered for Boo and Michelle. And for me. Because a dream deferred is a terrible thing to carry around.
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?