This production of Children of Eden marks show number 41 for me -- including both performing and stage crew-ing. In all of those shows, there's been one common thread.
After all the excitement and emotions of green room, there is one moment that keeps me coming back to theater. The 30 seconds or so where I am in my place for the beginning of act one, waiting for the cue from the light board or orchestra to begin, is simultaneously the most thrilling and terrifying moment of my life.
It's dark.
15 years of acting and 10 years of stage managing has, thankfully, blessed me with night vision that frightens my mother. I can navigate any stage you put me on, in pitch-black, pick up five of those godforsaken brown stools we've used every show for the past three years at once and get offstage in five seconds. No sweat.
The darkness before a show begins, though, holds weight that scares the productivity out of me.
Any kind of performance, but particularly full musicals, exist in my mind as nearly living beings. There's so much potential for human experience from the first chord and, as I've witnessed numerous times, a line that the cast may find to be a throw-away could truly touch an audience member.
In the moment before that all begins, though? When the audience is hushed by the house lights dimming, the tech director is holding on cue one and the rail guys are just about to open the curtain? There's such a tangible possibility for complete failure. That's likely an entirely irrational fear on my part -- especially in the past few years, I've worked with casts and crews that could be considered near-professional and we've gotten through some massive technical problems with hardly a pause. Regardless, my mind races. I somehow compact everything I'll be doing during the performance into those few seconds, forget every lyric or scene change I have, remember every lyric or scene change I have, run over the opening number and hug whoever is near me. It's a horrifying process and should probably be grounds to get my brain checked out... but I love it.
The thrill of looking all that fear in the face, knowing that I DO know all of my lines and movements, and knowing that the audience will be at least moderately captivated for the next two hours, is the most incredible feeling. I've had the lovely honor this time around of sharing that moment with a cast member who I've been very close with for several years. We don't actively talk about everything going on in our minds, but we hold on to each other's hands with all of our might and enter the stage together.
I can't think of a better way to begin a performance.
