Confessions of a Theatrical Hack

I took one acting class in college. As a broad and religious rule, I do not go to theatre. I do not like to watch it. I like to do it. Watching it eventually makes me irritated in the same general way it made me irritated back in grade school to sit in class and watch other kids out at recess.

I generally do not 'do' theatre. There have only been three occasions on which I have not worked specifically for Kevin. The first time was back in sixth grade so, maybe, it does not really count. The second time was for Nick at the (now defunct) Dundee Dinner Theatre. The third time was for Susan and 'A Piece of My Heart'. There have only been two occasions on which I have not worked specifically at the Blue Barn. Back when I was doing a lot at the Blue Barn, I received small number of offers to do things at other theatres in town. I declined all of them. The reason, for the larger part, has to do with sentimentality.

I did not learn how to do theatre in any sort of... well... structured way. Whereas other people may have experiences of classes, or grids, or systems, or what have you, I don't. I love the idea of hanging lights (I only know them as lights) from beams and rafters, I love the idea of a house that can maybe only seat one hundred (including the folding chairs). After a week on the job as the stage manager for 'Night of the Iguana', Carol came up to me and, point blank, asked me if I knew what my job was. Kevin had given me some good pointers to get me through but I was feeling rather honest when I told her, "I have no idea." She sat me down and told me a few things and anything else I picked up was rather ad hoc.

After having been involved with the Blue Barn for a little over a year, I think that my experiences culminated in a practical way in putting on 'Nocturne' as part of the 'Round Midnight Series. Thom was in town at the time from New York and brought the one-man-show script with him. Out of pocket, we secured the rights for the show for that weekend. Thom built the two amazing pieces we needed built for the set. The rest consisted of a bench and a chair. We did the lighting and sound together. He acted and I directed. I ran the house and the stage (old hat from earlier, busier days). I ran the lights and the sound. Susan and Hughston were very patient with us.

So that's kind of where I get it. I don't like the idea of working in spaces where there are proper places from which things should hang. Monday night, I went on a short and quiet tirade about how much I would love to do a play in a bathroom. No, I mean, like, in a bathroom. I do buy and read scripts for fun but only from the nauseatingly lofty and entrepreneurial angle of whether or not I would want to do the show. The general questions that decide that are:
"Can I do this show with twenty or less lights?"
"I don't think I can handle more than four actors. Are there more than four parts?"
"Do we really need a set?"
"What if I told everyone that we had no budget?"
"Costumes?!"
"Can we fit the whole cast and crew inside one automobile?"
"Does anyone have an automobile?"
It is a very small collection of scripts...

I'm not sure if this comes across as positive as I mean it. Well, what I took away from the Blue Barn when I left Omaha five years ago was all of the idealistic stuff about theatre and that, in the core of all of those ideas, and dreams, and realizations was, simply, that we can make magic.

We can make magic. We make magic.

That's my ideal of the art, still unsullied by the harsher realities of the business. It is part of what keeps me ignorant, it's part of what keeps me away from productions, and it is what keeps me smiling all the way through every rehearsal and every meeting we have:

We are making magic.