Good Bye, Maris, Part Two: Tech

As we struggled to get  the show up with only 5 committed people, and during spring break, I found myself yelling at blown breakers and dead dimmers with joy and celebration.

This is the kind of frustration I like.

The dimmer's don't work. OK. Somebody popped the breakers. OK. The lamps are popping to the tune of two a day, forcing us to schlep up the ladder every day to replace them. OK. Costumes are behind. OK. I still don't have the tree I was promised. OK.

We set the lights, anyway, and as I run through the rough cues, the kids sit mesmerized.

I watch the faces, and read the familiar expressions: love. Pure, unadulterated love.

"This is beautiful, kmart," Judas whispers to me.

"This just makes me want to work harder to get the set finished," Satan (who is also the set designer) states loudly.

We pause, all frozen in our separate tableaus, breathing in the air of our church, marveling at how we can work so hard and be so frustrated yet feel completely exhilarated and at peace.

We realize we've been at this for hours, over several days, and someone discovers they're hungry. Yet, nobody really wants to leave. Once they decide to go get food, the stage manager realizes she brought her wallet into the house to refocus a light and has no idea where it is. And so begins the Traditional Search And Rescue all theatre kids are familiar with. Nobody ever leaves on time, there is always a wallet, a phone, a jacket with car keys left behind.

There is also, something stupid that goes ridiculously wrong. Suppose there are filing cabinets on stage as the set, cabinets for which there are no keys. And suppose the assistant director put his cell phone in one of the drawers so it was safe from construction. And suppose the designer said loudly "Do Not Shut the Cabinet Drawers." And suppose the construction crew chief shut the drawer.

The following scene that unfolds is familiar to every theatre teacher, director and stage manager: The Engineering Moment. Theatre kids are not engineers by trade, but they can troubleshoot better than most engineers. First, determine that no key anywhere in the building will open the cabinet. Then, sledge hammer the lock to see if it can be loosened. Once that fails, the only answer is to get the drill and go in from behind. And you get to hear lines like "Satan, pass me the drill."

    Worth it?
    Always.