The Shape of Things
Sunday night was opening night for The Shape of Things, a dark comedy by Neil Labute that TITAN put up. I had the part of Evelyn, a main role. I had been looking up to this moment for months, preparing, rehearsing, producing, and a plethora of other verbs to get me ready for the point I was facing. Standing behind the curtain with my cast mates as we nervously listened to the audience pour into the theater. The whole day I had been feeling my nerves physically. I got almost no sleep the night before, my stomach was upset, and I had smoked quite a few cigarettes (I don’t smoke.)
I anxiously awaited with the three other actors I had bonded immensly with before this point. Benjamin, the actor playing Phillip, summed up his anxiety with “agh, they PAID for this!” (in reference to the audience.) I laughed but knew exactly what he meant. These people, although largely in part were friends and family were there to support us no matter what, were still an audience; and while the actor’s mantra towards them is “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” they are there for a reason.
I told the others I couldn’t feel my knees, and I wasn’t kidding. I couldn’t feel them. I pictured myself attempting to walk out on stage and simply collapsing, fainting, or some other horrible physical catastrophe. Then, feeling the pit in my stomach get even bigger I asked them, “why does anyone do this? ever? this is the worst feeling in the world.” I meant every word. Why would people subject themselves to such torment? Such vulnerability? Criticism? But I had to get over it and do my job because well, it was my job.
I walked out on stage, we started the scene, and there it was. Laughter. Then more. Then applause. I couldn’t believe it. As the show went on there was more unexpected responses. My cast mates and I started trying new things, having fun. Before I knew it, it was black out. Curtain call. We got back behind the curtain, and again, I couldn’t feel my knees. But this time it was good. I was on the verge of tears. But it was good.
Of course, I realized all over again, this is why people do it. Because this feeling is like a drug. Probably better than drugs, actually. Because sharing that moment with people, who you’re on stage with and who is sitting out there watching is a gift. I’m not a religious person, but I would say being on stage is being close to God. Whatever God is. But I’m not here to discuss philosophy or theology for that matter.
Last night, The Shape of Things closed and now I am in withdrawal. My drug has worn off. The time rehearsal and producing and performances occupied is now free. What am I to do? I want to do it all over again, and again, and again. I still feel that way about shows I did years ago. Because there’s always more you can try, more you can learn, more you can do, more you can perfect.
So yeah, now I know why people do this; and although that horrible feeling of that lump starting in your stomach and reaching up to your throat will never go away, maybe it’s supposed to be there, because without it maybe you wouldn’t appreciate that euphoria after you complete the task at hand.
For now, I have to start my theater-detox. It has suddenly hit me it’s December, it’s Christmas, and I should relax, sleep more, and be with loved ones. I shouldn’t be reciting my 6 page monologue and tearing up if listening to that damn song we played at curtain call every night.