Would you like to know the very tedious task I am performing right now?
I'm putting together THE BOOK. The stage manager's book is, as you know, the show bible. It has every bit of dialogue and music, every light, sound, or fly cue, warnings and standbys, places calls, lists, ground plans and blocking notes...
I've never made a perfect book. Not even close. My books are very chicken-scratchy.
But the book I'm putting together right now has been driving me crazy. First of all, the music is handwritten. It's a 1988 edition. But still, even then, there. were. fucking. printers. This calligraphy makes me a little dizzy.
And what I have, what I'm fixing, is two separate books. One of music, and one of all the dialogue, with indications of when the songs happen. There's a lot of flipping back and forth - and it has to stop.
So the ol' Hewlett-Packard and I are spending a Saturday night recopying half the pages, folded and overlapped, into one continuous script/score. I'm so annoyed, I think I'll take it out on the GTA by having him make some copies of my version. Because the lighting designer needs one, and uh, maybe someone else.
If this isn't living the dream, I don't know what is.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Crew Jobs FTW!
"There's extra work that needs to be done. Who wants to do it?"
In most situations, the person asking that question can expect dead silence, or maybe an uncomfortable cough. So I got the best surprise in a long time tonight, when I told the cast of "Pied Piper" that there were crew positions that needed to be filled -- and nearly everyone's hand went up! I only had eight jobs, not twenty-eight!
Two girls are the props crew. They'll make sure that personal props go to the right people, and that everything gets back to the props table at the end of each tech/dress rehearsal and performance. Two boys and two girls are the costume crews - check in pieces, spray a little Febreeze. The run isn't long enough for laundry. I've got someone to help the Light Board Operator with dimmer check. (Note to self: make sure dimmer check happens, or I'll never hear the end of it from Hailey.)
And the kid who takes martial arts and imitates the fencing moves from "Princess Bride"? Weapons master! He diligently informed me after rehearsal that there were worn areas on a three-foot wooden broadsword that's probably older than him. Which is exactly what I asked him to do.
I didn't assign these jobs to the cast because we couldn't get grownups to crew the show. We have the grownups we need. I want the kids to get the bigger experience of what goes into making theatre. If you do something extra besides act or sing - help build the set, paint some props, hit the thrift stores for costume pieces - you have a deeper connection to the show. You give just a little more of yourself to make the show that much better, and it makes a difference.
There are practical results, of course - production skills can get an actor a job in theatre rather than waiting tables. But most of these kids are way too young to be motivated by that. Extra skills make it easier to create your own opportunities, your own art, when positions in existing organizations are scarce. Again, far in the future. This was all about this moment, this show right now, and a chance to do more.
It didn't make me cry in rehearsal, but now... yeah... I'm a little teary. I've encountered too many performers who couldn't be bothered to hang up their own costumes, let alone go through thirty with a checklist. These kids get it. We're all working together to make something wonderful.
In most situations, the person asking that question can expect dead silence, or maybe an uncomfortable cough. So I got the best surprise in a long time tonight, when I told the cast of "Pied Piper" that there were crew positions that needed to be filled -- and nearly everyone's hand went up! I only had eight jobs, not twenty-eight!
Two girls are the props crew. They'll make sure that personal props go to the right people, and that everything gets back to the props table at the end of each tech/dress rehearsal and performance. Two boys and two girls are the costume crews - check in pieces, spray a little Febreeze. The run isn't long enough for laundry. I've got someone to help the Light Board Operator with dimmer check. (Note to self: make sure dimmer check happens, or I'll never hear the end of it from Hailey.)
And the kid who takes martial arts and imitates the fencing moves from "Princess Bride"? Weapons master! He diligently informed me after rehearsal that there were worn areas on a three-foot wooden broadsword that's probably older than him. Which is exactly what I asked him to do.
I didn't assign these jobs to the cast because we couldn't get grownups to crew the show. We have the grownups we need. I want the kids to get the bigger experience of what goes into making theatre. If you do something extra besides act or sing - help build the set, paint some props, hit the thrift stores for costume pieces - you have a deeper connection to the show. You give just a little more of yourself to make the show that much better, and it makes a difference.
There are practical results, of course - production skills can get an actor a job in theatre rather than waiting tables. But most of these kids are way too young to be motivated by that. Extra skills make it easier to create your own opportunities, your own art, when positions in existing organizations are scarce. Again, far in the future. This was all about this moment, this show right now, and a chance to do more.
It didn't make me cry in rehearsal, but now... yeah... I'm a little teary. I've encountered too many performers who couldn't be bothered to hang up their own costumes, let alone go through thirty with a checklist. These kids get it. We're all working together to make something wonderful.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
I Heart Children's Theatre!
There. I said it. For all my can-we-please-just-do-this-right cynicism, I'm finding it an absolute blast to guide kids as they discover the world of the stage.
I'm in the middle of rehearsals for The Pied Piper of Hamelin, a mainstage production for an all-ages audience. The cast's age range is 4-18, plus a couple of adults. The littlest ones don't quite know how to focus, but they're having fun. The teenagers, luckily, have already discovered they love acting, and are willing to work hard without any teenage attitude.
One of them has hair I spent way too much time trying to achieve in 1987, and her parents let her dye it black. Teenage-me is jealous!
I'm not a teacher, but I have lots of opportunities to teach. When they ask how something works, I tell them about it. When I can, I involve them in little projects to give them more ownership and connection to the show (see also "I'm learning to delegate"). I'm trying to promote good rehearsal/backstage behavior, and that can take creativity. A certain six-year-old will now have a spike mark of his very own, because he's so good at staying on it.
We've just started playing a game called "Quiet Backstage Said The Stage Manager." If the room goes dead silent when I use my stage manager voice, they get a point. Five points will get a treat for everyone, and continued points through the run will get them another treat on closing day. Sure, it's a bribe. It's a group exercise, too: in order for it to work, everyone has to commit. It's also Pavlovian training (okay, Pavlov Lite), and they'll stay on the good side of stage managers they work with in the future.
Sometimes it's hard not to laugh at the things I'm trying to get them to not do. Last week, two Rats were about to tie their tails together. Not as a bit in character, but as kids being kids. I could barely choke out "Bad idea!" Because we don't want to break the costumes. And that would definitely have happened. And it would have been really funny, and laughing would just encourage it.
I'm working with another project called First Saturday Players. Four times a year, a small ensemble of middle-schoolers puts up a show designed for preschoolers. The Players do a few sing-along songs, and present a couple of short, but complete, stories. It all lasts about half an hour... and it's damn cute. The Players take their work seriously (but not overly so) and enjoy being on the grownup side of things, and the li'l punkins in the audience are just too much! I still don't want to see (or hear) much of them in a grownup audience, but when the show is just for them, they really do engage. And they'll probably be really good in grownup audiences when they get older, or want to try acting themselves, because they're learning to love theatre on their terms.
And you've gotta love it when a toddler says, during the interactive intro, "I saw The Nutcracker! In a real theater!" FSP is in the blackbox...
I'm in the middle of rehearsals for The Pied Piper of Hamelin, a mainstage production for an all-ages audience. The cast's age range is 4-18, plus a couple of adults. The littlest ones don't quite know how to focus, but they're having fun. The teenagers, luckily, have already discovered they love acting, and are willing to work hard without any teenage attitude.
One of them has hair I spent way too much time trying to achieve in 1987, and her parents let her dye it black. Teenage-me is jealous!
I'm not a teacher, but I have lots of opportunities to teach. When they ask how something works, I tell them about it. When I can, I involve them in little projects to give them more ownership and connection to the show (see also "I'm learning to delegate"). I'm trying to promote good rehearsal/backstage behavior, and that can take creativity. A certain six-year-old will now have a spike mark of his very own, because he's so good at staying on it.
We've just started playing a game called "Quiet Backstage Said The Stage Manager." If the room goes dead silent when I use my stage manager voice, they get a point. Five points will get a treat for everyone, and continued points through the run will get them another treat on closing day. Sure, it's a bribe. It's a group exercise, too: in order for it to work, everyone has to commit. It's also Pavlovian training (okay, Pavlov Lite), and they'll stay on the good side of stage managers they work with in the future.
Sometimes it's hard not to laugh at the things I'm trying to get them to not do. Last week, two Rats were about to tie their tails together. Not as a bit in character, but as kids being kids. I could barely choke out "Bad idea!" Because we don't want to break the costumes. And that would definitely have happened. And it would have been really funny, and laughing would just encourage it.
I'm working with another project called First Saturday Players. Four times a year, a small ensemble of middle-schoolers puts up a show designed for preschoolers. The Players do a few sing-along songs, and present a couple of short, but complete, stories. It all lasts about half an hour... and it's damn cute. The Players take their work seriously (but not overly so) and enjoy being on the grownup side of things, and the li'l punkins in the audience are just too much! I still don't want to see (or hear) much of them in a grownup audience, but when the show is just for them, they really do engage. And they'll probably be really good in grownup audiences when they get older, or want to try acting themselves, because they're learning to love theatre on their terms.
And you've gotta love it when a toddler says, during the interactive intro, "I saw The Nutcracker! In a real theater!" FSP is in the blackbox...
Monday, September 12, 2011
I *swear* I'm publishing this time!
I've been thinking about this blog again. I haven't touched it in nearly a year. The last post concerned the KC Improv Festival 2010, and now we're between weekends of Festival 11. I looked at the summary page, and saw about four unfinished entries. And I thought to myself, "I started writing these for a reason."
So, those will get finished - but first, a few thoughts of right now:
Every year around Festival time, the Improv Community manifests itself as a living thing that wants to move forward, strengthen the form, gain a stronger presence as part of the entertainment/art/thingstodo scene. Maybe even create a few viable careers. But after a few weeks, a couple months, it seems (to me, with a very distanced perspective) to revert to a handful of strong voices struggling for control of discord rather than allowing harmony to emerge.
This year feels different. I can't say exactly why; it's mostly based on intangibles. Some of it is a sort of magnetic comfort I didn't expect from this weekend, muscle memory of being part of something larger and liking it. It's reinforced by a dose of Jill Bernard's affection for the KC scene, and Jonathan Pitts' astute observations. They're from cities where Things Are Happening. Surges of activity in the past - I wasn't involved, but historically, I'd look to the early Spontaneous Combustion festivals and the formation of the City3 message board - established new levels of prominence, and this year, I think something of that scope is happening.
A lot changes in a year. I got what I needed from a couple years of practicing improv - and a large part of what I needed was a kick in the ass back toward what I'm really good at. Don't get me wrong, it was fun. I love the process, and I miss playing now and then. I'm just not a performer. The part that loves being watched by an audience is missing, but I do share the same love for making a great show with a bunch of like-minded cohorts.
I have my moments, of course. I relish an a vista set change. I enjoy, when it's appropriate and not a fuckup, reminding the audience of the mechanics of the production. (Why, hello, Mr. Brecht. How dear of you to drop in!)
I still have my statements to make, my stories to tell. The stage manager generally doesn't get to do that - and might only get vicarious fulfillment of the creative impulse. In the opera world, which suits my taste for polish and precision, private preparation before the presentation, I'm adding the occasional directing project. Starting small, but it's enough - I'm not seeking international eminence!
So, do look for a few unfinished topics to pop up, and perhaps a more regular report here on what happens behind the scenes of both the productions and my head.
So, those will get finished - but first, a few thoughts of right now:
Every year around Festival time, the Improv Community manifests itself as a living thing that wants to move forward, strengthen the form, gain a stronger presence as part of the entertainment/art/thingstodo scene. Maybe even create a few viable careers. But after a few weeks, a couple months, it seems (to me, with a very distanced perspective) to revert to a handful of strong voices struggling for control of discord rather than allowing harmony to emerge.
This year feels different. I can't say exactly why; it's mostly based on intangibles. Some of it is a sort of magnetic comfort I didn't expect from this weekend, muscle memory of being part of something larger and liking it. It's reinforced by a dose of Jill Bernard's affection for the KC scene, and Jonathan Pitts' astute observations. They're from cities where Things Are Happening. Surges of activity in the past - I wasn't involved, but historically, I'd look to the early Spontaneous Combustion festivals and the formation of the City3 message board - established new levels of prominence, and this year, I think something of that scope is happening.
A lot changes in a year. I got what I needed from a couple years of practicing improv - and a large part of what I needed was a kick in the ass back toward what I'm really good at. Don't get me wrong, it was fun. I love the process, and I miss playing now and then. I'm just not a performer. The part that loves being watched by an audience is missing, but I do share the same love for making a great show with a bunch of like-minded cohorts.
I have my moments, of course. I relish an a vista set change. I enjoy, when it's appropriate and not a fuckup, reminding the audience of the mechanics of the production. (Why, hello, Mr. Brecht. How dear of you to drop in!)
I still have my statements to make, my stories to tell. The stage manager generally doesn't get to do that - and might only get vicarious fulfillment of the creative impulse. In the opera world, which suits my taste for polish and precision, private preparation before the presentation, I'm adding the occasional directing project. Starting small, but it's enough - I'm not seeking international eminence!
So, do look for a few unfinished topics to pop up, and perhaps a more regular report here on what happens behind the scenes of both the productions and my head.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Heir to the Headset: Apprentice Wanted
No matter how much you love a gig, you probably can't do it forever. The show may go on, but your life will change and grow and take unexpected turns. If you care about an ongoing show, and want to see it entrusted to capable hands when the time comes, plan ahead and train your successor.
This was a subject of discussion when the KC Improv Festival production team recently met to review this year's festival and set goals for the next. 2011 will be my third year as KCiF's stage manager, and like a kid who can wait no longer than January to write to Santa Claus, I'm already excited for it!
Well, Santa, what I need is an apprentice. At least one. I'm getting involved in the opera world again, and who knows what other opportunities and responsibilities may crop up? Maybe I'll luck into a free trip to Italy in September 2012. I'd feel much better about ditching KCiF for that if I know someone's ready to take my place. =)
Maybe an experienced SM who loves improv will show up to take the reins. But this is a volunteer gig, and the people who want to help don't always have experience. So, what traits would I look for in a stage manager? What unique needs does KCiF have that could take someone by surprise, and what personal qualities will help her/him meet those needs? What do I strive for in myself, that I think makes the best contribution to the show?
Last week I wrote about finding joy in your work. The importance of positive energy is amplified in improv, because the actors' work comes out of here and now. There haven't been six weeks of rehearsals, character-building, subtext-creating. The actors draw on the energy around them, and there's no faking it.
At the same time, it's not your job to "pump them up." You're working with professionals (in caliber, if not by trade). They will get themselves into the zone that's right for them. If the energy you contribute backstage is frenetic or pushy, you might even damage the balance. Love what the actors do, but don't squeeze them to death!
CONFIDENCE
You have to be personally confident in your decisions, and socially confident with the actors. They need to trust that you're getting them to the right place at the right time, and that any other elements will work properly (which, as we all know, they sometimes don't. Don't lie when things go wrong. Establish trust like a ship's captain: whatever happens, you'll keep your people safe.) Put out the "in charge" vibe without being bossy or condescending. Trust the actors and other production crew to be in place and do their tasks, but don't just assume it's happening: observe and follow up.
ORGANIZATION & FLEXIBILITY
If you stage manage theatre (or, God help you, opera), KCiF will be the easiest gig you've ever done. Your show will have a rhythm, a pattern to follow. One troupe is onstage, the next is warming up, the next is watching from the cast seating area, and it all shifts when the set ends. Don't get too comfy, though! The challenge of improv is in the variations to the pattern.
Timing in improv is far more nebulous than scripted shows. An improv set is over when it's over, whether that's twenty minutes or thirty-five. As such, places calls can be difficult to pin down. This year, we had a couple times when troupes were in standby, quiet backstage please, for nearly ten minutes. It's the nature of this beast.
In KCiF's structure, some things a SM would handle elsewhere are covered by the producer or the venue supervisor. And improv doesn't use sets, props, or costumes, right? So there shouldn't be much to keep track of... Not necessarily! And whatever comes up, you might not know about it until right before the show. Improvisers are prone to last-minute ideas. You have to be able to incorporate a new challenge quickly without freaking out.
INVISIBILITY
Be comfortable with the fact that you are not onstage. Enjoy the new perspective. You are not here to stand out and be noticed: you are part of the inner machinery, the gears that pop the cuckoo out of the clock. Granted, there may be times a task will put you in view of the audience, so don't be shy about doing your job. Anyway, if you spend the whole time wishing you were onstage, you are not fully committed to your work. Silver lining: even though most of the audience doesn't know it, the applause is for you, too. Silver lining 2: the actors will appreciate the hell out of you!
This was a subject of discussion when the KC Improv Festival production team recently met to review this year's festival and set goals for the next. 2011 will be my third year as KCiF's stage manager, and like a kid who can wait no longer than January to write to Santa Claus, I'm already excited for it!
Well, Santa, what I need is an apprentice. At least one. I'm getting involved in the opera world again, and who knows what other opportunities and responsibilities may crop up? Maybe I'll luck into a free trip to Italy in September 2012. I'd feel much better about ditching KCiF for that if I know someone's ready to take my place. =)
Maybe an experienced SM who loves improv will show up to take the reins. But this is a volunteer gig, and the people who want to help don't always have experience. So, what traits would I look for in a stage manager? What unique needs does KCiF have that could take someone by surprise, and what personal qualities will help her/him meet those needs? What do I strive for in myself, that I think makes the best contribution to the show?
- A positive attitude toward the craft and the people.
- Calm, supportive energy.
- Confidence.
- Organization, with flexibility.
- Ego-free invisibility.
Last week I wrote about finding joy in your work. The importance of positive energy is amplified in improv, because the actors' work comes out of here and now. There haven't been six weeks of rehearsals, character-building, subtext-creating. The actors draw on the energy around them, and there's no faking it.
At the same time, it's not your job to "pump them up." You're working with professionals (in caliber, if not by trade). They will get themselves into the zone that's right for them. If the energy you contribute backstage is frenetic or pushy, you might even damage the balance. Love what the actors do, but don't squeeze them to death!
CONFIDENCE
You have to be personally confident in your decisions, and socially confident with the actors. They need to trust that you're getting them to the right place at the right time, and that any other elements will work properly (which, as we all know, they sometimes don't. Don't lie when things go wrong. Establish trust like a ship's captain: whatever happens, you'll keep your people safe.) Put out the "in charge" vibe without being bossy or condescending. Trust the actors and other production crew to be in place and do their tasks, but don't just assume it's happening: observe and follow up.
ORGANIZATION & FLEXIBILITY
If you stage manage theatre (or, God help you, opera), KCiF will be the easiest gig you've ever done. Your show will have a rhythm, a pattern to follow. One troupe is onstage, the next is warming up, the next is watching from the cast seating area, and it all shifts when the set ends. Don't get too comfy, though! The challenge of improv is in the variations to the pattern.
Timing in improv is far more nebulous than scripted shows. An improv set is over when it's over, whether that's twenty minutes or thirty-five. As such, places calls can be difficult to pin down. This year, we had a couple times when troupes were in standby, quiet backstage please, for nearly ten minutes. It's the nature of this beast.
In KCiF's structure, some things a SM would handle elsewhere are covered by the producer or the venue supervisor. And improv doesn't use sets, props, or costumes, right? So there shouldn't be much to keep track of... Not necessarily! And whatever comes up, you might not know about it until right before the show. Improvisers are prone to last-minute ideas. You have to be able to incorporate a new challenge quickly without freaking out.
INVISIBILITY
Be comfortable with the fact that you are not onstage. Enjoy the new perspective. You are not here to stand out and be noticed: you are part of the inner machinery, the gears that pop the cuckoo out of the clock. Granted, there may be times a task will put you in view of the audience, so don't be shy about doing your job. Anyway, if you spend the whole time wishing you were onstage, you are not fully committed to your work. Silver lining: even though most of the audience doesn't know it, the applause is for you, too. Silver lining 2: the actors will appreciate the hell out of you!
~~~~~
Well, there's the longest job description ever! If it sounds like your kind of thing, or at least something you'd like to try, please get in touch (privately, not as a comment). This is crucial support work for an exciting event, with a truly wonderful group of people.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Stage Managing With a Lot Less Stress, Part 1
As I've been thinking about this and writing drafts, I've discovered more specific angles than I expected. So, I'll just cover a couple of ideas for now.
One of the big things that will help you stay calm, and help you maintain a calm atmosphere for everyone else, is self-awareness. How many times have you snapped at someone who didn't deserve it, because the rest of your day sucked? We don't do it consciously. It's just really easy, when you have a lot to do, to ignore how raw your nerves are, how short your fuse is getting.
No matter how busy you are, it's worth a minute of your time to take stock, and talk yourself off the ledge if you find that's where you are. Do it before everyone gets to rehearsal, or walking from your car. Quiet and alone. My dialogue might go a little like this:
Another big stress-fighter I want to mention in this first entry is physical health and comfort. If you feel like crap, it affects your mood. Maybe you're so tired you just want to cry for no reason. Maybe your spouse brought a bug home from work, and you're not just sick, you're pissed. Maybe your shoes are giving you blisters. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!** If all you can think about is how much your body aches, you aren't focused on your work. Someone will come up and surprise you with a question or one-more-thing-to-do, and you'll snap. So make it easier to keep focused by doing things to physically feel better. Get enough rest and eat healthy food. I'm not perfect at this, but I do a better job of it than ten years ago. Get a little exercise. Get a flu shot in the fall, and keep some non-drowsy pain meds in your kit. Be smart about footwear, or anything else that relates to your physical comfort - I keep both a sweater and a hand-fan with my supplies, because temperature fluctuations get to me. Don't skip meals. Keep your water bottle handy. Talk an actor into giving you a shoulder rub during break.
And for the love of Freud, if you are prone to clinical depression, anxiety, anger issues, or other emotional disorders, don't be afraid to see a therapist! I've always been open about the relationship between Prozac and my ability to function as a reasonably sane human. You don't have to be crazy to be a stage manager... because it really doesn't help. I used to think that I looked like a better worker if I made it known how much I had to do and how much stress it caused me. Wrong! I looked like someone who could only handle her job by feeding negativity into the atmosphere. Bad stuff.
Pop quiz: Why would anyone do the job of stage manager? (Go back a few paragraphs for the answer.) If you don't find some fulfillment in the art you're part of creating, if you don't respect the talents of your colleagues, it's probably not the job for you. That's a larger issue than just handling stress, so I'll look at it another time. Now, back to the stress-reducing.
When troubleshooting is a big part of your job, you don't have to look hard for things to feel negative about. Your to-do list gets longer and longer as opening night approaches. But you know what? There are tons of things to love, right in front of you, and enjoying them doesn't detract from your ability or opportunity to fix what needs fixing. In fact, a few happy things in your brain will make your capability and efficiency flow easier. (I don't have a source to cite, but I think I could find a psych study if I looked.)
In the last show I worked, I was struck by the beauty of a particular aria. It nearly brought me to tears, the good kind, every time I heard it. Sure, I'm not at work to be entertained, that's for the audience. But there's no reason the power and beauty can't touch me too. I felt so lucky, even blessed, to get to experience that as part of my job. It became sacred to me, a moment in which (once the show was running) I could lose myself. That's the kind of thing to hold onto when everything else seems ready to come crashing down.
*Hypothetical example. Mom actually hasn't pissed me off for several years, at least not enough to significantly affect my mood.
**h/t Linda Ade Brand
One of the big things that will help you stay calm, and help you maintain a calm atmosphere for everyone else, is self-awareness. How many times have you snapped at someone who didn't deserve it, because the rest of your day sucked? We don't do it consciously. It's just really easy, when you have a lot to do, to ignore how raw your nerves are, how short your fuse is getting.
No matter how busy you are, it's worth a minute of your time to take stock, and talk yourself off the ledge if you find that's where you are. Do it before everyone gets to rehearsal, or walking from your car. Quiet and alone. My dialogue might go a little like this:
Me: Well, that was a crappy drive. And I didn't get the water bill paid, and I'm still pissed off from talking to Mom*.
Me: Rough day. You sound a little edgy. Be careful not to yell at the singers.
Me: But they're SOOOO careless with their props / talkative during rehearsal / klepto with my pencils!
Me: OMG, they're human. They aren't trying to make your job difficult! And you know damn well you love the work they do, or you wouldn't do this job. You're perfectly capable of giving gentle reminders without going superbitch.
Me: I'll try, I'm just so frazzled!
Me: Then breathe, and leave it behind. You have three hours of rehearsal, and that's three hours that bad drivers, the water bill, and Mom will leave you alone.
Me: Yeah... okay. I guess I do have to be calm and focused.
Another big stress-fighter I want to mention in this first entry is physical health and comfort. If you feel like crap, it affects your mood. Maybe you're so tired you just want to cry for no reason. Maybe your spouse brought a bug home from work, and you're not just sick, you're pissed. Maybe your shoes are giving you blisters. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!** If all you can think about is how much your body aches, you aren't focused on your work. Someone will come up and surprise you with a question or one-more-thing-to-do, and you'll snap. So make it easier to keep focused by doing things to physically feel better. Get enough rest and eat healthy food. I'm not perfect at this, but I do a better job of it than ten years ago. Get a little exercise. Get a flu shot in the fall, and keep some non-drowsy pain meds in your kit. Be smart about footwear, or anything else that relates to your physical comfort - I keep both a sweater and a hand-fan with my supplies, because temperature fluctuations get to me. Don't skip meals. Keep your water bottle handy. Talk an actor into giving you a shoulder rub during break.
And for the love of Freud, if you are prone to clinical depression, anxiety, anger issues, or other emotional disorders, don't be afraid to see a therapist! I've always been open about the relationship between Prozac and my ability to function as a reasonably sane human. You don't have to be crazy to be a stage manager... because it really doesn't help. I used to think that I looked like a better worker if I made it known how much I had to do and how much stress it caused me. Wrong! I looked like someone who could only handle her job by feeding negativity into the atmosphere. Bad stuff.
Pop quiz: Why would anyone do the job of stage manager? (Go back a few paragraphs for the answer.) If you don't find some fulfillment in the art you're part of creating, if you don't respect the talents of your colleagues, it's probably not the job for you. That's a larger issue than just handling stress, so I'll look at it another time. Now, back to the stress-reducing.
When troubleshooting is a big part of your job, you don't have to look hard for things to feel negative about. Your to-do list gets longer and longer as opening night approaches. But you know what? There are tons of things to love, right in front of you, and enjoying them doesn't detract from your ability or opportunity to fix what needs fixing. In fact, a few happy things in your brain will make your capability and efficiency flow easier. (I don't have a source to cite, but I think I could find a psych study if I looked.)
In the last show I worked, I was struck by the beauty of a particular aria. It nearly brought me to tears, the good kind, every time I heard it. Sure, I'm not at work to be entertained, that's for the audience. But there's no reason the power and beauty can't touch me too. I felt so lucky, even blessed, to get to experience that as part of my job. It became sacred to me, a moment in which (once the show was running) I could lose myself. That's the kind of thing to hold onto when everything else seems ready to come crashing down.
*Hypothetical example. Mom actually hasn't pissed me off for several years, at least not enough to significantly affect my mood.
**h/t Linda Ade Brand
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Meet and Greet
In case the title "Stage Manager's Rhapsody" was too subtle, this blog will center around my experiences and discoveries as a stage manager. It's not a gossip blog or personal-gripe blog, though I will sometimes share not-so-positive experiences - and how I cope or what I learn from them. I'll only use names in positive contexts; I'm not here for drama. I'll try to update weekly*, whether I write on a current production or delve back into the past fifteen-or-so years.
I started stage managing in college, having discovered as a dance/theatre major that I had a lot of fun working backstage, and in fact it came to me more easily than performing (I'm very introverted). I doubt many people look at all the available roles in production and say "Hey, there's one with a lot of responsibility, not much creative voice, all kinds of people making demands, and being the one who tells people to be quiet when they're having fun... that's the job for me!" On the other hand, I like meeting challenges. I like making things work smoothly for talented, good-hearted people. I like playing the mother hen. I like feeling needed and appreciated.
After college, I was an ASM in professional opera, and a stage manager, designer, or general techie for as many other shows as I could find the time for - paid or not. Usually not. I produced a couple independent shows, and helped start a magazine about the theatre scene in Kansas City. I was getting interested in directing, too. That all lasted about five years. If I didn't stop to think about it, I felt like I was living the dream, but inside I burned myself out, big and bad. I left the performing arts almost entirely at the end of 2001, and worked in bookstores.
The one link I kept to the performing world was improv. I had been the techie for a comedy troupe called the Hypothetical 7 since '94 or so (minus a couple too-busy years), and I could honestly say at the time that they were the only company with whom I always had fun and always felt respected. They only had a few shows a year, so working with them was a rare treat rather than a constant obligation. In 2007 (when I was ready to move on from bookstores, but didn't know in which direction), Hype 7's founder/director moved away, and I took on some administrative duties so the remaining troupe members could keep playing.
I was soon immersed in improv. It's a much broader artistic discipline than I had ever realized. Hype 7 stepped up the production schedule, and I started making friends in Kansas City's improv scene. I also took a huge leap outside my comfort zone, and started playing and taking classes. It looked so fun, I couldn't stay on the sidelines any longer! I felt like part of a team, when I'm used to being the functional outsider.
I happen to be extremely good at being the functional outsider, though. Improv is fun for me on a small, personal level. The periodic chance to play keeps me sane through the times I have to approach more seriously. When it comes to something high-profile like a festival, I'd much rather stage-manage. I'm doing what I love and am good at, with people who do something else I love and they're outstanding at. Everybody wins!
Now we get to the part where my worlds intersected. In the summer of 2009, friends from the opera days were in town - not merely friends, but my stage management mentor and big sister Lisa, and her husband Ben, a tenor and certified sommelier. We went to a restaurant where an improv friend I admire, Ed, works as a server. It was half-price wine bottle night. Somewhere in the middle of the second bottle, Lisa said that her friend Kathleen needed a stage manager and props person. The job was in Lawrence. I live very near Lawrence. The wine was removing any trepidation I might have had about picking up an old career where I left it, especially as I had left it (in my memory) unpleasantly. I realized I was ready for opera to be part of my life again.
Perhaps what I learned in those years off was to seek balance. Balance between work and play, balance between serving greater needs and meeting my own. Balance between the spontaneity of improv and the precision of opera. I also learned that any job is only worthwhile if I can find joy in it. I took the job in Lawrence, with KU's opera program, and returned this year to work on more shows.
The funny thing is, doing improv has altered how I look at stage management. It used to feel like a battle. I was constantly terrified of fucking up, and of letting anyone else fuck up. Now it's easier for me to accept that imperfections will happen no matter what I do - it's live theatre. Yes, I try to avoid them, but I understand now that the world does not end over a misplaced prop! It's also easier for me to trust the people I work with to do what's needed of them. So I mostly just follow my checklist, call cues, and direct traffic. I keep my eyes open for disasters (on a good day, I spot them before they happen), but with a sense of excitement rather than dread. It's a hell of a lot less stressful.
Next installation: Jenifer's Guide to Stress-Free Stage Management, and How That Doesn't Always Work.
*Um, weekly. Yes. That's why I started this 9/18 and published it 10/5.
I started stage managing in college, having discovered as a dance/theatre major that I had a lot of fun working backstage, and in fact it came to me more easily than performing (I'm very introverted). I doubt many people look at all the available roles in production and say "Hey, there's one with a lot of responsibility, not much creative voice, all kinds of people making demands, and being the one who tells people to be quiet when they're having fun... that's the job for me!" On the other hand, I like meeting challenges. I like making things work smoothly for talented, good-hearted people. I like playing the mother hen. I like feeling needed and appreciated.
After college, I was an ASM in professional opera, and a stage manager, designer, or general techie for as many other shows as I could find the time for - paid or not. Usually not. I produced a couple independent shows, and helped start a magazine about the theatre scene in Kansas City. I was getting interested in directing, too. That all lasted about five years. If I didn't stop to think about it, I felt like I was living the dream, but inside I burned myself out, big and bad. I left the performing arts almost entirely at the end of 2001, and worked in bookstores.
The one link I kept to the performing world was improv. I had been the techie for a comedy troupe called the Hypothetical 7 since '94 or so (minus a couple too-busy years), and I could honestly say at the time that they were the only company with whom I always had fun and always felt respected. They only had a few shows a year, so working with them was a rare treat rather than a constant obligation. In 2007 (when I was ready to move on from bookstores, but didn't know in which direction), Hype 7's founder/director moved away, and I took on some administrative duties so the remaining troupe members could keep playing.
I was soon immersed in improv. It's a much broader artistic discipline than I had ever realized. Hype 7 stepped up the production schedule, and I started making friends in Kansas City's improv scene. I also took a huge leap outside my comfort zone, and started playing and taking classes. It looked so fun, I couldn't stay on the sidelines any longer! I felt like part of a team, when I'm used to being the functional outsider.
I happen to be extremely good at being the functional outsider, though. Improv is fun for me on a small, personal level. The periodic chance to play keeps me sane through the times I have to approach more seriously. When it comes to something high-profile like a festival, I'd much rather stage-manage. I'm doing what I love and am good at, with people who do something else I love and they're outstanding at. Everybody wins!
Now we get to the part where my worlds intersected. In the summer of 2009, friends from the opera days were in town - not merely friends, but my stage management mentor and big sister Lisa, and her husband Ben, a tenor and certified sommelier. We went to a restaurant where an improv friend I admire, Ed, works as a server. It was half-price wine bottle night. Somewhere in the middle of the second bottle, Lisa said that her friend Kathleen needed a stage manager and props person. The job was in Lawrence. I live very near Lawrence. The wine was removing any trepidation I might have had about picking up an old career where I left it, especially as I had left it (in my memory) unpleasantly. I realized I was ready for opera to be part of my life again.
Perhaps what I learned in those years off was to seek balance. Balance between work and play, balance between serving greater needs and meeting my own. Balance between the spontaneity of improv and the precision of opera. I also learned that any job is only worthwhile if I can find joy in it. I took the job in Lawrence, with KU's opera program, and returned this year to work on more shows.
The funny thing is, doing improv has altered how I look at stage management. It used to feel like a battle. I was constantly terrified of fucking up, and of letting anyone else fuck up. Now it's easier for me to accept that imperfections will happen no matter what I do - it's live theatre. Yes, I try to avoid them, but I understand now that the world does not end over a misplaced prop! It's also easier for me to trust the people I work with to do what's needed of them. So I mostly just follow my checklist, call cues, and direct traffic. I keep my eyes open for disasters (on a good day, I spot them before they happen), but with a sense of excitement rather than dread. It's a hell of a lot less stressful.
Next installation: Jenifer's Guide to Stress-Free Stage Management, and How That Doesn't Always Work.
*Um, weekly. Yes. That's why I started this 9/18 and published it 10/5.
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