As the first year production came to a close, I realized just what Pearson’s theatre department is capable of—and I thought that experience to have been unmatchable. Well, I was wholly surprised once again, and now, a week after the final show of the tremendous undertaking and achievement that was The Laramie Project, I’m left lamenting its end, and that of yet another incredible experience.I wouldn’t have wanted to do anything but assistant direct—it was such an incredible educative experience, and I was able to begin expressing myself as a serious director for the first time (discounting the plays, starring my brother and cousins, that I’d write, costume, direct, and produce at my grandparents’ house on holidays when I was six). I hope one day to work in part as a director in film and theatre.
My collaboration with Libby was inspiring to say the least—I found that we were in near-constant synchronization in terms of creative opinion, and the freedom she gave me to direct specific people and scenes made this experience one nearly devoid of creative or curricular confinement.
In working with Danie for a second time—she and I shared a scene in the first year production—my respect for her is cemented in my admiration for her enthusiasm and genuine willingness to help. As directors, and, generally, creative people, though, we’re vastly different in terms of approach, opinion, and execution. This is not to say that she and I were ever at odds, or even involved in a vocal disagreement. Instead, I saw our collaboration wane and eventually fizzle by the final show. In the beginning, she and I shared most of the responsibility in terms of the division of specialized rehearsal time. But I saw myself taking on more and more of the rehearsal time as an assistant director—and this is not a complaint! I honestly just hope that Danie doesn’t feel as if I took control from her. I know that she struggled with the time demands of the show—because they were hefty. Many people suffered from lack of sleep and stress due to the piling workload of other classes; but, I found that I didn’t really care. The integrity of the production was simply too important to me, and I was honestly having too great an experience to succumb to exhaustion. But perhaps this also blinded me to my potential exclusion of Danie from some directorial responsibilities and opportunities. In retrospect, I just wish that we’d communicated more. Whether or not this resulted in a more balanced schedule of directorial responsibilities is unimportant in my mind. I just wish that I wasn’t left wondering whether or not she felt like I tore the reigns right out her hands, or whether she relinquished them.But whatever the distribution of responsibility, the individual scene rehearsals with actors greatly paid off. I watched as the meticulous work I’d do with actors outside of full-company rehearsals slowly made its way into what would become our final product. Mannerisms, physicalities, honing of vocal characteristics, small adjustments to blocking, etc. Some things discussed in our one or two-on-one rehearsals never made it into the final product, but others, some actors have assured me, really developed some pieces of the greater mosaic. The satisfaction in seeing Trish and Kenta finally do their interrogation scene to the best of their abilities, or watching Katie and Makyla become mother Marge and daughter Reggie is incomparable. That—the way that I saw my careful and sometimes laborious efforts coupled with those of the cast slowly shape the greater product—is what made the countless hours spent absolutely worth it.
Had I the chance to do it again—and I wish that I had, just for the rush of culmination that the final show represented—I would probably do very little differently. Not because everything went perfectly, because it didn’t. I wish that the actors had known their lines earlier—I think that the time it took for the entire cast to be totally comfortable with the text was detrimental to the progress of show’s developmental stages. I don’t think that the cast reached its potential until the final show. In some ways, maybe that’s a good thing—the ultimate gratification and validation. But had we more time to rehearse, and for the actors to do the individual work that made the final show magical, I feel that as a company we could have surpassed the high bar that we set at the final show. Considering the breadth of the play, though—in terms of the relatively esoteric cultural pocket represented by its characters, the intensely naturalistic demands of the text, the length of the show, and the technical components of the production (i.e. audio/visual)—our bar was nonetheless set at a mountainous height.The end of a show is, I think, one of the most bittersweet of experiences. By its end, we all—especially our magnificent Emily—were at the end of some proverbial fuse. But when your life becomes a show—thinking, breathing, and either living or dying with it—its end takes a little, temporary piece of you with it. That’s the melancholy of the theatre. It produces some of the truest, most visceral art; but, unlike a painting, it can’t be preserved and curated. In one instant, its tenderly cultivated from rough beginnings to a living breathing masterpiece, and in another, it’s over and done. Toil and beauty, briefly, at once.
