back in the theater

So... I have a play opening tonight. Weird. I guess you can take the girl out of New York...etc etc. It's been an interesting process-- completely different than I had expected, and different than any other theatrical writing experience I had been used to in New York. Even just not writing with Steven was weird. 


But I gotta tell ya... as soon as I got back in that theater, ooh, just the smell of 'em. The way I relax into my most-"me" self in a dark and almost empty space-- at the back.  The way just a few minimal Specials can make that stupid short play (that you hated by daylight) finally theater instead of just an exercise. The way it makes things feel real. The Byre is a great space. 

I remember what it was like the first time a great actor ever read my stuff in the exact way I envisioned it. And I remember the first time an actor ever read my stuff in a completely different and better way that I envisioned it. The best part of this, for me, has been to watch my new, awesome St Andrews friends have those moments right there. Being in the trenches together is one of my most treasured feelings. And anyone who's ever been in the trenches with me knows I don't forget it. 


This process brought out the producer in me a lot. The control freak. The lack of trust that anything would meet my standards, including my own writing. I'll probably never get away from that producer in me. I can dream as many dreams as I like on the remote-est and misty-est beaches of the North. But something will always pull me back to that call, "mobilize!" Put up the damn show. And it was nice to not actually have to hire each person, fire each person (as the case may be) make every decision, haul sets.... you get the idea. 


I don't know that Israel has managed to convince me that a play is harder to put up than a musical. I don't know that short plays will ever be my forte. I didn't even know until yesterday if I wanted anyone to see it. (Turns out, I do. Here is the info.) But I do know that I miss the crazy racket-- the late night nachos after not eating all day, the not being able to sleep (ok, that one was actually a bummer.) But that feeling is easy to miss.  At least a little bit. 


We saw Les Murray, world-famous Australian poet read here in St Andrews last night as well. We drank some wine with him afterwards. I'm not super familiar with Les Murray's work, but I couldn't help but feel that this one was appropriate. I think everyone who works in theatre can understand why. 

Performance

I starred that night, I shone:

I was footwork and firework in one,

a rocket that wriggled up and shot

darkness with a parasol of brilliants

and a peewee descant on a flung bit;

I was busters of glitter-bombs expanding

to mantle and aurora from a crown,

I was fouéttes, falls of blazing paint,

para-flares spot-welding cloudy heaven,

loose gold off fierce toeholds of white,

a finale red-tongued as a haka leap:

that too was a butt of all right!

As usual after any triumph, I was

of course, inconsolable.

from 

Subhuman Redneck Poems, 1996