well it has been eleven long days of bump in. and if a girl is looking for answers, proof that she's grown, that she's grown up and is learning hard and good, then just throw her into an eleven day bump in.
the show opens tonight. and production 'week' (in the one-week-is-definitely-not-a-seven-day-period scenario) has been really full on. so much hard work, sixteen hour days, pushing the boundaries of our skills and knowledge, learning on the job, keeping the balance between an incredible quality show and the perspective of it's just a musical (still hurts me to say that). keeping people happy and loving on my cast, maintaining the healthiest, most loving husband-and-wife situation, proving that teamwork really does make the whole experience better and stronger and happier.
i had a moment about a week ago now. when the seating bank, god bless it, wouldn't come out the way it is supposed to. there were five grown men grunting and hawing and huffing and swearing over it. and it still would not budge. they tried over and over. and they stole rob, who needed to be working hard elsewhere, for the better part of two hours. and i felt my panic levels a-risin'. and i was aware of the feeling of anxiety as it entered my stomach, and then lifted to the bottom part of my chest. but i made a decision. i decided that i would not allow it to preside over me. i squashed it back down. i told it who was boss. i beat panic. the tally is still in my favour, today, ten hours before we open to our first audience.
and it turns out, the seating bank is okay. and yes, we may have lost a couple of hours, which meant that yes, we had to stick around late that night, but at night, (o, at night!) all is quiet in the theatre. and there are not fourteen children named josh calling your name every three seconds to ask what's next, when, in fact, they haven't completed a single one of their other tasks proficiently (not-a-one). and late at night, we laugh and bond and marvel at our work and enjoy the team's company.
and i take time to reflect in my quiet working on how far i've come. i am drilling holes. i am threading rope. i am taking things in my stride. i am pleasant and i smile and i climb ladders and eat some food with nutritional value. i reflect on how far husband and i have come. not one single fight. only playful arguments, at best, about tempos and messiness and balances.
and i gape in awe at the wonder that is rob.
he conceived and designed the set. he knows every corner, every crevice, every little birdie that sits, perfectly angled, awaiting its designated moment to shine upon a cast member's face. he turned a glorified basketball court into one of the most exciting spaces i have every worked in. he rigged and patched and ran cables and focused and plotted the most surreally beautiful lighting design. and he remained calm. and nice. and funny. and he has a really cute jewish brooklyn accent that he absentmindedly speaks with when he is up eight metres in the air on the scissor lift. and we like him.
and how does this lengthy rant all tie together? well, girlfriend looks back on the many, many hours she has spent working for peanuts in the theatre. not just this 'week'. but for the last seven or eight years. a lifetime of bump ins (or is it bumps in, bunny?). and i have had the most incredible realisation this week about how much i have changed, and grown, and grown up, in the theatre. it has made me a better person. and no matter how many peanuts i work for, i will cherish the skills and knowledge i am always gaining in this place.
o, holy theatre. you are a challenging, stressful, scary place. but i love how you have changed me. and how that time i learned to squash the rising anxiety back out of my lungs will transfer itself to the classroom, and heavy arguments, and every other corner of my life.
the biggest chookas to my beautiful cast, my perfect artistic team, and all who worked on this gem of a show. i am so in love with it. it is easily the largest-scale production i have ever worked on. and it's only supposed to be a little shop of horrors.
-- R.
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