Auditions

No one likes auditions. As an actor, I find them stressful and intimidating. I am expected to demonstrate all my abilities, all my potential, all my emotional prowess, in a 1-2 minute monologue. In the moments before I am called into an audition room I stretch, stumble through some breathing exercises, break into a cold sweat and degrade myself in a steady internal monologue: "Really? How many of these will it take? How many auditions will you sweat and shutter through before you can just take it in stride?"

But I don't mind, really, that I can't just take auditions in stride. That stressful package of feelings provides me a significant kind of compassion every time I'm on the other side of the audition table. And as the one seated, taking notes on the monologue or song presented by a nervous auditionee, I am anticipating a different kind of stress. The anxiety I experience when casting a production is like no other. I have traveled in East Africa, taken public transportation by myself through dark Ugandan streets, slept in huts in the middle of the bush. I have traveled in Southeast Asia, riding in the back of a truck over mountain passes with no guard rails and slept in the presence of scorpions and 5 inch long spiders. Yes, I have had stressful experiences. But CASTING tops them. Relationships, egos, hearts and minds are in account when casting a show. And that responsibility is a pressure that keeps sleep at bay, and makes my stomach turn.

But, oh, it is also so exciting! To see it all come together, despite the anxiety and difficult decisions, to see the cast sit at a table together and read the words that they will come to embody- that is a beautiful thing. Like I said, no one likes auditions. But we all keep coming back for more, don't we?

Beauty and the Beast Jr.

The loose ends are finally tying up after our successful run of Beauty and the Beast Jr. Once again we incorporated over 100 young actors into 2 casts, and over 1800 tickets were sold to watch them light up Ames Hall. And that's what we all think about when reflecting on the production- the kids, the lights, the audience, the very feeling in the room as the finale came soaring out of these children's little mouths. Last Spring, Annie Jr. swept me up into the rush and roar of creating a new theatre company. This time I was given the opportunity to experience it all a bit more realistically. I met with the same exhaustion and sleep deprivation and nightmares about every stage of the process, yet I was conscious and present for the process this go-around.

Last Spring I spoke and wrote about community. To the casts and audiences of Annie Jr. I emphasised the value of realizing this idealistic concept. I did so as I directed and produced a huge production and did far too much solo. Friends came to my rescue to pull it off in the end, painting backdrops and buying material opening night, running children from one backstage entrance to another. But I left the experience and entered the much quieter summer months realizing I do not want to be Superwoman. I do not want to do it all. I seek to be a part of the community as well, a single member contributing to a grand whole.

And that is what Beauty and the Beast Jr. provided me- an opportunity to step back as staff and volunteers filled in gaps and jumped to say "on with the show!" In doing so, I felt more alive than ever before in a production. The process is surreal, and an opportunity to consciously exist in the surreal was marvelous. I still remain in awe of the mere SIZE of the endeavour, but now, as a member of the community, I am also thankful for the immense effort and heart present all around me. I don't want to be the whole, but I sure want to be a part of it.

The Staircase

Production meetings take place in the yoga room in Ipswich or the conference room at Cape Ann or sometimes on The Staircase in Salem. The Staircase. Its a staircase you can meet on and in-so-doing be inspired. Like Ames Hall, it is ornate and marble and ornamented; gorgeous dark wood hand rails and even a stained glass window. And like Ames Hall, one gets lost in the history of The Staircase until a middle aged man in sweats dribbles a basketball past or a janitor shuffles a garbage bag on the uppermost landing. None-the-less, there is inspiration in that space and this inspiration would be flat without the reminders of life- active, occasionally sweaty and dirty, life. Isn't that what theatre is about? What I love about theatre?

Productions live and die. They are conceived, born, learn to walk, the director lets them go and play, and then they finish. The curtain falls. The entire process is difficult and backstage its often a mess. There is a spattering of roles- directors, stage managers, actors, costumers, designers, producers. The balance of these roles is complicated and rarely found. The process of a show is draining and emotional. The relationships are vulnerable and yet somehow professional. Yet, all these things are what create a space to learn; to be taught. "This life is not a dress rehearsal," so theatre gives opportunity to practice a bit before going into "all the world's a stage." I practice life in theatre, and theatre reflects life- speaks back and into it.

Thanks for walking by middle aged man and lone janitor. You keep our marble staircases in check. It is from our sweat and meetings and even our trash that we will have someday built our legacy. We ought each aspire to the marble and stained glass.

The Story

My face is drawn upwards, to a once ornate concert hall ceiling. My eyes soak in layers of crown molding and decorative gold accents. The curved stage, the crisp acoustics, and the presence of 150 years of history all light up my face. Then a basketball bounces past my feet and I am ushered back to the reality of the once-concert hall, now gymnasium of the Salem YMCA. The molding is faded. The balcony is absent. The floor is stripped and painted with foul and 3 point lines. But the story is thick in the air on Essex St. The grand, marble staircase is immediately reminiscent of the Titanic- Ames Hall is a ship of epic proportions. Though sunk, it is aching and groaning with the potential of what it once was, and ought to be again.