Theater

 

I was sitting on the steps of the choir room’s bleachers with a script and a notebook in my hand writing away.  When I am alone, people would usually see me doing this because freestyle writing is what makes me most happy, so that’s not a huge surprise.  For all they knew I was writing out grocery lists, a string of errands to run, my next great manifesto or taking notes on others before me.  What would surprise others, if they looked a bit more closely, is that I was shaking.  My whole body was, it was very subtle, only a highly trained individual would be able to see it.  I was semi curled up like a boiled shrimp, my head lower than it usually would be, and my body was closing itself up.  Why?  Because I was afraid, borderline terrified, and trying not to show it.  Then again, this is how I usually am as I white knuckle myself through most days.  This particular day, however, was more challenging than most to my already fragile psyche, because I was potentially trying to do something new.  While this might not have been one of the more physically challenging endeavors (such as the disastrous attempt at rock climbing that left me with a bruise on my back when I recklessly pushed myself away from the wall, then swung back and hit myself on one of the climbing divots on the wall), it was certainly one of the more psychologically fearful ones.  What was it, you may ask?  I was going to be on the stage in an ensemble at a local community theater.

            This may come as a surprise to many, as I pride myself on having a bulletproof, sociopathic, cold exterior (Daniel Craig as James Bond), and am a mysterious, swashbuckling, fearless loner to most everyone around me.  It would surprise many to know that I am actually putting up a front, I am actually just as insecure as the next guy, maybe moreso.  After much trial and error, I have learned to just keep things to myself, not say much of anything unless spoken to, and to be a blank slate.  People take things about you and use them against you.  So I just white knuckle myself through life most of the time – fighting / pushing myself through the situation even though I am secretly scared to death underneath it.  It’s the whole fake it until you make it mentality.  That’s really all you can do anymore in life.

My whole fine arts career was rather odd at best.  I had a natural talent for artistic expression and making visual art (drawing, painting, etc.), and took my fair share of art classes at a variety of art schools and studios.  When it came to other applications, however, I was the proverbial square peg being forced into a round hole.  My mom enjoyed playing the piano as a kid.  In an effort to get me and my sister to be like her, she forced us into ten years of rather horrific piano lessons.  While I can’t speak for my sister, both of us were done at some point.  Those points came closer to the beginning than they did the ending, and we spent several years doing something we really didn’t want to do at all.  We tried every bargaining tactic we could think of to get out of it (we want to do something else, we want to try another instrument, etc.), but the answer was always no.  At some point, I threw up my hands and said “Ok, I’ve done all I can here and it’s not getting anywhere. If she wants to continue to cart us to and from these piano lessons, flush all this time, energy, money down the toilet, she can continue to do so. I’m done.”  When I was fourteen, at long last, it finally ended.  I did try my hand later on at guitar lessons, but by then I realized it really wasn’t for me, and I was content to just be a spectator for rock music.

            My theater arts story was a jagged one, leaving much to the imagination and becoming a late in life undertaking.  While most who I have encountered have been involved in arts things relating to acting on the stage since childhood (in some cases since infancy), my path was late in coming and rather rocky.  I have no memories of being part of any productions during my elementary school years, as in K through 3.  Perhaps it did happen, but I can’t recall it.  Chances are it was about practicing good oral hygiene and eating habits, as that’s all that children that age can really grasp.  I was rather forced into theater when I was in middle school, as there were mass productions that all in the middle school were cast in.  There were some short productions I was in during 4^th and 5^th grade, I was one of the Seven Deadly Sins that Pandora released from her box.  I guess the less said about that, the better.  My first real jump into a full blown mass musical was being in the 6^th grade production of The King and I.  I was simply an extra in the background, wearing all black and didn’t have a speaking part.  We were performing the musical within the musical Small House of Uncle Thomas (based on the reading of the famous novel by Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin , by one of the wives in the king’s harem), this was my only scene in the play.  Somehow I was deemed worthy of or lacking enough talent to have cymbals put in my hands the size of bike tires and I had to crash them together at the appropriate moments in the musical.  I was in the pit orchestra even though there was no official pit to be in.  There was one moment that I can still remember quite vividly – as all instruments were silent and the narrator / harem wife was reading out loud the narration in the story.  She said the story “ended with sacrifice”, referencing the death of the character Eva, and I smashed the cymbals together as the only musical sound in the room.  I think all eyes in the audience were on me, as they would be under these circumstances, and I was rather … Embarrassed I guess.  I mean, I was the only one making noise.  Granted, I was supposed to do so as it was an instruction, but didn’t want the attention of others because of that instance.  7^th grade brought on the next mass production of The Sound of Music.  I had a small speaking part in this play – my last role to date as Nun #3.  Nothing of note stood out from this production, save for the fact that I was the first person to come out of the side door leading the procession of nuns to sing the first bit of it, and I spoke a few words at some point.  Not many, but some.  If only I could remember them.

            I was, however, not completely left in the dust with my artistic expression and my talent was acknowledged during this time.  I remember once someone asked me what the song was that the Swedish Chef sang introducing his bits on The Muppet Show.  Someone said I would know something like that, so they recommended asking me.  I guess this acknowledges my eccentricity was actually useful for something.  Others in the junior high school, myself included, were brought in to consult on what we should and should not do for The Sound of Music movements and settings.  Why?  We were recognized as being artistic and were able to apply a practical application and approach to the production.  It was I and another gal named Sasha who proposed that the wedding scene have Maria Von Trapp walk down the main aisle of the gym as would an actual bride.  And it was applied.  Ironically enough, one of the toughest guys in the class, B, mullet and all, was dressed as a priest to marry the Captain and Maria.  Perhaps that was the only thing others could have been jealous of me during that time.  But I digress …

            8^th grade ended my theatrical career, not by my own volition but the action of another, indirectly.  I had the misfortune of attending middle school with one of the most vain, narcissistic snobs I have ever encountered by name of Scott Henry.  One man’s character cannot be told in one telling, his included.  All I can say is that he was an only child who was hero worshiped and spoiled by his parents, his ego was inflated to the size of a hot air balloon, and he continued to cause problems as much as possible when he was not the center of attention.  While in 8^th grade, there was another production that took place whose name escapes me.  I can’t find any references to it in old notebooks or my photo albums from that period.  The 8^th grade did not participate in it, because Scott Henry went to the principal with one of his famous complaints.  Once casting was decided, since he didn’t get a lead role, he said that the 8^th grade boys were not given the right amount of opportunities for this production.  The principal’s answer was to pull the entire 8^th grade out of it.  Scott’s ego, however, was not deterred by any of this, as he would continue to cause more problems in an attempt to get attention.  I wondered at times how and why it was that he did this to people.  Did he hate himself?  He couldn’t have, he was so pleased with himself.  Jealousy?  Maybe, but he usually got the things he wanted, either by taking them from others or sneaking himself into things.  I think he was/is just plain evil.  He never apologized to anyone for his actions, and nothing seemed to phase him or make him rethink his actions when he was in a detention state (ex. Getting the entire 8^th grade kicked out of the production).  Once, sometime during high school, I was at a party.  This was someone’s graduation party.  I have no idea whose party it was for, now that I think of it.  I happened to see another guy I attended middle school with there, I don’t remember who the other was, but Scott Henry was there.  I remember this because I was sitting on the couch chatting with someone on my left side, Scott Henry was sitting on my right.  Without warning, Scott Henry stood up and shouted that I had farted.  Others said I had not (which I hadn’t), and after giving him a dirty look, I took the high road and continued my conversation with the person next to me.  He gave up on trying to get attention at my expense after that.

There was a gasp of restarting a production just for the 8^th grade.  We were to do a production of Cheaper By the Dozen.  The gal who was chosen to be the director, however, was not the right person to be the director.  She was the Little Miss Pretty Princess of the class, beloved by all who knew her, later to be elected Homecoming Queen in 12^th grade.  She was, however, not the right person to be the director; and, after a few days / weeks of practicing, she dropped the ball because she didn’t want to do it anymore.  And that was that for that production as well as my theatrical career.  So was it Scott Henry’s fault?  In a very obtuse way, yes.  Was it my mom and dad’s fault?  Not exactly.  Dad was never an artsy type and has no inclinations in that way, Mom was trying to make me be something that I wasn’t and didn’t know what to do with me that wasn’t what she wanted.  Was it the fault of the Pretty Princess?  By no means.  However, as I would later learn, people are nothing but apathetic when it comes to their dreams or doing the work for their wants and needs, and life is nothing but one regret after regret after regret for some.  And, in an all too familiar show of weakness that I would see later in life, even when someone rose up to the challenge to try to fill in the vacancy left by the person who dropped the ball, their efforts were met with negative reactions from others, or a flat out refusal to do anything.  Did someone attempt to fill in her place?  I don’t remember.  I bet if you asked anyone who was there, they wouldn’t remember either.  Complete apathy and senility is only a matter of time.

I put it on ice for years, as there was no way I was going to do this in high school.  At least, not in front of any of the bitches I went to high school with to have them ridicule me for trying to be something on the stage.  My high school years were so painful I really can’t say enough about them (see previous blogs about it) that hasn’t been repeated.  There were times during the 9^th grade that I was forced in which to do so during the speech class, when a seasoned speech / drama teacher gave us the Joan of Arc speech that we had to recite before others.  This was from the famous play, Joan of Arc, as written by George Bernard Shaw, the most notable line being the first, “Where would you have been now if I had heeded that sort of truth?”  I can’t recall any more of it without looking it up.  I’m sure if you asked anyone else they may not either.  Then again, since I was so socially awkward at the time, whenever I tried to speak in a social setting, some bitch would say it was none of my business.  The next year that speech teacher was replaced by an idiot who didn’t know his ass from a hole in the earth, and we never did such things except your standards “What I did with my summer vacation” and the like.  There was no way I was going to stand up on the stage and do or say something publicly (with the exception of my senior speech).  So, once those years came to an end as well as learning some other harsh lessons late in my early twenties, I learned to keep my mouth fairly shut, closed the book and walked away.

Reentry into theater came with a literal bang.  From the late 90s to the mid/late 2010s I was part of the coolest clique in the entire world, The Tremont Triple OGs, and an underground theater was opened in 1999.  It took a few years for the steam to build up and for others to hear of the place, as well as for administration and business management to get underway.  I was roped in when they were doing a production in 2008 of Big Love, and needed a lot of bride and groom extras to do a mass Moonie type wedding in the field near the building.  While we all got hideous sunburns and were doused in fake blood that stained our bodies bright pink, that was when we had officially hit our stride in our prime.  It was such a fun place full of wonderful, artsy, creative people who were all dedicated to working for the arts in some way (constructing sets, sewing costumes, cooking / baking, acting, etc.).  It was more of a love for art and bringing art to the community that it was all about, we all had stars in our eyes then.  Over time, things began to change as they always do.  While we were all happy to be together and doing creative things together, which we all did, egos and jealousy came into the fold like it always does.  While not the only thing that happened, a new class came in with a certain attitude who had big egos and seemed to bring the jealousy in.  They acted like they owned the place, thought they were so important, and began to change the general attitude as well as piss people off left, right and sideways.  I had wanted out for a while but was dragging my feet on it.  One of the new class lashed out at me over a Facebook post about the #metoo nonsense, and with that, I left.  True, the two things are/were separate issues, I blocked this gal and will never see her again, but I used that as the springboard I needed to get me out of there.  Sadly, things turned absolutely toxic after I left for some reason.  The rest of the committed people fell down like dominoes, the fighting got to be more vocal and tensions mounted higher and higher until the company manager resigned along with her husband, who was the president of the organization.  A stranger or two held on until they drifted a few weeks into the new year.  None of the new class who caused the attitude changes are still with that company anymore, which I knew would happen because they were ultimately just users. 

After a few years of silence and a much needed rest during the pandemic, I decided to get back into theater arts.  I befriended many people in other cliques (those who made movies and had YouTube channels), as well as joined boards and committees at local community theaters.  More established ones tended to have better management and production of products rather than the punk rock / DIY ones that I had been part of.  I do not forget these roots, however.  I did an arts scholarship for one summer camp at one of them one summer.  I volunteer and promote the shows of the smaller ones at community fairs and events, depending on who I am active with at the time.  On boards and committees of the bigger, more established theaters and arts organizations, I am on Zoom meetings most nights.  I was part of one company’s women’s board, of which I am the youngest by at least 30-40 years.  On this one I participate in raffles on the dates of the shows, as well as organize tea parties and salad luncheons.  Place a poodle on my lap and I am ready for my official old lady life.

My foray into stage management happened quite by accident.  A small theater company out in the sticks put out an ad looking for a stage manager for an upcoming production of Romeo & Juliet, no experience necessary.  After an interview with the theater founder and the director, I came onboard and met the assistant director / stage manager who would be mentoring me.  She took one look at me and said “I have to work with this bitch?!”, but afterwards we became very tight friends and have since continued down this path together.  We have managed and organized many shows together and are quite happy doing so.  I have much enjoyed being a stage manager, it’s very stressful but I like doing it by coordinating how everyone and everything should move on the stage and where things go.  Another blog or two can be dedicated to the antics and silliness of what goes on behind the scenes, but that’s another blog like I said.

Part of me, however, always wanted to be on the stage.  I tried out a few times for it in the past, but never got a part.  The theaters I was with were very small ones that didn’t have a vast ensemble of extras behind them filling in the gaps and only had small casts who were all about talking to hear themselves speak.  So it was grasping at straws.  I also thought after a while I was being taken advantage of for my hard work and dedication at the first company in Tremont and this wasn’t going to go anywhere after a certain point.  How does one do this?  By being in the ensembles of the theaters who can and will take anyone who want to be in them.  And that I have done.  It’s ok to do so as well, because, as one has to remind themselves, you are not too old to dream a new dream or set and new goal.  The best is not behind us, it’s just changing.  How will this play out?  It's yet to be told. We'll see what happens.