Area Premiere: A Mini Serial. Post 4: Takin 'er Home

Where all is well that ends well, except in that Dan is UPSTAGED!!!

This, the final post of the Mini-Serial.

Bittersweet, indeed, as the final weekend of performances came about. Bitter, of course, since a period of intense involvement with a very small group of individuals over a two-month period was coming to a close. Sweet, (equally) of course, because a period of time in which I was - ah - not 100% there for my family was also coming to a close.

Anyone who has put this kind of time into a play understands how tightly-knit a cast and crew can become when all is said and done. Amazing - how well you feel you know these individuals by the end of it all. Without a doubt I felt more comfortable with this lot than I generally do around the people I work with. Some of that has to do with the fact that we're thrown into a position where we're working towards a collective goal that we all believe in passionately (as opposed to working towards a goal which is a joke on the human race). But almost certainly, a lot of it has to do with the simple fact that I am in a group of people with who are simply more my type of people.

So, by Tuesday of the week before the final performance, we were about 10 tickets from selling out for both final shows. The pre-pay option was removed from our website, and the message on our box-office voicemail was changed to announce a sellout. We wanted to keep aside 10 tickets for walk-ups, as well as give ourselves some wiggle room were we to run into a last minute event (such as - hey - Dan's parents decided they could come up!). And, indeed, though my parents had originally said they would "..."not be able to make it because Mystic Lake is sold out" (true story, exact quote), an 11th hour epiphany brought them up Minneapolis way.

Just about every possible seat that could be squeezed out was gone by Friday night, and we were to be facing the "rush line" (the group of walk-ups who wait around to see if reservations don't show up). Which makes it all the more remarkable that Aaron walked right in and got a seat. Still not quite sure what happened there, but I'm so glad he came. "Ha ha funny comments" he may leave after this post notwithstanding, he can now attest to the fact that this whole theatre thing is not a ruse.

Friday night went well - without a hitch and energy level was high. I actually had more people I knew at the show that night (a couple of co-workers, a group of Sharon's old friends as well as both her sisters, and a few of other people who left before I changed and came out from backstage). Magical night. Invigorating, performance. Especially, in front of people I know.

Then, the final night. And it was one to remember. Again, sold out house. And, for those keeping score, that meant we ended our nine-play run on a five sellout streak. Outside of the "Guthries" of this scene, that's pretty uncommon in Twin Cities. There's just so many goddamned theatres. Being part of the company made it all the more special. All these talented theatre folks from throughout the area (well, most from Uptown), many of whom we'd like to see on our stage in the future, are having one of their most positive acting experiences ever, right on our stage. It definitely all bodes well for the future of the company.

Anyway - things were going gangbusters. By this time, I've got my lines so much on autopilot that I can really explore every little nook and cranny of doing just what I want to with my character. Then - as we're just getting into this scene in which my character is supposed to be woo-ing the female lead, I hear a titter from the crowd. As an actor, my focus is bomb-proof. I can blow through this, continue my lines and not let the faintest shadow of any uncertainty cross my face. But inside, I'm starting to wonder "huh? What's going on?" The titter becomes laughter, and suddenly I'm thinking, "OK, my fly is down. I have a booger on my face. My acting is so laughable, they just want me to leave." Yet, the focus and performance continues. Yes, it's a comedy, but - understand - this is not a comedic scene.

That's when I hear the meow. OK...some background. About three weeks into rehearsal, a particularly friendly cat wandered up to a group of us hanging around outside the building, smoking. Long story short: he was adopted by Duane (the guy who owns the facility and is also a company member), and now he lives right there in the building. It was an ongoing "cat-and-mouse game" (so to speak), to make sure he was never able to slip through any of the main three stage doors and get backstage (as, desperately, he wanted to). We wanted to make sure he couldn't make mischief in the prop area and - more importantly - we needed him out before the house opened. At that point, he needed to be locked away in an office for the duration of the show.

Well...on this final night, the box office folks let him wander about in the lobby during the final half of the show. That's when a woman, feeling ill, got up and rushed out of the theatre. And - of course - the cat rushed in.

So here I am, telling the female lead that I have a plan as to how we can be together that night. "I will take Theo out to the boulevard, get him drunk, and return alone..." And at that moment, a gray tail flicked in front of my face. As I was later to find out, this cat was sitting up on the stage stove setpiece, eating a sausage out of a pan.

Different schools of theatre could debate this next moment to the end of time.

The method folks will credit my focus, lauding my ability to not direct my focus for one second away from the scene. For, I never saw the cat, but for the tail. And I also never saw exactly who it was that slipped in, not one foot away from me, and scooped the cat away (though I heard the good natured applause). I thought it was Duane. It was the director, Chris.

All the improvisation folks will chastise and ridicule me for not seizing upon the most Carol Burnett Show-like moment I may ever have the fortune to have bestowed upon me. Imagine how this delightful tale might have turned into the most impeccably delivered comedic moment of my life, had I simply stopped talking mid-sentence, paused, flashed Lindsay (the actress opposite me) a calm set of raise eyebrows, reached over and given the cat a pet, then continued the scene.

Was it a triumph of focus? Or a failure to think on one's feet? Alas, it will go down in my annals (two "n"s, here folks, calm down) of my "might-have-been"s along with that 10+ lb muskie that bit through my fishing line when I was 14 years old.

Classic ending to a classic run of the show, however. After it was done, it was slam bam thank you ma'am, and the set was down and strike party on. I'd pretty much done enough partying to last me for about a six year run of Tony & Tina's Wedding, so I acted with my hoped-for level of discretion and left at a modest 12:30 am. All's well that ends well. I got some acting out of my system, and I'm hopefully ready to pursue some other facets of my life with increased vigor.

Peace out.

"The latest fashion is right about..."

"Here."

Area Premiere: A Mini Serial. Post 3: WTC Sells Out

Following up on the good review, we were mentioned by one of the "big three" theatre critics in town, and made the City Pages' coveted "A-List" (actually for the 2nd time in as many shows).

Not sure if that played into attendance numbers over this past weekend, if word-of-mouth is spreading, or what, but our attendance is suddenly of control. Our Thursday night "Camden Night" was filled to the gills, with attendance further stretching our opening night record, this time pulling in a whopping 52 patrons. Additional chairs had to be brought in. Older, somewhat less comfortable ones. It was a boisterous night, made up (we imagine) of the blue-collar second-generation Camdenites; the ones who don't normally make live theatre part of their lifestyle, but know a good deal in their backyards when they see it. Laughter was frequent and loud, if sometimes somewhat oddly-placed, with the place generally sporting a faint odor of cigarettes and booze. There was a particular fellow in the back, with a deep resonant voice, who followed a number of lines delivered by actors onstage with a hearty affirmation of "hear, hear!" Good times, and quite rewarding.

The following day I sent emails to people I knew to be considering coming that night or the following, letting them know 1) if you haven't reserved your ticket, get on the stick 2) get there early if you want a good seat 3) consider going next weekend, when there's less people on the list - for the moment. And that night, had to squeeze even more chairs in and attendance was up to a whopping 56. Not too many more seats to squeeze people in.

Or so we thought.

The show tonight was unbelievable. Fifteen minutes prior to curtain we were told people were waiting in the lobby to see if there would be any no-shows. The box office people scrambled (ending up actually using the chair behind the ticket counter) and fit as many people as could possibly be squeezed into the space. Grand total of 66. And it was a fun-loving, seemingly theatre-literate crowd that went with every moment right along with us.

As far as the show itself, the repeated performances (seven under our belts thus far, with one weekend remaining) have continued to solidify. Second nature, now, are lines, "bits," and even appropriate places to anticipate holding for laughter (though "Camden Night" did throw us for a bit of a collective loop). It's immensely satisfying to have enough performances to continue to develop a character, and also to note & correct minor pieces of a performance that might not be to my satisfaction on a given night.

Two shows left, then some much needed down-time (until I fly to Austin on business the first week of March). It's going to be pretty crazy, not thinking, breathing, and dreaming The Underpants over the next five days.

Area Premiere: A Mini Serial. Post 2: Opening Weekend

In Which "Delightfully Over-The-Top" and "Not-So-Delighfully Over-The-Top" are Used To Describe Dan in the Same Evening

Bam-bam-bam-bam. Four shows in four days, following the dress rehearsal. Attendance has been up, and we even had a man who is probably the pre-eminent "theatre blogger" in the Twin Cities show up for night one and praise us somewhat lavishly in a review that just came out yesterday. If want to take time to read the entire article, he actually describes the play and just about everything that went into it, while heaping compliments on just about everything and everyone involved. If you don't want to take time to read through, I'll just note that my performance was described as being "...delightfully over-the-top." Thank goodness for that particular choice of adverb. But anyway - everything in the first night's show could not have gone much better. Huge crowd (49 patrons - we had to add chairs from our standard arrangment, which is somewhat smaller with the new, expanded stage and some somewhat reduced sightlines), lots of laughs, and I was very humbled by a lot of very kind things people said at the opening night reception, following the show.

That is - I must assume I felt that way at the reception, because I do not remember the hours after 10 pm very clearly.

I'm going to make a long and messy story very short and simply say - WHY O WHY do I not have the ability to just kind of party?

And I'm going to follow it up by saying that my hangover I had the next day was beyond agonizing. To the point that, after I had suffered through a day of a severe chills (yes, friends, chills), and probably my seventh fit of vomiting (no exaggeration) at 4:30 pm (2nd night show approaching fast with a 6:30 call-time), I actually had begun to wonder if I was maybe actually suffering, instead, from a bout of food poisoning. (I happened to posit that possible theory in the presence of my fellow actors that evening - while strategically placing plastic bags backstage - and it since become the stuff of legends, with the term "food poisoning" always being accompanied by requisite "finger quotes").

Funny also (only in retrospect) as I was curled up in front of a space heater, shaking, at 5:45 or so when Sharon came in and asked how late I'd wait till I'd decide whether to call someone.

"Call someone?" (I shot upright) "What are you talking about?!?"

"About whether you can do the show."

"And what do you suppose they'd do if I said I couldn't do the show."

"Cancel it?"

She's so cute.

Aaaanyway, the food poisoning had worked its way out of my body in time for the Sunday matinee. Crowds (from Friday through the Monday pay-what-you-can-night) have gotten steadily smaller (par for the course; they'll pick up again for the final two weekends), while I have felt my performance get more comfortable and "on."

For now, I'm looking forward to a solid final couple of weeks of the show and a little more recreational discretion in my remaining decades of This Life.

Area Premiere: A Mini Serial. Post 1: Dress Rehearsal

In which Dan prepares himself and his daughter for the dress rehearsal and valiantly fights off an infirmity.

Tonight is Dress Rehearsal. For the layperson, that's the final rehearsal - often with close friends, family, & production crew in attendance so the performers can get a sense of timing with laughs & other audience reaction - before opening night.

Sharon & Lucy will be there. It's a pretty innuendo-laden, suggestive show, but all that stuff is going to fly right over Lucy's head. She's going to love the constant mugging, the flying in & out of doors, and the general sense of zaniness, as well as joining in with the rest of the audience when they have a good belly laugh. And she'll get a huge kick out of seeing her dad. I've been talking her through the production process; she's gotten to meet the other actors and see behind the stage doors (to backstage!), and all sort of other this-is-how-it's-done stuff and this will be a great opportunity to see how all the pieces of a production come together; how a group of committed individuals can work together to produce something that adds something to the fabric of her community. Whether or not she sees in quite those terms at age four, something will stick in that little head, somewhere. And it also is pretty cool to be a dad who can grant special privleges (Lucy wearing her own costume in the "costume parade," seeing portions of rehearsals, etc.) as a result of me being a fancy-schmancy company member.

I woke up yesterday sick. Nearly full-blown cold. Poor, poor timing. In the past 36 hours, however, an unGodly amount of forced down time, Vitamin-C, Zicam, water, (and even the mysterious, homeopathic aconite) has managed to force the thing more or less out of my body and I think I'm ready to go.

The last few nights of tech week (the final week, when all the "technical" pieces are in place), I've been either attempting to meditate, running through my scenes in my head, or reading The Geography of Nowhere (see GoodReads sidebar). Tonight I'm going to sit back and listen to the audience (hopefully) enjoy the show in the way I'm expecting them to.

The board is set. The pieces are in motion.

A Tale of Two Parties, Minneapolis MN, 02/02/08

Mitt Romney in an unnamed office complex in Edina.

Barack Obama at the Target Center.

(photos by Jennifer Simonson and Alissa Haupt, Star Tribune)