Friday morning, I make sure to pack a small lunch, check that my iPad, power cell, and costume parts are in my backpack, fill my water bottle, and head back to the high school. I catch sight of Mr. C and laugh at his shirt: A picture of the Scar mask from the Lion King stage production with the quote, “I’m surrounded by idiots.” That shirt got worn at least once in every rehearsal process I took part in. Like last night, a fair number of other people are already there, including several who weren’t able to attend the meeting. One is a welcome sight: Little Brother, who graduated with my sister. (I frequently joked that all of her friends were my adopted little siblings, hence his nickname.) I haven’t seen him in years, and we spend a happy few minutes getting caught up. Soon enough, Mr. C is calling for our attention, and the work begins.
We gather first around the piano that’s been set up in front of the stage to go over music. Everyone has their phones or a tablet handy, scripts and scores downloaded and ready. Since we have such a limited amount of prep time, we’re not going to worry too much about harmonies, but we’re encouraged to sing ‘em if we can find ‘em. (Thankfully, a fair amount of the songs are simply unison or octaves.) Allie runs us through the songs for the first section of the show. Some, like the opening number “Aquarius”, sound almost perfect right away. Others, like “Hashish”, need a bit more work. I’m glad that I listened to the cast recording as much as I did, but am not sorry I stopped doing so, because we’re making significant changes to some songs. Soon enough, we’re ready to start blocking. “Home spots,” Mr. C says, and we’re off.
The rest of the morning passes in the haze of hard work. It turns out we do remember how this works, and quite well. There are slip-ups, yes, but also moments when things click perfectly. Laughter and applause punctuate one-liners, ad libs, and well-sung solos. Mr. C does change things as we work, but that’s completely normal. Several lines are changed to include references to previous shows we’ve performed in, with the ideas coming from both Mr. C and cast members. Cuts are made to songs to make them easier for us to master. Someone suggests writing the lyrics for one of the trickier songs on the backs of the protest signs that are used for the scene, a suggestion that gets unanimous approval. Even with a couple extra repeats of things, we still manage to have enough time before lunch to run through everything we’ve done so far.
I spend lunch outside, enjoying the fresh air, catching up with old acquaintances and getting to know new people. Mr. C has been directing the musicals for this district for 32 years, and there are representatives from every show participating in this production. I love hearing stories from the other shows, and telling a few of my own. I’m happily surprised to catch sight of Mrs. Evans, a parent who worked on the shows during my time at the school, because I thought this was supposed to be an all-alumni production. She explains that she got a call to come in and help with painting the set. We promise to catch up later before she disappears inside.
The afternoon passes the same as the morning. Mr. C has changed his shirt: Now we get to enjoy the quote “Children are Maggots” from the show Matilda. We do our best to work around Mrs. Evans and the other crew members as they paint. We spend a fair amount of time on the title number, because that has actual choreography to go with it. Thankfully, the alum in charge of that is also in the cast, and positions herself towards the front of the stage so we can all see her. To my surprise and delight, I’m assigned on of the “one- or two-line roles” Mr. C mentioned the previous night.
There’s only one sour note: As part of the “Be-In” number, all male members of the cast are supposed to throw prop draft notices into a (fake) burning barrel. I don’t get one, and when I mention this to one of the crew, another actor says, “That’s okay, they’re for men only.” He backs down when I remind him that I am a guy, but doesn’t apologize.
Just before dinner, we reach the end of act one. In the original production, this was the point where the entire cast stripped down to their birthday suits. Mr. C reiterates that we will not be doing that, but he does tell us to have some part of our costume that we can start to remove or take off entirely before freezing. “There will be something happening here, before your final note.” One of the other staff members makes some comment about “the full Monty”, and I’m immediately suspicious about what this “something” will be. (The Full Monty is a movie about men who start a striptease act to raise money.)
For dinner, we have an “Italian feast” buffet courtesy of the Mom Squad. Once I have food, I wander out to the lobby and join a group of alumni that includes Little Brother and several other familiar faces. After we finish eating, we migrate outside. I get pulled into a game of cornhole; when that finishes I stretch out on one of the picnic blankets provided by the squad and continue chatting with others people. Then it’s time to head back inside for the first part of act two. Yet again, Mr. C has changed his shirt: This black tee bears the line “I’m not dead yet” from Monty Python’s SPAMalot. We get through the first four numbers and accompanying dialogue before calling it quits for the night.
On the drive back to my parents’, I can’t help mulling over some of the things happening on stage. Specifically, I think about the fact that Mr. C has already cut a fair amount of material (songs like “Colored Spade” and any f-bomb that appeared in the script), and has even taken out a Nazi salute that got added as a joke, because the actors were so uncomfortable about doing it. Yet there are two instances of female characters being played by men. Yes, the theatre has a long, proud tradition of cross-dressing. But these roles are being played strictly for laughs, making men in a dress the butt of the “joke”. The one doesn’t bother me too much, because the character in question is part of a drug-fueled hallucination. The other role, though… A character named Margaret comes up from the audience and asks the Tribe (the cast) about their hair, providing the cue for the title song. After the song, it’s revealed that Margaret is wearing boxers (implying a penis) and that her husband, who has been following her this whole time, “doesn’t know yet”. Further, this part is played by a man using (a very impressive) falsetto. And “Margaret” is meant to be Margaret Mead, an actual historical figure whose work influenced the sexual revolution. The whole thing just doesn’t sit right with me. I debate whether to say something to Mr. C or not, ultimately leaving the decision for tomorrow.
I barely talk to Mom and Dad when I get back to the house, because I need to save my voice. I shower, make sure I have what I need for tomorrow, and crawl into bed. It takes me a long time to fall asleep, because my brain insists on going over every single thing I learned today, reviewing it for tomorrow. When I do eventually drift off, I dream of this and past productions.
Saturday morning, after warm-ups, we dive right into the “trip” sequence, where Claude, the main character, takes a few hits of marijuana laced with something else and hallucinates some truly amazing/hilarious things. Of course, said hallucinations are acted out by members of the Tribe. Mr. C (clad in a shirt that reminds us “Today is not a dress rehearsal”) starts the day by reminding who’s who for this sequence; we went over this last night, as these people have to exit during the previous number. About half the cast are actors in this insanity, while the rest of us get to sit around the edge of the set and pretend to be hallucinating with Claude. To make things easier, Mr. C breaks things into smaller chunks, rehearsing each on its own before stringing them together. Thanks to the nature of this sequence, ad libs and suggestions are even more outrageous than yesterday’s contributions, and all are left in at Mr. C’s direction. We’re on the next-to-last segment when Mr. C hollers a character name, and I realize I’m part of this, too! Somehow, in the massive list Mr. C called out earlier, I missed my name. I quickly scramble from my home spot for blocking, and we keep moving.
The “trip” takes a little longer to block than anticipated. When we finally finish, Mr. C calls for a quick break. “If it’s alright with you, I’d rather just finish the blocking and push lunch back.” No one objects, so we do just that. Just before sending us to eat, Mr. C says that we’ll do one dress/tech rehearsal this afternoon, then hopefully have a bit of a break before the curtain goes up.
After eating, I gather up my things and head for the chorus room, which serves as the men’s dressing room. It feels odd to be in here, because when I was a student in these productions I changed in the dance room with the women. I know this is where I belong, but I’m still a little worried about someone possibly saying something. I’m worrying for nothing; the guys who went to school with me either don’t comment on my presence or just talk to me like normal, even as we change into our costumes. Soon enough, we all head back to the stage.
Considering how little time we’ve had to work on this, the run through goes relatively smoothly. There is a rough patch when the pit has difficulty with the tempo change in one song, and we have to re-do another number because the cast collectively can’t remember the blocking. One dialogue sequence drags interminably, and Mr. C has to step in and assure our prompters (one on each side of the stage) that they don’t have to wait to feed someone a line. When we reach the end of the first act, Mr. C yells, “Freeze!” and reminds us about this little pause before our final note. We take a short break to stand in for intermission, then get through the second act with only a couple of minor hiccups. After running through the curtain calls, Mr. C tells us to have a seat. He gives a couple of reminders, tells us to meet in the band room for vocal warm ups at seven, and dismisses us for a break. I take the opportunity to say hi to a few pit members I haven’t seen before now (they didn’t have to report until noon today), eat the protein bar I packed, use the bathroom, and try to stay relaxed.
A little before seven, people start drifting into the band room. We take a cast photo with everyone in costume before turning our attention to the piano as Allie warms us up. We review “Hashish” and “Three-Five-Zero-Zero” one more time, as people still have issues with the lyrics, then sing through “Aquarius” for a confidence booster. Warm ups done, we head for the dance room for Traditions.
The Traditions are a staple of all high school productions. Some have changed over the years, but several have remained constant, and those are the three that we do tonight. First up: Singing and dancing to Don McLean’s “American Pie”. Then we circle up and sing the Marosa, a version of the Lord’s prayer arranged in four-part harmony. I’m not religious, but I love the sound of our voices as they blend in this song. (I’m slowly figuring out the bass part; as a student, I sang alto, but that’s a bit out of my current range.) As I look around, I see tears in more than a few eyes. Mr. C then gives his usual announcements, and chooses one of the younger alumni to lead the final Tradition: the Kangaroo. For this one, we all crouch down then, on the leader’s signal, jump up and shout a pre-arranged word. Tonight, we holler, “Groovy!” Mr. C calls, “Places!” and it’s go time.
The cast that aren’t going into the audience gather in the band room. Some sit quietly, others chat softly about anything and nothing. Soon enough, we enter the wings and wait for our cue. When the orchestra starts “noodling”, we walk on stage. Even past the bright lights, I can tell it’s a packed house; if not sold out, then close. The Tribe wanders around the stage, greeting one another and slowly moving to our home spots as Mr. C gives the pre-show announcements. Several cast members, myself included, share smiles when he gets choked up about how good it’s been to work with us again. The audience applauds as he finishes, he makes his way to his place with the orchestra upstage, and we hear the opening strains of “Aquarius”.
Rehearsals have been fun, but there’s something about performing for a live audience that pushes all of us to the next level. The jokes are funnier, the songs sound better, our movements are crisper. Several touches have been added that weren’t part of the rehearsals, like the glitter used by one cast member, and it only makes things that much better. We also don’t have any dead spots like we did at this afternoon’s run through; the cast are taking advantage of being allowed to check lines on their phones, and the prompters are on top of things, too. Soon enough, we reach the end of the first act. Mr. C’s voice rings out over the sound system, “FREEZE!” The cast does so; per our directions, I’ve got my shirt halfway off. I also happen to be facing center stage. Mr. C makes his way forward from the conductor’s stand, using a handheld mic to talk to the audience. He gives a succinct history of this moment in the show, and explains that he has never asked his actors to do things he wouldn’t do. With that, he passes the mic to a cast member and takes off his shirt, to howls and applause from the audience. I’m not the only cast member who breaks their freeze at that point; we’re laughing just as hard as the audience. Mr. C cues the orchestra’s final chord and then drops his pants just before the blackout, to thunderous applause.
Backstage at intermission is a madhouse. We’re all still laughing over Mr. C’s “surprise” while taking turns in the bathrooms, getting water, and placing props and costumes for act two. I actually do take my shirt off for a bit, because I’m ROASTING. If anyone notices my scars, they don’t mention it, and I actually manage to cool down a bit before we hear “Places!”
The second act goes just as smoothly as the first. Several lines that were added to the “trip” sequence get the loudest laughs of the night. As I collapse to the stage towards the end of the sequence, I feel a sharp pain in my right thigh. Belatedly, I realize I never took my lip balm out of my pocket, and I just landed on it rather hard. Thankfully, I don’t have to lie there for very long, and it stops hurting as soon as I get up. We reach the final song, and I’m flying on adrenalin and emotions. We repeat the chorus of “Let the Sunshine In” a total of eight times, with cast members dispersing through the audience after the second. The orchestra drops out on the fourth time, just as we rehearsed, and the sound of our voices and the clapping of both us and the audience is simply beautiful. When the final blackout occurs, the audience goes crazy.
After the curtain call, Mr. C invites the audience to listen as we sing the Marosa again, and invites any alumni in the audience on stage to join us. The resulting mass of people spills over on to the floor, and if I thought it sounded beautiful in the dance room before the show it sounds amazing now. We get another round of applause, and then we start moving off to find family members and friends. Not only do I find Mom, Dad, and Aunt S, but I see several other people I know. Eventually, I head for the dressing room to gather my things, saying good-byes as I go. Back at the house, I get something to eat while talking with the parents and S about the show, getting their feedback and sharing stories. Eventually, I collapse into bed, and fall unconscious shortly thereafter.
When I wake up, the only physical signs of the previous days’ work is a very tired voice and a bruise on my thigh from the lip balm. After going for a run and starting to pack for my return to Alaska, I steal Dad’s phone and download the photos he took last night, as well as pulling photos off my own phone. I post things in the Facebook group for musical alumni; as I check back throughout the day, more and more people are doing the same. Each post brings a smile. Part of me wishes we could have done more than one performance, and part of me is glad it was a one-night-only event. Mr. C mentioned last night that he’s thinking of doing this again in two years, and I can’t wait. In the meantime, I’ve got packing to do, and other projects to focus on. Plus, I’ve made a bunch of new friends. Not bad for a weekend’s work!
everydaytrans 