First Readthrough of A Christmas Carol--random musings

~I like things to be fair, though they hardly ever are.
It may be that I'm not as funny as I thought. Or maybe I just like things to go smoothly. Maybe I'm more polite than I thought. See, I think it's remarkably rude for people to talk over someone else when they are reading through their lines in the first read through of a script.

~Mr. Scrooge is a Republican.

~I think it's hilarious that I play two wives and one husband is my own husband and one husband is young enough to be a very young son of mine. Cougars in Dickens? Yes!

~Mrs. Cratchit would have a lower voice than Mrs. Fezziwig. Mrs. Cratchit aka Mother has worked hard her whole life, has lived in a place that probably has dubious flues on the chimneys, making smoke in the room from October to June. Talk about a smoker's cough! Mrs. Fezziwig is silly and loving. Her voice will be higher, and more cultured.

~If you know you can't make it to rehearsals and performances, you shouldn't audition.

~I need to learn how to sew well.

~It's clark, not clerk.

~Sometimes seating charts are necessary for adults. To keep the distruptive ones separate.

~It is invaluable to have a good friend in the same room with you.

Keep playing!

A Spiritual Feeling, Not a Lack of Confidence

I was so hopeful that I would get cast for the newest OBT show. The assistant director really liked me, said we had a connection. I started to really see myself being in that show.
Today, I stopped having that feeling. I wondered if I was just losing confidence. But no, it just didn't feel right. I didn't audition in front of the director, and I just *knew* he wouldn't cast someone he hadn't seen for himself.
I can say I'm sorry about this, but there are many reasons why this is perfectly okay, too. I was worried about traveling to SLC in bad weather, missing my family during the holidays, unsure that I can handle a big lead right now.
And our plans to move ahead with making Edward Bloor's novel Story Time into a musical are moving forward steadily.
I feel very strongly that God is in control of my theater career. I know that sounds strange, but it's true.
I also want to get myself into better shape, before the winter really is here.
I'm not making excuses. I feel peace and no sorrow. This is what it's like to be spiritually connected. It is wonderful.
Keep Playing!

Waiting to hear

I felt so peaceful when I went to audition yesterday. It was fun. It felt good.

I had let it all go. God is in control and all that good stuff. Then I found out I may not hear until Friday if I got the part. 

I wrote on Facebook: You do all you can and pray about it and leave it up to God. Then, you have to wait and find out how it will all play (pun!) out. And then you go, I may not find out tomorrow but on Friday? And then you go, forget what I said. I really want this! I really really want this! I'm not all Zen about it. I want it.

Keep playing! And for me, agonizing...

Up and Down and Memorizing Sucks

I had hoped with the blog that I could keep everything separate. This blog would be about this (like about a certain play or something), while that blog was about simply this one thing.

Today that's not really working out. See, I had a really cool thing happen--a really amazing thing really. But I need to start earlier. As I travel around reviewing plays, I've gotten to know people. Some have become friends. (And some not, but I won't go there today.) One friend, Jeff, works for a theater company in Salt Lake City--the Off Broadway Theater (OBT). Jeff and I have hit it off and remained in contact. He blessed me by attending "Hairspray" and telling me he liked it.

Without going into details (that are altogether fascinating and what I consider a miracle but I'm too tired to type out right now) Jeff got me an audition for the OBT for their Christmas show. I know it sounds weird, but they're doing a show with a Sesame Street--Mr. Rogers--Suessical theme. I went to the assistant director's house today and auditioned because the call backs for the show are tomorrow. I will be busy with opening night for "Impossible Mystery."

Long story short--the audition was super fun! Wendy liked me, said I have "good diction" (preening--really?) I asked, "So you don't think I sound like a Poindexter?" She said no. Yeah! She said she felt a real connection with me. She said, "If you don't get cast in this show, keep auditioning, and when I do my own shows (she also directs) I'll let you know. I want you in my show."

Okay, wow.

I drove home intermittently crying--feeling blessed.

Then I went to dress rehearsal for "Impossible Mystery." I forgot half my lines, and I don't have too many. Everything felt all flustered, disorganized. I was dazzled by the show and forgot all the timing, the storyline (as this is how I remember things: this comes first, then this, then this). I was completely screwed up.

I came home and wanted to cry, but this time from humiliation. Wendy, the assistant director, asked me if I was good at memorizing. I was honest. I told her I was okay.

I need to do something, learn something, so I can memorize better. This feels like a phobia or something. I want to do this--live theater--so I have to figure out a way to do it well.

Keep Playing! (and for me tonight--I will keep praying.)

Hairspray reminiscences--3--I got it!

I can't remember specifically how long it was between when I went to the call back audition and when I got a call from Josh, the other assistant director. I do know it was longer than I had expected and I figured I didn't get the part. I was already talking myself into being a cool good sport ensemble member. I didn't like it, but I was going to be okay. Team player, that's me!

My phone rang--it was afternoon, after school, an unfamiliar number came up on my phone. Josh said something about being the assistant director, Hairspray, we'd like to offer you the part of Prudy Pingleton. I think he also said something about the director being there on a conference call or something? It's a bit fuzzy. I remember the jist of the info, but as soon as I knew what the call was about, I wanted to get off the phone immediately. First, I wanted to scream to my family about this. And I was so freaked, I literally needed to jump around. It's like I'd been shot with rocket fuel and I needed to take off--pronto!

I hope I said something  was gracious like, yes, I'd love to. But I just as easily could have said, "Hell yes. You kiddin' me?" I really don't remember. I did accept the part, I do know that. If Josh gave me any other info, I don't recall any of it. The rocket fuel was zipping through my body and my brain had completely turned off except for my ability to speak my native English language. At least I hope I did. I'll need to ask Josh sometime.

I do remember once I hung up the phone, I jumped up and down about ten times, screaming, "I got the part of Prudy! I got the part of Prudy!" I can still feel the exhilaration that infused me. It was like I was me one minute, and then next second I was me AND Prudy. It was that quick that I began to share myself with this unknown person.

I sent texts to everyone I could think of, got on Facebook and blasted the news. I was over the moon, out of my head, so totally excited I didn't know what to do.

We were all required to go to a mandatory meeting soon. For all cast members. And I was a lead. I held that information, that truth, so close inside me. It felt like such a precious gift, priceless, coveted, seemingly impossible. I was pretty much speechless, breathless, and totally amazed.

That's when my Hairspray journey really began.

Keep playing!

Little Women callbacks

I received an email that: Yes! I've been asked to come back and read and sing and dance. Since I had dressed conservatively (aka Little Women-ish) for the first audition, I thought, now what does one wear for a dance audition? Though I considered something frumpy, I just settled on shorts, a t-shirt and my favorite high tops. I knew it was probably more 'marketable' if I wore my dance shoes, but since I still wasn't over the horror at wearing those torture shoes all through Hairspray's doing the Pony, the Twist, and the Monkey, my feet cried out for mercy and I listened to them.

So I get to the callback, and knew one person--my friend Dana who'd played Motormouth Maybelle in Hairspray. We embraced. You have to do this in callbacks. If not, you look like a lone loser who doesn't know anyone else. There are politics everywhere--a Who's Who in the theater world.

Before Dana arrived, I hung back, watching the interaction. Some of the people I'd seen at the original audition were there, though one particular young woman I'd spoken to wasn't, and I was surprised. She had looked so Louisa May Alcott to me, with curly hair in a neat bun, a sweet cameo face, and the willingness to reluctantly say, yes, she'd recently played the lead in some musical whose title I forget now. She seemed perfect! This shows what I know about casting a musical about a bunch of stuffy girls in a rather stuffy story. (Does it seem like I wasn't enthused about this play?)

Some of the huge callback cast looked so professional, with their once again 'chic' leg warmers (a ridiculous fashion accessory the first time they became popular--hey--let's make what is usually the prettiest part of a woman's leg look like an elephant's!) and dance shoes. Apparently the feet of these women hadn't cried to them for high tops the way my feet had.

As is the custom here in Utah, and I imagine elsewhere as well, there were far more women than men. This could have been because there are more women than men required in the cast, but generally speaking, finding good, talented men who can act, sing, and dance and are willing to admit it is tough around here. Utah is a little conservative. No--it's very conservative. This rears its ugly head in the idea that if you're in drama you're gay, and gay is BAD. (And that's all I'll say on THAT subject in this blog entry. Exhale, folks.)

The people in the callback room, the same dance studio as before (which is down a somewhat winding, precarious staircase and across a carpeted foyer) were all milling around--the females twittering nervously, doing the obligatory embracing, and talking much louder than seemed necessary. "Look at me! I'm popular, willing to project, and am so remarkably confident!" they seemed to be communicating to the production staff who were looking on and maybe even noting this behavior. Who knows?

As I said, I hung back for the most part. People watching is fun, and I felt the delighted, almost loving smile on my lips, observing the continuing undercurrent of viciousness amongst the contestants. For this was most definitely a contest.

The choreographer swept in, a smile on his face and with more graceful, confident, and reassuring movement than I've seen in a long time. I instantly adored him. I could only imagine he'd be awesome to go see a play with, or maybe have over for dinner. He was just that kind of guy. Pretty cute in a tall, dancer sort of way too. And I don't mean this in a hubba hubba kind of way. He was young, I am not. He is married. So am I. He just seemed to scream: I am not scary. I am a likeable guy. So, I liked him.

He separated us into several groups and showed us a series of ballroom type steps. We all got a chance to prance across the dance floor as one big, mushy, cramped up, apologetic group. "Sorry--I didn't mean to hit you." "Oof, we're all so smashed together." And no, I wasn't the only one saying this.

Since the guys' group was smaller, he had them dance first and they did okay. Some glided, some galumphed. We who watched clapped. We women felt no threat here. They weren't vying for our parts, after all.

Then it came time for chick group #1. I wasn't in it, so sat back and let them do their thing. One girl stood in ballet's third position (I think), her feet in a little slanted 'T", and standing so straight I thought she might crack. So the first gal group danced, again, some gliding, some galumphing. The variety of this herd was something--far more young women, but several who were older than I, some in top physical shape, some, um, not.

My turn came and our group dipped and swirled. The choreographer had told us before we started that since we had to switch from turning right to left, this might goof us up. I blurted, "So THAT'S the reason why!" He laughed and said, "You're a spunky one." So I was spunky and wondered if this would make up for the fact that my career as a ballroom dancer is non-existent.

For some reason, I was in the back of the pack one way, which, when we turned around made me the leader. I felt sorry for the ladies following me. Oh, I did all right. But since I didn't do perfect, as I approached the end of that lap, I just spun (sort of) a couple of ballet moves that weren't part of that little dance snippet and twirled around when no-one else did. What. The. Heck.

That bit of the callback done, some of the near 50 people were asked to leave. We were assured numerous times that this didn't mean they weren't being considered, that they had done a great job and didn't need any more proof that they were awesome. I wondered if anyone believed that. I did not.

The rest of us were told what parts we were being considered for. Mine was some Scottish innkeeper who didn't have any solo singing to speak of. First indication I didn't want to do the show. Second was that I wanted to play Marmy though I hadn't expressed that on my audition sheet. I took the side to study, whipped up a Scottish accent (which for me is hard unless I can hear it first and then copy it) and found a couple of keen, talented young men to practice with who were doing the same scene as I was.

The more I practiced, the more I knew this wasn't for me. I hadn't been that familiar with the script, but now that I saw it, I knew that while the show was probably really neat, it wasn't funny. I wanted funny. I also, pridefully, thought that the show 'needed' me, but as I heard other women studying and reading the same lines I was, I realized, hey, these women are great. This show will go on without the likes of me.

So I took my slapdash Scottish accent, my happy high-tops-wearing feet, and left.

Little Women Audition

I was having a hard time letting go of the magical time I had in Hairspray, so I thought I'd just go to another audition and be able to do it all over again. (This in and of itself was really stupid, I was soon to find out.)

I went to audition for "Little Women" at Orem's Scera Theater. Orem is about a 30-minute drive away on a ridiculously bizarre slash of freeway that seems to be perpetually torn up with construction. Hence, mistake #2 in this plan.

The Scera is a beautiful facility--a cozy indoor stage, two fine movie screens, an art gallery. It's posh. All around the first floor are couches and yummy chairs--it looks like the fancy lobby of a fancy hotel. For the "Little Women" audition, sitting on each of these couches and chairs were teenage girls--tall ones, short ones, fat ones, skinny. Most of them had impossibly long, shiny hair, slightly curled under at the ends. It was like I'd entered into an audition for a Pantene commercial.

Many of these possible Megs, Beths, and Amys seemed to know one another. With much squealing and hugging, these ladies sat close together on the comfy couches, arms entwined and eyes like daggers. Oh yes, these girls were all the best of mates, but once I heard them speak, it was clear what was really going on.

"Oh, what was YOUR last part? I had the lead in blah blah blah." "Oh, you were only in the ensemble? Well," (small knowing shake of the head) "I bet you did a great job."

 And on and on. It was like watching a nest of vipers wearing shiny wigs fight over the last piece of roadkill.

I went into the audition, which is always a little daunting. I handed the accompianist my sheet music ("I Don't Know How to Love Him" from Jesus Christ Superstar), and stood in the middle of what looked like the dance studio portion of the Scera. Mirrors to my back, director, music director, assistant director at the table in front of me. The deciders faced me as I sang.I wanted to sing "I Get a Kick Out of You" from "Anything Goes". Or anything by George Gershwin. I do better with the torch singer ballads. But, I sang and apparently did okay, because I got a call back.

I did, of course, mention I was the daughter of Bozo the Clown. Maybe that's why they called me back. I mean, what says Little Women more than a clown's daughter, right?

More about the call back on my next blog.

So, for now--keep playing!