The stagelights in your eyes...
I was up on a stage for the first time in almost a year last night.
My sister Ally landed a role in a revue of various broadway plays that some friends of ours produce every year. This year, they did A Chorus Line, Rent, School House Rock, and Wicked. Ally played Glinda in all the numbers -- and she was great, as were most of the cast. Anyway, about eight days ago I got word that they needed someone to play Zach, the director from A Chorus Line so they could do the opening number. Zach would be onstage for about ten minutes, and then be done. Problem is, they had no one to play it. They either had to call someone in, or give the role to one of the 13-year-old girls. They opted to call someone in, and they started by asking me, since they figured (correctly) I would work without pay and give them minimal grief. So Friday last I get a ten page script for the opening number ("God I Hope I Get It"), and I'm told I need to be off book by Tuesday. Which I almost am. I would have been, except the directors kept editing the script at rehearsal every day and then sending me the changes. Tuesday I get to meet the rest of the cast and run the number with them a few times before the hour and a half they have left is up. Wednesday and Thursday I run it with them for an hour. Friday afternoon they move into the theatre for back-to-back tech and dress rehearsals, before the one and only performance at 7:30pm. At 7:30 I open the show with my immortal lines, "Again! Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch...Again! Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch...Again!" (etc.), with no make up, a costume I wore from home, and a clip on mic. My props consist of a pen and a clipboard with my script on it, both brought from home. I read my lines, hit all my cues (no live musicians, we used tracks), and I'm told I did a very good job.
It wasn't until I was up onstage during the performance, and the curtain rose, and I wondered what to do next as I felt the lines leap out of my mouth automatically, that I remembered what it was like. It doesn't matter how tired or hungry you feel, all of a sudden you are riding on a wave of energy coming out of nowhere. You're delivering the same lines you delivered to dead silence over and over again during rehearsals, but now an audience is laughing at them. You can't think straight. But you do your lines and hit your blocking anyway. There's no drudgework, no stopping if you mess up. If the audience enjoys the show then you didn't mess up. You just keep going forward, riding on the energy and laughter.
It's like flying.
My sister Ally landed a role in a revue of various broadway plays that some friends of ours produce every year. This year, they did A Chorus Line, Rent, School House Rock, and Wicked. Ally played Glinda in all the numbers -- and she was great, as were most of the cast. Anyway, about eight days ago I got word that they needed someone to play Zach, the director from A Chorus Line so they could do the opening number. Zach would be onstage for about ten minutes, and then be done. Problem is, they had no one to play it. They either had to call someone in, or give the role to one of the 13-year-old girls. They opted to call someone in, and they started by asking me, since they figured (correctly) I would work without pay and give them minimal grief. So Friday last I get a ten page script for the opening number ("God I Hope I Get It"), and I'm told I need to be off book by Tuesday. Which I almost am. I would have been, except the directors kept editing the script at rehearsal every day and then sending me the changes. Tuesday I get to meet the rest of the cast and run the number with them a few times before the hour and a half they have left is up. Wednesday and Thursday I run it with them for an hour. Friday afternoon they move into the theatre for back-to-back tech and dress rehearsals, before the one and only performance at 7:30pm. At 7:30 I open the show with my immortal lines, "Again! Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch...Again! Step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch...Again!" (etc.), with no make up, a costume I wore from home, and a clip on mic. My props consist of a pen and a clipboard with my script on it, both brought from home. I read my lines, hit all my cues (no live musicians, we used tracks), and I'm told I did a very good job.
It wasn't until I was up onstage during the performance, and the curtain rose, and I wondered what to do next as I felt the lines leap out of my mouth automatically, that I remembered what it was like. It doesn't matter how tired or hungry you feel, all of a sudden you are riding on a wave of energy coming out of nowhere. You're delivering the same lines you delivered to dead silence over and over again during rehearsals, but now an audience is laughing at them. You can't think straight. But you do your lines and hit your blocking anyway. There's no drudgework, no stopping if you mess up. If the audience enjoys the show then you didn't mess up. You just keep going forward, riding on the energy and laughter.
It's like flying.