When I was a member of the London Community Players, the local amateur theatre troupe, I enjoyed most aspects of mounting a play. Everything but the run. After all of the energy spent interpreting script, painting scenery, assembling props, I was ready to close a show after opening night. Like a drive with mom and dad, I was all “are we there yet, are we there yet, are we there yet?” And then, when we arrived at our destination, “OK, I’m good. Let’s go home.” This was especially the case when I had a behind-the-scenes role like stage manager or dresser. Sure, I was more motivated as an actor. But only marginally.
The reason? Possibly boredom. Definitely boredom when I was not on stage. Exhaustion, too. Usually rehearsals and the run last about two months. During the last two or three weeks, evenings are entirely devoted to the show. That, and the post mortems held in the bar afterward.
But the real resistance was fear. There were people in those theatre seats. People who forked over their money for entertainment. People with opinions and people who wrote reviews and moms and friends and troupe members who were not awarded a part.
Our seats, therefore, were on the line.
Once, I followed through on the impulse to call it curtains. I had just finished a show, and two weeks later when the auditions for Dial M for Murder were called, The Performer and I attended the try-outs. I had a blast at the audition. I usually do. Actually, auditions are my favourite part of the whole mounting-a-play ordeal.
We were chosen as leads – he in the role of murderous hubby and I the wife, the target of said murderous intent. How happy were we, right? But a week after the euphoria evaporated, it sunk in. What the hell was I thinking? Back-to-back shows? No way. No way, no how.
I begged forgiveness of the director, and bailed on the show. Fortunately, the runner-up actress was more than delighted to accept the part. Regrets? I had a few. But then again… too few…sorry, that’s lame. But let’s just say that the new wifey had her eye on more than her lines.
The purpose of this lengthy intro? The prompt, you wonder?
It’s show time, folks. Next Wednesday, at 1:00 PM, I have a job interview.
I do great at job interviews. Only once have I not been awarded a job after an interview, and that was for a job I didn’t really want.
Do I want this job? Do I need this job? Am I up for the daily routine and no-afternoon-naps-allowed of a new job?
I have no idea.
Wish me luck? Or should I say, tell me to break a leg.
Categories: In Other News