Theater Drama
Tomorrow night, against my will, I am being forced to act. By that I mean I am being forced to stand on a stage in the Union Square area of Manhattan, wear a costume, and speak lines in an effort to make the people staring at me from out in the darkness laugh.
There are people on Death Row more relaxed than I.
So how did this come about? Why am I, an unseemly, oafish man who really shouldn't put himself on display like that, going to be traipsing about a small theater come Wednesday night? Well, obviously it's not by choice. What happened was this: I wrote a short play and a theater, specifically the TSI Playhouse in Manhattan, wanted to put it on. It's a funny enough play, I guess, and I'm reasonably proud of it, though not overly so. It's not what you'd call the deepest of material; we're not dealing with drug addiction or spousal abuse or even people who have really bad migraines. It's a fluffy romantic comedy-type piece, something that Meg Ryan might star in if she were apt to do short plays at unheard-of theaters for a dramatist that is frequently mistaken for a homeless person.
So. I directed the play myself (because I like to have complete control over my theatrical endeavors, for some reason) and I cast my good friend Amy, who's quite talented, and my friend Matt in the two and only roles. Things were fine with the world. Then, because the fates really enjoy giving me the cosmic finger, Matt was offered the lead in a national commercial for Best Buy that, of course, is shooting the two nights of our show. Because the good folks at Best Buy were offering Matt an obscene amount of money to stand in front of a camera and say, "Nice computer, no?", I couldn't in good conscience force him to honor our commitment. Especially since, were the roles reversed, I'd have been gone so fast the door would have caught fire.
This, however, left me with two options:
1) Cancel the show and lose my good standing with the theater. This would be bad because they, for whatever reason, seem to like my particular flavor of dramatic shenanigans. Blatantly turning my back on a venue that actively wants to support my work would be, to the say the least, a thickheaded move. Which is not to say that I didn’t consider it. I did. But, in the end, the only choice, really, was…
2) Tackle the now-vacant role myself. Now, yes, I did originally perform this role when it was first produced but… meh… that doesn’t mean I want to do it again. I don’t like acting. I’m not comfortable on the stage, preferring to be in the back, quietly drinking. But, as it’s such short notice, and I know the lines anyway, and because I just can’t catch a break, ever… it’s all comes down to me.
So that’s where I stand, at the moment. About 36 hours away from Opening Night and about 37 hours away from drowning my post-show embarrassment in a container of Scotch large enough to bathe an infant.
Curtain! Lights! Discomfort!
There are people on Death Row more relaxed than I.
So how did this come about? Why am I, an unseemly, oafish man who really shouldn't put himself on display like that, going to be traipsing about a small theater come Wednesday night? Well, obviously it's not by choice. What happened was this: I wrote a short play and a theater, specifically the TSI Playhouse in Manhattan, wanted to put it on. It's a funny enough play, I guess, and I'm reasonably proud of it, though not overly so. It's not what you'd call the deepest of material; we're not dealing with drug addiction or spousal abuse or even people who have really bad migraines. It's a fluffy romantic comedy-type piece, something that Meg Ryan might star in if she were apt to do short plays at unheard-of theaters for a dramatist that is frequently mistaken for a homeless person.
So. I directed the play myself (because I like to have complete control over my theatrical endeavors, for some reason) and I cast my good friend Amy, who's quite talented, and my friend Matt in the two and only roles. Things were fine with the world. Then, because the fates really enjoy giving me the cosmic finger, Matt was offered the lead in a national commercial for Best Buy that, of course, is shooting the two nights of our show. Because the good folks at Best Buy were offering Matt an obscene amount of money to stand in front of a camera and say, "Nice computer, no?", I couldn't in good conscience force him to honor our commitment. Especially since, were the roles reversed, I'd have been gone so fast the door would have caught fire.
This, however, left me with two options:
1) Cancel the show and lose my good standing with the theater. This would be bad because they, for whatever reason, seem to like my particular flavor of dramatic shenanigans. Blatantly turning my back on a venue that actively wants to support my work would be, to the say the least, a thickheaded move. Which is not to say that I didn’t consider it. I did. But, in the end, the only choice, really, was…
2) Tackle the now-vacant role myself. Now, yes, I did originally perform this role when it was first produced but… meh… that doesn’t mean I want to do it again. I don’t like acting. I’m not comfortable on the stage, preferring to be in the back, quietly drinking. But, as it’s such short notice, and I know the lines anyway, and because I just can’t catch a break, ever… it’s all comes down to me.
So that’s where I stand, at the moment. About 36 hours away from Opening Night and about 37 hours away from drowning my post-show embarrassment in a container of Scotch large enough to bathe an infant.
Curtain! Lights! Discomfort!
posted by Clinton at 2:46 PM
5 Comments:
Break a leg, man!
On the upside, there won't be any time for you to get bored of doing the show. Strictly flying by the seat of your pants.
Thanks dude.
Boredom, no, isn't really a worry. The fact that we've yet to get through an entire run-thru without either myself or my actress forgetting a line... that's a worry.
I always wanted to date a star...
Congratulations, pre-imminently, on your success! Can't wait to hear how great it was, and how you become the unlikely hero of the off-, off-, off- Broadway theater scene, Michael Stipe-style. And then save the orphans from the tiger pit, all the while educating them on the dangers of not drinking, with only the powers of a sharp mind, Katz-like reflexes, and the shiny medallion given to you by the high priest of the Sons of Ra after you stubled on an archaic centuries-old rite, signifying the coming of the One True Sun. And finally, off to the "Mucho Gusto" to front NYC's hottest vibra-punk hegemony, before collapsing in a pile of backward-smoked cigarettes and seasonably festive vomit. Ah, Wednesdays!
Yeah, that was pretty much the plan. Especially the bit about vibra-punk hegemony.
Sadly, t'was not to be.
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