I am so sorry.
Last night, I had the actor's nightmare - but it wasn't just my own personal nightmare. It involved pretty much all of you. And if you're feeling the repercussions this morning, I do apologize, because let me tell you, we had a really terrible night.
I was running late to the theater, driving the 1986 Chevy Nova I drove in high school like a bat out of hell around all the wicked corners of the rural area where my parents live. There were several of us in the car, all members of the cast, all in foul moods because we knew we were L-A-T-E and the director and stage manager were going to have our heads.
Finally, we reached the theater at approximately the exact moment the show is supposed to start. We all make a mad dash for the dressing room, where we see that not only is the rest of the cast all rushing in late, too, but there's another show that was on before ours, and their cast is all innocently in the dressing room, slowly changing out of their red-white-and-blue spangled dance costumes. They are in our way, AND they have taken our costumes off the racks, so we're all scrambling to find our costumes.
I am already feeling disoriented. Then, being "helpful," someone pulls a string on my outfit, and just like that, all my clothes fall away. So now I'm naked to boot. Someone yells "Nice butt!" and snickers. Man, this dream SUCKS.
I grab a pair of giant silk green boxers with yellow stars on them (I can't explain) and a blue robe and put those on.
Meanwhile, I remember that I'm double cast in the show, and my friend R is playing the same role that I am. She's already in costume and sashays past me saying, "I know it's your night, but I'll do the role, you look ridiculous."
She's not wrong. So I nod and let her go onstage.
I peek out and see the audience. It's a full house, and they're all waiting expectantly, and some of them have dogs on their laps. (Again, I'd explain if I could, but I can't.) The dogs also look expectant.
D, and R, and a whole slew of my other favorite actor friends stride confidently out on to the stage. You, my friends, were out there, in spiffy costumes and playing to a full house, a few minute late but otherwise, good to go, except ...
NONE OF Y'ALL KNEW YOUR LINES.
Everyone stumbles through the first scene, then exits hastily. Panicked, R grabs me and says: "I forgot all my lines! You have to go out and do the part!"
BUT I SUDDENLY REALIZE THAT I DON'T KNOW THE LINES, EITHER.
I felt like I was going to faint puke die.
"I can't!" I say. "I don't know it anymore! And anyway, the audience already saw you as our part so get back out there!"
And the poor thing has to go back out onstage.
And there are all my theater friends, sitting onstage, staring at the audience, no words coming to mind at all. And the audience starts to laugh. And I find a script, and start trying to feed them lines, but they can't hear me, and start whispering "What?" and then louder "WHAT?"
And now the audience is rolling in the aisles and my friends are being humiliated.
So I grab Dov, who appeared out of nowhere (I guess he heard it was a dog friendly theater), and in my blue robe and green silk boxers with yellow stars, holding Dov, I pirouette across the stage, giving my friends a chance to get the hell out of there.
That was my dream last night. Any Josephs want to take a shot at interpreting that one?!
Seven years of famine. No question.
ReplyDeleteAw, man... here I was hoping seven years of bumper crops were on their way...
Delete(Though that did seem overly optimistic, given the awfulness of the dream)
DeleteJust tell me I wasn't the "Nice butt!" d-bag.
ReplyDeleteThat was actually John M, I think ... AWKBERG.
DeleteYour AWKBERG = my AWKSOME. :)
DeleteAn entertaining and fascinating tale. I'll take your interpretive challenge, and dive right in:
ReplyDeleteThis is not an actor's nightmare at all. Its a playwright's nightmare.
Throughout, yours is the perspective of someone responsible for the entire evening. Your car, you're driving, you make everyone late. During the show, your only role is from the wings. While you feel for the actors, and are very aware of the audience, its from that unique third "role" as author.
No performers can remember their lines, ones that you wrote, in service of a story and ideas from your imagination. Of course, now not even you can rescue them, not even by feeding them your words, because that's not the author's role in performance -- your job is already done. As someone who's also transitioned from an active (actor) to passive role (director) in the theatre, I can relate to this dream. Relinquishing the performance, its such a letting go, isn't it? You've wound up the machine, and it thence goes whither it wants.
As playwright, its more complex. You remain an intimate fundamental part of every performance, still there each night as The Word, the Idea and very spirit re-animated only through the actors. So you're always there, yet you're always not.
An existential quandary if ever there was one.
I must say though, from your description, it seems a very merry catastrophe. A comic tragedy. Colorful costumes, animals, and costumes that disappear by pull of a thread. Its a veritable circus. A sideshow. As the disaster unfolds the audience enjoys themselves immensely.
As for your green trunks with yellow stars, well ... I must bow to wiser heads for that one.
HOLY INSIGHTFUL *&^%, Dee. You are a genius.
Delete(I'm even having folks over to read a new script tonight. Like ... whoa.)
Silky green with stars- sounds like superhero garb to me!
ReplyDeleteSilky green trunks with yellow stars sounds like superhero garb to me!
ReplyDeleteI've had dreams like this probably 200 times in the past 20 years...the thing I always love about them is that, in the end, it doesn't really seem to matter how it all falls apart--there's some kind of weird acceptance built into it. Wish it could be that way in real life...
ReplyDelete