Not Good

Well, we got through it, Ms J, but it wasn't pretty.

The curtain opened on our "preview show" last night and I really felt as though my performance was lacklustre. It seemed that I was going through the motions instead of going through emotions. I'm not saying I was terrible, but it certainly wasn't my best work. I'm capable of better, Ms Journal, and I know it.

I'd had a stressful afternoon at work. My boss, the contemptable, sneering, arrogant worm that he is, came out to ride on the locomotive with us. I had nothing to say to him. NOT ONE WORD. I didn't dare open my mouth for fear of what might come out. Thankfully, he didn't spend the entire afternoon with us. I suppose he sensed the tension and opted to leave instead. I mean what does he expect from me? He gave me ten demerits for booking rest (We're ALLOWED to do that, Ms J. It's been a right under our labour agreement for a hundred years) and he gave me another ten demerits for my alleged involvement in that red light incident in August. Now, he wants to take away our jobs on December 18th. I have nothing to say to the man. At all. I don't even acknowledge him.

Anyway, it was shite, my afternoon.

Then I drove to Caledon in pouring rain. In heavy traffic. When I got there, I discovered someone had taken/hidden/moved/stolen a hat I need as a prop. It was my own hat, Ms J. A favourite. I'm pissed off about that.

And when the play began, I was feeling anything but centred.

I missed lines. I was horribly late for an entrance. I just didn't feel a part of it at all. Others missed lines as well. ALL the others. And there was a non-existant sound cue which left me sitting at the piano, pretending to play, but making no sound. At all. We persevered and carried on, though. The show must go on. Anyone can make a mistake. Lord knows I made enough of them.

As I delivered one of my lengthy and emotional speeches, I was aware of whispering and twittering in the theatre. It would have been bad enough, had it come from a patron, but it was coming from the sound booth. Can you believe it? I was livid and I let them know about it at the intermission. I guess they don't know how difficult it is to recall the lines, and stay on track, and find the emotion, and stay in character. This is the hardest play I've ever done, Ms J. I'm not kidding.

And the audience. Well, there were about twenty people in the seats. They were all club members who'd come out to support the show, and I'm grateful, really I am. But they laughed, Ms J! They laughed when Scottie told his ex-wife he was dying. They laughed when he told her how afraid he was. They laughed when he cried.

What the f...?

How does that make me feel as an actor? Either I'm not doing it right, or they're just not getting it.

They even laughed at the end when Scottie finally reconciles with his son. There's this beautiful scene where he invites the boy to join him on stage and surprises him with a kiss on the lips. I get emotional just thinking of it. But they laughed there too. I guess we didn't do a very good job.

And then, as a grand finale to an entirely crappy performance, the stage hands (exchange students from Germany who barely speak English) closed the curtain in the middle of the final scene.

I lost it, Ms J. I completely lost it.

I grabbed the heavy curtain and tried desperately to keep it open as we delivered our closing lines.

"Fuckers!" I muttered under my breath. "You fuckers!"

Actually, it was a bit louder than a mutter, Ms J. Other actors heard it. I'm not sure if the audience heard it or not. I hope not. It was a disgraceful thing to do, and I'm sorry and ashamed.

But it was not opening night, thank goodness. The audience were all actors and stage people. They would take it all in stride, knowing how frustrating it can be when you work so hard only to have things fall apart.

Tonight is opening night.

I'll do better tonight. We all will. We couldn't do much worse.

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