Today was our first day on a three-day stint of Central New York high schools. We weren’t performing for the high schoolers, of course. Our sponsor, BOCES (a state-run educational service provides and sponsor of lots of different cultural groups), finds a suitable space in an area school and busses kiddies from the surrounding area in for our show. The BOCES folks are always lovely, and occasionally they surprise us with a free lunch at the school cafeteria. Today was no exception. After munching on an extraordinary salad and soup bar (along with some fresh-made cookies; everybody stashed a few in their bags for later) and chatting with the local high school teachers, we headed back to our gorgeous, newly-renovated theater at the Fillmore High School, ready to tell our six stories to the eager children of Allegany County. The first audience was extraordinary: they caught every single joke, the teachers were engaged with the show (longtime readers know my beef with staff who zone out during the show) and the house was full to capacity with smiling faces at the end. Sure, we knew our second audience would be smaller, but we didn’t care: Allegany County clearly is an area that knows how to attend a show, and these kids were giving us everything we needed.
As I donned the green monster suit (photos soon!) and David began his pre-show, I looked over to see a cast full of energy and fun. We were ready to rock out once again. The fact that there was no audience response at all to the pre-show seemed of little consequence (usually, David gets some applause) as we started wheeling the flats in and singing the opening number. On my entrance, I snuck a peek out at the audience. OK, perhaps about half the size of our previous group, but we knew that. Everyone onstage was alive as we finished the opening number and hit our final pose on the musical button. And then we waited.
Four claps went up from the back of the auditorium, which happened to be the sound booth. The rest of the audience stared at us like we were crazy. Oops. We scurried offstage, suppressing laughter and eyeing each other with one of those “well, here we go!” looks. This was going to be a toughie and we were all in it together. David hit the next sound cue, and we started wondering what was ahead. Could it get any more challenging?
Perhaps.
In “Pirates Don’t Change Diapers,” I play one of two pirate sidekicks to Nic’s Captain Braidbeard. Kristen is the other, and we’ve got a bit of a one-act play going on in the background. Each of us have a “pirate prop” of sorts: Kirsten’s is a hook hand, and mine is a plastic sword. My sword had been giving us problems since rehearsal, when the hilt started to come detached from the blade. The fabulous Theatreworks prop department took a look and made some nice fixes, but, once the prop breaks, there’s only so much that can be done. And, of course, today was the day that it decided to go awry. Upon my entrance, I thrust my sword at the audience and give it a triumphant wave above my head, proclaiming my “pirate-ness,” or something like that. Anyway, upon arriving onstage, I looked down at my hand to discover that, indeed, the blade was missing. No problem, I thought. Probably somewhere offstage. But the gasps from the audience proved me wrong. Next thing I saw, the blade was flying up in the air and towards the audience. We watched in horror as the blunt end headed straight for a teacher in the front row. Thankfully, it all landed about three feet away from her, but, by that time, the audience was lost. It was all we could do to contain our laughter and get them back for the rest of the story.
But it didn’t end there.
Five minutes into “Babymouse: The Musical,” our final story, a little tike hoped up in the front row and scurried out into the well between the stage and audience. The little guy was on a mission: he wanted that sword blade. And, though two teachers noticed their quick-footed charge, their reflexes were not fast enough. The kid got the sword blade, started waving it around in the well, and (as far as I could tell) making high-pitched pirate sounds to accompany his swashbuckling. A teacher finally subdued the would-be pirate, stole the sword blade and hid it under her chair. But still, it was all we could do to keep our composure.
I guess the one good thing out of this show is that, by the end, we’d taught our audience when to applaud, that it is OK to laugh during a play and that part of the joy of live theater is that you never quite know what will happen. Which is certainly worth something.
Call tomorrow: 10:15am, Super 8 in Altoona, PA. We’ve got a sit-down in a real theater! What will this bring?
Kid Quote of the Day: During “Babymouse: The Musical,” when I (as the teacher/director) asked my auditioning students if they are ready, about a half-dozen kids groaned “Yes!” in the back row.
Adult Quote of the Day: In the lunchroom at Fillmore High, a teenaged girl chased down Courtney. “Oh my God!” she said. “You have, like, the most beautiful voice ever!”
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