My Theatre

At this exact moment I am sitting in the library wondering "Where has time gone?" It seems like just yesterday that I was telling Dad I would post a blog after I got done with Spring Break--that was two months ago. Ironically the past two months have been both wonderfully difficult and mildly heartbreaking, which is how things always seem to go for me.

The reason I have not written until just now is that I am a perfectionist. Crazy, right?

For my directing II class I decided to go the route less taken and do a classical play. Professor Marotta thought that I was absolutely insane for picking "The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus", but I was determined to show him that I was the best person for the job. I spent all of March cutting the play down to being only thirty minutes long and containing only three characters, and I managed to cast three fantastic actresses to play the parts--and yes, I changed the three characters to being girls. Professor Marotta was still dubious of my doing such a "talky" play, but I knew it was going to work.

All through April I spent nearly every night either in rehearsal, production meetings, or finding the pieces of costume and set that I needed. Days began to blur together, but slowly a beautiful piece began to emerge from the stinted lines and rounds of laughter. By the time Professor Marotta saw one of my rehearsals--an admittedly rough day--it looked like my play was going to be absolutely wonderful. He was excited to see what I managed to pull out, and I was excited because I knew we were doing something wonderful.

When the night of the performance came everything went beautifully (especially considering that I spent only $20 on the production). The audience seemed to follow the story, and I couldn't have been more proud of my actresses.

Then came the talk-back with the directing class.

Professor Marotta spent a few minutes telling me how many things I did wrong--only one or two things being "theatrical" enough for his taste--before moving on to discuss the other pieces. I was... heartbroken. While we struck the lights and the set I was moments away from tears, and all because I thought that I had failed.

After we were done clearing things away I talked to Dad. It's amazing, but there is nothing like a good talk with your dad to make the world a better place. He reminded me that I had accomplished what I had wanted to do: I did a good play in almost the exact style I had set out tell the story with. Literally, the scenes I had seen going on in my head when I was cutting the script had been brought to life, and he reminded me how difficult that was to accomplish. The best thing he said to me, though? He reminded me that Heavenly Father was pleased with what I had done. In the night of theatre in which my company performed my piece was the only one that did not drive the spirit out.

Because of the opinion of one class I had almost let myself toss the experience off as a failure when I had succeeded in most every way. I've learned that standing up for what you believe in and doing good, honest theatre is not going to get you very many standing ovations. What it does get you, instead, is a stronger testimony and a warmth of soul that nothing else can give. Theatre can touch the heart, inspire the mind, and uplift the soul--when it does that it is my theatre.

The past two months have been hard for me--that much work is draining, especially when taking other classes along with it--but it was worth it. I know who I am and what I want to do, and I'm not afraid to do it anymore.

Look out world; I know scummy theatre isn't the only answer.

It May Be the Death of a Salesman

Well, I managed to cut Death of a Salesman down to six minutes and thirty seconds. Peter Sham was impressed when he overheard the mention of that, and I bet he is wondering what all I left in. My group was really excited when they got the script, but I forgot something... We have a group of six instead of the five I originally thought.

Luckily, Professor Sham was perfectly willing to let me be director since I had done the cutting of the script myself. So the parts were given out to the other members of the group. Everything seemed to be fine right up until this morning's practice. I was ready to smack Scott. I really was.

You see, in Salesman there is one character the play can't function without: Willy. Scott's playing the Willy that is known as "sane Willy" (even though he is the one driven crazy by the other and commits suicide... yes, it's irony on my part). The problem? He is not memorized and has not yet displayed a willingness to act. No matter what we did, no matter what was asked of him, he did the same things over and over again. If he is not ready by Saturday night I get the fun job of telling him he is no longer in the production.

But wait! That would leave us without a Willy, right? Wrong. The group decided I should memorize Willy just in case. So much for no stress this weekend. I may just rip my hair out.